Jeremy Kyle, British radio and television presenter, best known for his wildly popular British daytime television talk show on ITV, The Jeremy Kyle Show, has descended on Ameriker.  Diaper loaded.  Kyle now hosts the American version of the show by the same name that premiered September 19, 2011.  While I would like to say “Welcome to the States, old mate, old chap,” in good conscience, I cannot.

What Jeremy Kyle brings to Ameriker is so much of what we already have in those who would exploit the dim-witted of our society by upsetting the rocks they live under.  Americans don’t need “help” from a former life assurance salesman, gambler, thief, documented adulterer, twice-married, OCD-suffering opportunist to overturn our rocks.  Air out our musty rolling stones.  What?  Did he run out of dirt in England?  It is a very wee country. 

Jeremy Kyle is nothing more than Jerry Springer vomit.   Steve Wilkos?  I still don’t know from whence he came.  At least, the adorable Maury Povich, on the surface, appears to offer society a benefit by re-introducing loose women and innocent children to their slimy sperm donors.  However, every tax payer in the U.S., including Maury and his lovely wife Connie, knows that free paternity tests won’t stop the underbelly’s incessant drain on a once honorable welfare system.  “You are the father!” (Insert sperm donor name here) never has a job.  Never.  Oh well, although, Maury’s paid sideshow acts stink worse than the mustiest elephant, to his good fortune, watching his show is like watching a good “who dunnit.”  By Jove, his circus indeed has some mighty entertaining specimens!

No one disputes that there’s loads of the precious green stuff to be made in the exploitation of depravity.  American television, which has perfected all methods of siphoning up the dregs of society and turning a profit, does not need any foreign aid in stinking up the air ways.  Jerry Springer has been providing that disservice–the same puke–for decades.  But to the funny man’s good repute, at one time, he was an actual 3-D mayor of a real city in real time and not always a festering emerod on the over-exposed loins of modern society. 

Perhaps The Jeremy Kyle Show would be more palatable, less of an emetic, if he were less arrogant and abusive to his guests given his numerous and obvious character flaws.  His pathetic, uninformed victims, also known as guests, should neither be taking advice (i.e. crap) from this anus nor listening to one hissing sound out of his other hypocritical orifice.  He is no more sound of mind than they are, but ignorance leaves them wholly unaware that an English accent only suggests that the speaker is an intellectual.  He, in fact, speaks to them not from on high, but from below.  Far below. 

Royal Pyle’s painful biting affect on the public and his subjects is similar to drinking too much warm water.  The man does not draw up lukewarm feelings.  Either you bloody love him or bloody hate him.  If you’re not already punching him in the bloody face for gettin’ all up in yours, wait a few months and you could be the next contestant on one of his weird shows or, as a parting gift, his next wife.  Either way, in either direction, that should get your bitter juices flowing.  I, for one, will not suffer this royal pain in the arce in silence.  Will you?

Comments (2)

  1. […] suits get a more thorough straightening out—a more thorough wringing out—by the dry cleaner, Jeremy Kyle.  Shoot, these kooks want some, […]

  2. […] they thought for a brief moment the temporary blue suit would trump the forever-and-a-long-hard-day black suit they were born […]

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