Tuesday, January 07, 2003

Evil has a name. It's Guthy-Renker. And a website. And a fabulous line of celebrity-endorsed cosmetic products! And an exclusive line of hi-larious set of Dean Martin celebrity roast videos!

Actually, I've been mulling over the name Guthy-Renker since it first seared itself onto my eyeballs when I was browsing late-night (or is that late-nite?) TV listings. There, in the wee small hours of the morning on Discovery or TLC or one of those channels, was those famous paired names. The first thing that struck me was, and I quote verbatim from memory: whatthefuck? There was no program description, just that mysterious pair of bisyllabic names. The second thing I thought was: G-uh-thy? G-oo-thy? G-uh-dhy? G-oo-dhy? How do you pronounce it? Does it rhyme with "toothy", or with the way a chronic lisp-sufferer would pronounce "fussy"? Does it even maybe rhyme with booth-y (as in "Man, it stinks of stale urine in here - like a public phone booth. Yeah, that's it. Kinda boothy") with a hard "th".

So, as if that weren't enough, I was at the in-laws over the Xmas break, and laughing myself silly (well, I was chuckling on the inside, anyway), poring over the videos stashed under their living room TV. You know the stuff - exactly what you'd expect unhip 60-something Americans to have - a tape from the Mickey Gilley Theater in Branson, Missouri, some random Alan Jackson video (or maybe it was some other hat act - I don't recall), and - gasp - "Bob Hope Entertains Eleven Presidents!" (yes, it was a bukkake video) Anyway, I'm looking at the back of the BHEEP tape and then I see it ... Guthy-Renker!

So - they are polluting the late-night air waves with their cult transmissions, they're putting white, sticky cream on the faces of America's women of a certain age (see, it is bukkake), and they are washing whatever remains of my in-laws brains with their video pap.

Maybe it's time for Bush to put up or shut up regarding his doctrine of pre-emption and strike at GRC before they acquire weapons of mass destruction. Oh, wait, too late.

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