Wednesday, August 24, 2005

It's not TV, it's Pat Robertson



With the success(?) of Hogan Knows Best, I have recently been considering pitching a similarly structured reality program to my personal hero, Rev. Pat Robertson. Robertson's personal history lends itself to great television. Pat or Marion (as he's known to close friends like me) has ample bling (he's worth between $200 million and $1 billion), has a stellar fake military record (he did not imagine liberating the concentration camps...oh well, but he is known to have caroused with many a Korean whore), is chummy with war criminals (the Charles Taylor sans Kate Moss induced boner...well, as far as I know about that Charles Taylor's boners), is involved in the bloody diamond industry, can halt and/or redirect hurricanes with the power of his prayers, presumably towards the gay part of town (or in the case of Hurricane Gloria right into my front yard, on my very Jewish block, where a tree was uprooted and fell on a car), and he digs assassinations and Chinese abortions. Now, things, of course, need to be spiced up for TV purposes. I think a slutty granddaughter would be nice. We can cast her or Pat can just ask one of them to participate. And I assume Pat's wife is wacky enough for her own show, but this is merely conjecture.

And perhaps a running gag through the first season can be that the house next to the Robertsons is up for sale. They're all very concerned who will move in...and the season can end with the stunning twist that one or more than one of Pat's old Korean whore flames has moved in, dredging up the past that Pat so dearly wishes he could forget/ignore/cover up/assassinate. But being a lying, weak willed pussy is not going to convince the folks at VH1:
"I didn't say 'assassination.' I said our special forces should 'take him out.' And 'take him out' can be a number of things, including kidnapping; there are a number of ways to take out a dictator from power besides killing him."
One, yeah you did. Two, you said covert ops guys, which is different in many crucial ways than special forces. Three, we know you're a raving mad man, Pat. You're a full bag of nuts, and that's why we love you. There's no need to back away from your statements. (It should be noted that on multiple occassions, while watching The 700 Club and hoping that the prayer circle would try to cure me today or that the dramatization involving a young man who mixed drugs, alcohol and Metallica(!) would be re-aired, I have yearned for Pat to be assassinated. Yes, I've said this out loud and I might have even gotten up and yelled at the TV as if Pat or anyone else --bizarro Bernard Shaw, Gordon, the lady -- could hear me. And I don't know exactly how I'd feel if I was in Hugo Chavez's shoes right now, especially with my lack of experience as a dictatorial thug. But I believe my reality show idea can be a successful way of making amends with Pat.)

So, Pat, if you're reading this, call me.

Note: Can someone please explain to me why Robertson is posed like that? What's in his hand? Does he have some kind of palsy and that's how "Marion" grips his lapel? And I doubt it's a nod to his penchant for magic, as Pat would certianly not want to be associated with the "dark arts." Anyone know?

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