Saturday, March 11, 2017

Real Housewives of Toronto: Plastic, Pretty, Petty

The Real Housewives of Toronto Episode One

The dumbing-down influence of self-serving reality TV personalities on North American culture continues this week with a new series, The Real Housewives of Toronto. 

Starting from the left we have Grego, Kara, Roxy, Joan, Ann and Jana

It's another crop of silicone balls on stilettos, teetering around like circus clowns on stilts, which is a tired cliche, but so too are these women a tired cliche. Their husbands lurking in the periphery are a little more interesting, but they don't interest me in the way they might interest, Jana Webb, for example. 

An unrelated picture of a trophy wife and the men who lurk about her in ejaculatory anticipation.

Jana, an opportunist (a.k.a entrepreneur), who long ago left the stench of rotting decapitated chickens in the dust of her Albertan farm town upbringing, says she'd never mess around with another woman's husband, but she's obviously lying. 

She freely admits married women are wary of her, and that she's a "single blonde" with an entire "roster" of sexual partners. Presumably she keeps a discerning eye open for new recruits. The problem is that most men are not much of a challenge for the libidinous appetites of female predators who look like Jana. It is only a matter of time before easy prey becomes an unarousing annoyance and bore. 

Married men, on the other hand, while still not much of a challenge, can nevertheless be a tad more enticing to Barbie doll types on the prowl, who enjoy the game of a strategic hunt even more than the kill itself. For the huntress, there's something exquisitely satisfying about stalking and conquering another woman's territory.

As for me, I'm more a curious observer of human behaviour than a predator, and like Kurt Cobain "my will is good". My interest in the hideous husbands of plastic women, therefore, revolves more around the generally understood notion that wherever there is a filthy rich man, whether married or not, there's almost always a slimy trail of corruption and debauchery.

These men, however, or at least the reputation management (there's an Orwellian euphemism for ya) people they employ, are quite adept at covering their tracks. So unless you're a shrewd investigative journalist with insider contacts, hacking skills and a bone to pick, or perhaps someone driven by the inner fire of a personal vendetta, you will probably have to resign yourself to speculation and suspicion.

My own suspicious nature directs my scrutiny towards Magna CEO, Donald J. Walker, and his desperate-to-stop-the-aging-process-former-model-Stepford-wife, Joan Kelley-Walker. 

While motorcycle-riding Don, who incidentally is the ex-husband of heiress and tabloid fodder, Belinda Stronach (which curiously no one mentions) is up to his shady proclivities (see here), whatever those may be, ole Joan is mindlessly popping brain cells in these totally out of control bubble baths she's constantly having. 

Joan Kelley Walker doing what she does best.
Either that, or she's burning what remains of said brain cells racing on a treadmill going nowhere. She's manically trying to keep Donald and his millions "happy", like a crazed botoxed hamster spinning her heels on a wheel. She deludes herself that by staying "trophy wife fighting fit" no one will notice she's passed the half-century mark, Don will never stray, and she can continue with the conceited humble-bragging.

Speaking of maturing beauties who love to brag, next we come to an odd duck named Kara Alloway and her portly husband, lawyer, Graham Alloway. Kara insists (to Jana, of all people, an expert in the fitness world) that tubby Graham "loves yoga", is "the teacher's pet" and "is REALLY in touch with his body". 

But this is merely one of her delusions. 

More will come and some may see her flakiness as charming, which seems to be the case with her husband. He speaks to her in that indulgent yet paternalistic way privileged, confident men of reasonably good humor speak to the ditzy women they "keep" or marry, as if these women are not self-aware human beings at all, but beloved, ridiculously pampered poodles. 

For Kara's part, she's adapted to the poodle role well and sounds like a yappy fluff ball, babbling idiot or the "born again Christian" she claims to be (which in some circles all mean the same thing). 

She holds some unorthodox ideas regarding Jesus Christ as well, believing he was nailed to a cross, died a barbaric death and descended into the torments of hell before being resurrected, not to save lost souls, but so that 2000 years later she, Kara Alloway, could be "fabulous", "party" and "want for nothing". 

She thinks that Christians who don't agree with her version of things are misguided, not because they deviate into sin, but because they have "hairy armpits and wear long skirts and Birkenstocks". This, according to her peculiar interpretation of scripture, goes against God's will that "Jesus freaks" wear high heels, "the higher the heel, the higher to God". 

