Your latest "Survivor" update attacked the breath-holding challenge as a male-oriented strength-based competition. While I agree that the idea rises little above the level of the "let's hold our breath until we turn blue and Mom gets really scared" game that my sister and I played while younger, the sex-biased accusation seems a little off-base. Scuba divers know that women often go through their oxygen supply much more slowly than men. Frankly, the male-dominated result of the trial surprised me. As for an arm-wrestling contest, my bets would be on the lady truck driver.
-- Stephen Feeley
It was not the blurred pixels over Richard's big white ass that threw my appetite out the window, but his tender breasts and stretch-marked stomach. Even that display might've been laughable, except that he was so proud of it all, his naked, flabby, straight authoritarian with a corporate training background with a penchant for making his fat son jog all the way to child protective services. He was so happy to be born free, that I was imprisoned in the hell of not being able to look away.
Since MTV has bloodied the airwaves with amateur, wannabe, half-naked totally self-conscious 20-year-olds, I can barely watch "Survivor's" casting choices. Where was the big fat person? You'd let that person live to the end just to see them thunder around in a sarong or Speedos. At the very least you could eat them if all your chickens are eaten by monitor lizards.
This whole movement of importing replicas of cheesy Euro-TV is massively similar to the end of the stand-up comedy boom of the early 1990s. Don't programmers and networks realize that making more of the same noise, only louder, only causes people to vomit and wish for someone like Geena Davis to have her own sitcom? The pendulum swings both ways, getting right between the eyes both ways.
-- Viki Reed