Say it Ain't So, Joe!

Mock me if you will, but I've been watching this Joe Millionaire, and I've been enjoying it. Unlike The Bachelor(ette) or all the other "find a mate" shows, this one is intentionally funny. The real host is an hilarious Aussie named Paul Hogan (not that one) who plays (is?) a butler. They make the gold-digging contestants shovel manure and pick grapes. The fake millionaire is really big and stupid and hot. But the girls are even more stupid. Take Amanda, who felt that since another girl was dominating the conversation, Evan (the fake millionaire) will never get to find out how cool she is. That's just retarded. I can walk into a room, never talk to more than three people, and everyone there will know how cool I am (the answer: very). Plus, I wouldn't sit there and let some bitch-ass MoJo prattle on for the whole train ride. Sheesh.

[Dude, Netscape Radio Awesome80s has played three Prince songs in less than three hours. I love them.]

Then there's the asshole who already has a boyfriend and can't speak French to save her life. If the other women had any self-respect, they would have served her up to the producers on a silver platter, or at least short-sheeted her bed. I wish I had known about this show. I can do all those outdoorsy things, plus teach Evan how to read. Did I mention that he's hot? Sure, he's got a lot of eyebrow, but that's okay.

Seriously, there's nothing else on TV on Monday night; check out this show. The best part is the epilogue, where Paul sits in his wing chair, snifter of brandy in his hand, a la Masterpiece Theatre and makes fun of the whole thing. This is refreshing reality TV!