Family Night Line Up

The good news is that Baby Bro no longer records “Hoarders” for Monday night family night.
The bad news is that he has replaced it with “American Greed.”
Tonight is a show about body snatchers, men who steal bone and tissues from dead bodies, selling the body parts for thousands of dollars, without permission, as Divorcee points out like a detective, “is actually illegal.”
No shit.
The main debate tonight is if the family members really needed to know. They both nod their heads in agreement, Baby Bro’s hand rubbing his chin, Divorcee pointing out seriously that grieving family members just suffer when they find out Grandma and Uncle Billy aren’t in the grave, but being chopped up into pieces and sold on the black market to body cutter con artists. He asks things out loud to the room like, “Why do they even have to know?” and “Haven’t they been through enough?” while Baby Bro shakes his head, with a very Ashton Kutcher like charm, saying “Dude, it is part of being in the “Greed.”
This is obviously language that validates DIvorcee, while I am busy on my Mac, occasionally pointing out the absurdity of the worst knock off I have ever seen of the show “America’s Most Wanted.” It is the “Lifetime” of Detective Late Night television, which even “Cops” has more believable replays and at least has an original musical score. “Bad Boys, Bad Boys, What ya gonna do?”
God, I love “Cops.”
I never know who to pull for. Sometimes I kind of hope the whore gets away, or the domestic dispute ends up in counseling, just because it never happens. I always yell, “Come on!” to the criminals, since it takes one to know one, and I am furious at how stupid they are, asking to no one in particular, “Who smokes pot and does not know their rights?” This always gets strange looks from family members, which shuts me up, and I pretend to pick a napkin off the floor.
My oldest bro is a man of the law, in the best shape of his life, a S.W.A.T. guy, but “Cops” reinforces he is the exception to the rule, every time leaving me to feel completely unprotected as a citizen. I know if a crack head were to hit me with a lead pipe, and I were in the trunk dialing 911, every episode shows only fat cops in tight pants panting heavily, catching every breath, leaning against the fence after barely a light sprint, maybe a little speed walking. My ass wouldn’t make it in the trunk, not after being hit with a lead pipe.
This leads me back to “American Greed.” The fact is the show is just stupid.
I can’t believe these two are serious.
They tell me to “pipe it down,” Baby Bro hilarious in his self righteous, half joking, but not really, animated pointing at the television, arguing I have no idea what awesome television even means. Divorcee backs him up, saying this is actually unusual for “American Greed,” that I can’t judge an entire show on watching one episode.
I stop and give it a serious moment for 3.5 seconds.
Then, Divorcee after a pause says, “You know, it really doesn’t even bother me that much.”
Baby Bro and I look at each other.
He makes his case that the people are dead, it is not like anyone even has to know, and this is when the “Greed” Switch-a-Roo occurs, Baby Bro snapping at the television and at Divorcee, who must change his mind now that he knows the bodies have aids, or cancer tissue, proven to now endanger us living humans, making Divorcee absolutely wrong without any defense.
“Damn Dude!” is yelled at the television in animation by Baby Bro, as if a football went out of bounds, while Divorcee admits that once again, he never knew it would have gone as far as it had, innocent people getting aids from dead people, who were all along being victimized by underground money hungry body snatchers.
They got caught with really bad lighting and poor video equipment, in fact, was what I was thinking.
“The Greed, man.” Baby Bro sighs, turning it off and opening a beer.
“It gets you every time,” Divorce agrees, turning off the television, the two of them parting ways to their rooms.
I am left by myself, on our red couch, to a very disturbing reality of this moment.
I sigh, knowing the truth is the truth.
I actually miss “Hoarders.”

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