The meanest man in all of TV land is not American Idol’s Simon Cowell nor the semi-dreadful but boring Piers Morgan of America’s Got Talent. These fellows are the Pussycat Dolls compared to the King of All Nasty Mortals on the Reality Channel: Hell’s Kitchen’s Gordon Ramsay, who by the way, is coincidentally British like all the rest of the television curmudgeons out there. What’s with all these imported northern grousers coming to our shores to make a mint off of mocking our aspiring “talents”? There seems to be a trend here. Do Americans really enjoy being lambasted by forked tongues from foreign lands? Is it all the fault of that slick accent that somehow makes any insult sound almost like veiled acceptance?

Simon: “If your lifeguard duties were as good as your singing, a lot of people would be drowning.”
Piers: “I don’t think it’s very easy to arrange car crashes.”
Gordon: “Escort these two ladies please… Back to plastic surgery.”

Simon: “Why are you having a normal conversation with him? This is a dairy farmer dressed as a woman.”
Piers: “We now know that one of the footman at the palace was a Daily Mirror journalist…”
Gordon: “The problem with Yanks is they are wimps.”

My Meanness Ratings?

Simon: amusing, funny
Piers: uncomfortable, as if he’s trying too hard
Gordon: hard-core

At any rate, I do get a kick out of some of those heartless comments uttered by Mr. Ramsay, my favorites being “You Donkey!” (which sounds more like “Yeewww Dunkee!”) and the truly refreshing “Move Your Ass!” (or was that “Mewv Yer Arse!”) It awakens in me some strange glee that I had seemingly relegated to a childhood full of rambunctious mischief, especially when some other poor sucker of a kid would bear the brunt of my misdeeds (I learned the art of finger pointing rather early; that is, the skill of blame deflection). But glee aside, does anyone really believe that the skull and dagger talk is the way to figure out what hopefuls are made of — to filter the cream from the dregs, or as they say, the way to separate the meat from the chaff, the men from the boys? I’m amazed at what the poor blokes on these tv contests have to put up with week after week. All to get a shot at stardom and victory.

Let’s see, that brings to mind some fond memories… there was a time when I once withstood two years of almost daily castigation:

“This bloody piece of @#&*(%#$)% hell better make it to !@&^*(#% tomorrow or else I’ll bloody have a @#*%$&#%!!!!”

from a boss from hell. Funny… he was also, coincidentally, an import.

< Credit: thinkexist.com for the chuckle-worthy citations >