Online dating sites are the most interesting texts you can ever peruse. Hands down. Bar none. They are more entertaining than the Melbourne Comedy Festival, (unless Miss Itchy are in it), offer more photos of drugged animals than PETA ads, and have more requests for oral sex than a Wayne Carey themed birthday bash. In Koo Wee Rup.
(I am sure these men are lovely. The ones on the left. Obviously.)
My favourite dating profile featured a man declaring of himself, ‘I have a twisted mind, high libido, but a very average penis’. We’ve just had our 5th wedding anniversary. He got me pole fit classes, and I got him a Dickie Knee doll that he’s positioned at the end of the bed, to watch us reading Flaubert.
Other than the one created by my husband (Peter Carey), dating profiles are virtually impossible to get right. There should be university courses devoted to it: “Right guys, welcome to our newest creative writing unit – Don’t Mention Shawshank. In Trimester two you can then follow up with No one gives a fuck if you’re a foodie. These courses are partially funded by Sexyland, though HECS may be available for some students”. The lack of scope you’re able to offer in a dating profile leaves you sounding either very dull, or slightly crazed. So I am suggesting taking something from the past and making it new again. Like the Bible. Or the revamped Sale of the Century. (I always wanted that fricking board game as well.)
Dictator hatches a plan
Everything on the telly is rubbish, and we have a greater number of stations needing ratings and more diverse cooking shows. (I am predicting – Help, I just cooked my spelling bee champion in a storage unit full of kale and now he has an embarrassing body – gets picked up by 7mate in 2020. Called it.) We need to make dating shows that are like Perfect Match in their awkwardness, but with the earnest, down-home shots of sunlit grass like Australian Story, but with the night vision tension of Crime Stoppers. I shouldn’t judge a show without watching it, but The Bachelor is not what I’m after. That seems to be one man dry-humping a lot of boring women in a pool. That show was already made – it was called I’ve been to Yarrawonga too. I’m wanting emotional frailty; Chadstone at Christmas Eve, and telling your parents that you pulled a lot of cones that one summer you stayed with your Gran. And erectile dysfunction. So far – so SBS. However, budget is not going to be problematic for reasons I will tell you shortly. (With the next passage, try and read it as a strong woman with no sense of irony. Like Oprah. Or Matron Sloan.)
I may be a humble gal, (in the hours from midnight through to 6am) but I will tell you now – I am a God of programming. Not only would I be an excellent show-runner, but I could also perform the theme music, just as long as I can rip off the song from Family Ties. I am just like Louis CK – but without jeans or talent.
I should mention at this point that I adore everyone on dating sites, and I am not taking the piss. I would love to be a virtual matchmaker, a smaller chested Dolly Parton in The best little whorehouse in Texas… but with less sequins and more broadband. And not running a brothel. So I sincerely love to see people (who are genuinely wanting a connection with someone), find happiness; I just think the current format is all wrong.
So do you have any ideas, or are you just talking shit?
I’ve had several ideas thanks, including one where contestants have to compete, It’s a Knockout style, to win a meal at the Hog’s Breath Cafe. But SBS might have an issue with that, so I am opting for a social-realist documentary format (like Crumb but more with references to Jonathan Coleman) with a touch of Apted’s 7 Up. I am loving it already!
(I adore this series, and Neil in particular. I do love a clever man who’s brimming with potential, persevering through a difficult existence. But back to the rot!)
So there’ll be a plug for singles on various social networking sites (just Facebook), and to be a part of the show, you have to film yourself in the morning, noon and night. You have to interact with at least three people during the filming to make sure that you are not socially maladroit, or a compulsive flasher.
Cont’d when I’ve hatched the rest…