Sure, The Beautiful People Get To Starve

I am so horribly addicted to Hell's Kitchen it's not even funny. Well, it is funny. It's fucking hilarious. It combines two of my favorite things in life: cooking, and hatred.

I could give a shit less whether Gordon Ramsay is a good cook, because he's a totally awesome drill sergeant. He's like R. Lee Ermey in Full Metal Jacket, and all of his cooking apprentice game-show slaves are like the guy who commits suicide in the bathroom. I know it's basically The Apprentice meets Iron Chef, but the screaming! Oh, the screaming. Kurt Cobain wishes he had Ramsay's talent.

So, apparently, you get to go to Hell's Kitchen (and not even eat, if Ramsay shuts down the kitchen) by invitation only. It figures that once and one time only in my life I have a small reason to be jealous of the beautiful people. Of course, they play a role I couldn't do anyways- they actually start bitching when they've gone without food for an hour, like they didn't know that they might not get to eat. It's just a big show, people. Treat it like a third date and get a little something before you go to the main event. (If it actually is a third date, well, you'll probably need some skills to eat and masturbate at the same time).

Of course, I know nothing about how the rich pretties live. For all I know, Hell's Kitchen invites might just be a huge prank they play on each other. Oh, fa-ra-ra, I totally got you with those shitass dinner invites. I bet you didn't eat anything all night. Lucky bastards.