It should go without saying, then, that there's something exceedingly stupid about the way Kara is being presented on the Real Housewives of Toronto. McGill's reputation is done NO FAVOURS by having their institution named as her source of higher education when she's being portrayed in this way. They already had enough to sully their reputation, what with their past CIA-funded experimentation with brainwashing and psychological tortureor more recently, the concerning ascent of their current darkest star, alt right ideologue, soon to be cult leader, Jordan Peterson, champion of the pronoun and bigot extraordinaire, determined to prevent humanity from progressing past the hatreds of old. McGill really did not need another one of their own being made a spectacle of on TV to further dirty their already disgraced waters. 

But putting that aside for the time being, let us now look at our next housewife, the voluptuous Roxy Earle. I don't know where she was educated, but she too sounds pretty stupid, as she prattles on in her vocal fry voice about spending the equivalent of a small mortgage on her fucking dog. She cannot think of ANYTHING else to do with all that money she has access to, even though she lives in a city with an epidemic of homelessness, poverty and other social ills a few bucks could help alleviate.

Otherwise, besides being clueless regarding the underclass and how they suffer, Roxy is bubbly and likable the way giggly extroverts are. But as is often the case with this mold of person, there's not much substance beneath the adipose tissue and mammary ducts. She's the second wife of Raghu, a wealthy investment banker, who is comparatively slight in build, has an affinity for loud paisley and is 17 years her senior. Is this marriage the result of "true love" or a business arrangement? Either way, the sleaze factor should be apparent with those few details alone.

For greed, all nature is too little ~ Seneca

And the sleaze does not stop there. Next we have another vacuous piece of ass named Grego Minot. She is married to Pierre Jutras, nightclub/restaurant mogul and president of The Spoke Club, which is open to private members only ("Vice is hard to Kill"). That's the way Sleazy with a capital S works - shrouded in mystery like a secret Masonic lodge dance ritual involving young, scantily clad granddaughter-aged girls entertaining geriatric men (essentially making these "men" no better than pedophiles as far as I'm concerned), with white hair and sunk in faces, who drool as they clutch Cialis in their tremulous hands in a haze of demented horny confusion.

With regards to Pierre, he might not be classified as geriatric quite yet, but he looks even more cosmetically tampered with than his pretty "yahooing", life-of-the-party wife, another woman sorely lacking in substance.

This finally brings us to Ann Kaplan-Mulholland, whom I sort of liked, but think she should reconsider letting her well-respected plastic surgeon husband, Dr. Stephen Muholland, touch her with a scalpel because she's looking rather Michael Jackson-esque. 

Maybe munchkin Stephen with his slicked back hair and noble crusade to improve the already improved lives of vain socialites desperate to stay young would do a better job than whomever Ann is currently seeing. 

But maybe not. 

With a bout of hepatosplenomegaly and Ann swearing off booze for the sake of her dear, two-tiered health care promoting hubby, perhaps he has a little drinking problem. Alcoholics tend to shake, although watching Stevie in action performing an "instant rhinoplasty" at the "procedure party" they just "happened" to throw together, he appears to have the steady hand of a well, I might add, as the clear conscience and steely resolve of a reincarnated Dr. Mengele.

So there you go. More reality TV exploiters and hustlers for us common folk to keep a watchful eye on, either for escapist amusement or for some other felonious motive one can only assume...

~ Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable ~

Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 1: Dumb, Plastic and Sleazy
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 2: Boring Housewives and Ugly Husbands
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 3: The Polished Real Housewives of Toronto
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 4: The Slut Shame
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 5: Amazing Reality TV Stars
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 6: Infomercials and Friends in High Places
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 7: Social Suicide: Game of Thrones to the Rescue
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 8: Curious incuriosity
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 9: Denials, Dragons and Dummies
Real Housewives of Toronto, Episode 10, Season Finale: Final Absurdities


  1. These women are so shallow, They give Toronto a bad name

    1. Women in general are made to look stupid and superficial because of these shows. Unfortunately, television and celebrity culture continue to have an enormous influence on what people accept as true, especially as this "truth" pertains to women. This stuff isn't true though. It's based on female caricatures, anomalies and lies, and the production companies that keep churning this crap out year after year, as well as the people who benefit from it (i.e. the women themselves as well as their "friends", husbands and business interests) should be satirized whenever possible.


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.