It’s Real TV, Uncle Remus

It's Real TV there Uncle Remus.

All these goofballs just might be us.

We're lost in a brambly aberration,

thorny tangles of a wacky nation.

 

Thrown in here in a pricker patch;

a reality TV booby hatch.

 

All our hopes and dreams are gone.

Texts and tweets drag us along

to murky depths of depravity,

which we'll never escape, because you see,

we've abandoned our sensitivity.

 

We're so inured to the constant manure

we can't even tell when we're in a sewer

trapped by the smell, a dearth of sun

and the fact we seem to find our fun

in the pain of others; see them run

in shame and ire right into the  fryer

to sizzle and blacken but never expire.

 

How can their twisted development

ever be socially relevant?

They're a cultural colon transplant.
 

Forbearance or sympathy's never required,

so a sham of disgust we bestow them entire

while remaining big fans of their deeds and desires.

 

These days we name it Reality.

We're no better than they, we have all come to be

roommates in a hell of complicity.