Friday, May 01, 2015

Blockheads are dickheads

I used to be a fan of The Block.  Thought it was great.  Apparently, so did a lot of other people, and it was decided by the geniuses who rule the TV that it should be on for about eight hours each night.  Then it was decided by the TV rulers that it should be bigger than last year.  Then bigger.  And bigger.  With more people.  Then with the same people.  But always bigger BIGGER BIGGER.

Because bigger is best.  Bigger means more excitement, more interest, more fun. 

Essentially, The Block is about four teams renovating four houses.  They get given a few hundred grand to spend on tiles, paint, furniture and actual professionals to come in and build their shit properly.  Of course, you also have the option of not hiring professionals and hard-wiring your own electricity to save money to spend on more down-lights.  Each team is then judged by three wankers on the quality of their cornices and the colours of their cushions.  Eventually, the houses get sold and the contestants win some money. 

It started with the teams doing up four three-bedroom houses in Bondi.  Nice part of the world, nice houses, and everyone was happy.  Then they did some in Melbourne.  Bigger houses, nice location, everyone was happy.  Then they decided to create three-floor townhouse apartments, gave them half the money and turned off their electricity for a few months.  Some of the viewers were happy.  Then they gave them less money, no electricity, no experience and instructed them to renovate heritage-listed homes.  A few people were happy.  Then they made the contestants sleep in an office block with no electricity, no plumbing and no food and instructed them to build shops in which to sell things that they made to earn money to renovate a mansion to be sold.  A lot of people were confused.

And the latest series has just wrapped up, with perennial cunts Dea and Daz earning themselves close to a million dollars in prize money.  To have these idiots win came as a huge shock to a lot of people, considering they were on the previous series and threatened to sue Channel 9 if they weren’t given more prize money this time.  They are also already rich as fuck, as ex-AFL player Daz now runs his own carpentry business, while Dea hires herself out as a penis impersonator. 

The contestants are only part of why the show has become a bit shit.  The scope of the project is just too big.  I am not fooled for one fucking microsecond that the time-frame that the contestants get given by Scott “Please Punch Me in the Face” Cam is realistic, and that the ‘reality tv show clock’ gets used.  “You need to do a bathroom and a laundry and a living room and an outdoor gazebo thanks to our friends at Mitre 10 in four days!”  I’m sorry, but it takes four days to put a fitted sheet on a bed properly, let alone waterproofing a bathroom the size of a football stadium.  The contestants are forced to hire tradies to do all of the work – and fuck it, they have to; if I was a punter looking to buy a house for about $2 million that was built by a guy who looks like a hobbit and keeps supergluing himself to the bannister, I’d be a bit fucking wary and would take my coin elsewhere, you know, to a place that isn’t being held up by Channel 9 cameras and gaffa tape.

So if there are full-time builders who are there to knock up a house, what do the contestants actually do?  Well done, viewers, you’ve just watched a whole season of eight spastics buy taps for the kitchen, thanks to our friends at Stegbar, and hang ‘industrial chic pendant lights’ next to a mattress with a giant fucking bed-head, thanks to our friends at Everything Looks the Same. 

But they have more than the ability to throw a rug, thanks to our friends at Freedom; they also have to paint the walls and ceilings of their houses, a job they seem to enjoy doing at about 3am while they mung on energy drinks, thanks to our friends at Monster, to the beat of the Top 40, thanks to our friends at Mushroom Records. 

The judges are all a pack of fuckwits too.  The bald guy doesn’t wear socks with his suit, the young bloke just stares at the ceiling all day and the woman seems to be drunk most of the time.  All three of them begin each critique with the phrase “look at this.”  It’s a fucking television show, you dipshit.  We have to look at “that.”

Go back to building a fucking house.  Fuck The Block.  Fuck the contestants, fuck the hosts, fuck the show, fuck our friends at Masters, Australia's fastest growing hardware store.  Fuck it all. 

Previously on The Block, we didn't show you enough sponsorship, so we're showing it to you again

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