Hi. My name is Anonymous and I watch reality shows.  "Hi Anonymous." I hang my head pretty low when I admit that, but, I guess it's something I should come right out and tell you before there's a YouTube of me actually watching these shows. Try not to judge me, I've read Moby Dick for cryin' out loud.  But, now that you know this, if you don't want to associate with me by reading the rest of this, I will understand.


I think every one of these shows boils down to one premise:  Surviving.  Surviving ruthless women looking for love.  Surviving the fact that you can't cook a quiche using toad balls.  Surviving Donald Trump's pointy you're-fired-finger." Surviving the certain knowledge that you are a troll and will never be that most beautiful tip toppy model. But, the one that really intrigues me is the show that actually puts people on an island and tells them to do just that--Survive.


Split into tribes that compete with each other for real food like Ritz crackers and peanut butter, they fight to survive elimination so their starving colons can become a tango line for tapeworms.  How awesome to
purposely want to look like a Darfur refuge.


A pretend Lord of the Flies unfolds before me each week as I watch and I ponder, would I be a woman who could survive? I did a quick pros and cons rundown while soaking in the tub with my fingers dripping pizza sauce and after a reasonable time, I came up with an answer.


No.  The answer is, No.   My tribe would kill me.  Slowly and horribly.  I would be the weak, sick crybaby who wouldn't want to do anything but take naps and suntan.  I just couldn't stand to be dirty. I'm sure I would look like a greasy Chewbacca by the end of the first week; my face would break out with Mount Vesuvius like pimples; I'd have that layer of scum on my teeth that could feed a family of four with leftovers for the dog and I'd probably develop some kind of unsightly crotch rot. How do they handle women and their periods? Do they make them do challenges for personal hygiene items?


Catch that warthog, retrieve the sunken treasure, put together this puzzle and sing the complete soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar and we'll give you a tampon.


Actually, if I ever end up in a survival situation, I just hope I go in the first wave.  I'm not fighting for one can of corn and I'm not going to guard my water.  And I refuse to go to my neighbors who've got a years supply of food put away just in case.  I couldn't stand to listen to them yammer at me, "We told you so."   But, it boils down to the basics:  No way am I fighting for a tampon.