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segunda-feira, 3 de agosto de 2009

Farm Reality Show

Some years ago, I still remember, there was a reality show that involved a farm and artists that were not so artists and not so famous. The idea was simple, the artists had to take care of the farm, its animals and everything while they had to deal with each other. Every week someone was out. In the end only one would win the money prize, but the psychological problem that live in a house full of cameras and people that deep inside only want you to fuck yourself, was free to every participant. Just like every reality show

Things were fine in the first week, but only in the first. I’m not saying this because this is a history, but in the real world, of the real people, almost every time the feeling of new, of novelty, fades away some time later it started, because people naturally remember who they really are as times goes by. Change who we are is not easy. And that’s why most people can’t change only for some time. Do you remember that friend of yours who said that was the last time he got drunk? Yeah, you got it.

But keeping up with what is important (and your drunk friend is not important to me, sorry) those were artists, but not artists in the meaning of someone that truly feel art inside so much that can’t sleep. In fact, if they were this kind of artist, they would have a lot of philosophical talks, they would create things, messages to the public and a bunch of other things that in other words would make the show a ridiculous miserable unforgiving fail. Yeah, that’s right, at that time what people really liked in a reality show were 4 things: seminude people, people making out, weird stuff and fights. Artistic and deep messages my ass.

With this profile in mind, the producers behind the show selected, and very well, the participants. Actually, too much well.

Those “artists” until that show had never worked for real in something in their lives. In the country where this reality show happened was normal someone became famous not because of especial talent, but because of friends or a father with money that wanted it’s child to make something in life, anything, after all, anything was better than nothing. Because everything was a game of exchanging favors, bought or obtained with fake friendships where both sides knew how mediocre they were and how they shouldn’t talk about it, the art of these artists were very much “questionable”, you see? They weren’t people who had as the main ability in life the art they modestly did. Their real ability was to get drunk and make stupid shit, what was perfect to the show.

The secret rule hidden in every big accident is that behind of a stupid mind that makes the great mistake that causes the mess, is an intelligent mind that let the mess happen. The production crew heard when in a casual talk the participants decided that it would be very funny to mix beer with the animal food and give to the animals, just to see what would happen.

The cameras all around the house recorded every move, the production crew could have done something, they could stop, they could say “no, no, no, what a shame”, but they decided it was better to let things flow, after all that incredible idea made the audience significantly raise up and, maybe, they would never do that in the end. Yes people were talking in the streets about that plan to make animals drunk and appeared to be very much interested in what was going to happen. And we can’t blame them, no, we can’t, life can be pretty stupid sometimes.

A few days later, suddenly, the once idea of mix beer with animal food became a fact. The animals could for the first time taste the “good things of life”, as one of the participants said, while watching one of the sheep hit the fence with its head. Everybody said it was hilarious and, let’s be honest, it was at least a bit funny, even if we feel sorry for the sheep.

After made the animals get drunk, the participants started to feel more safe and free to adjust that enclosed ambient of the farm to their natural ambient. In a morning they decided they would no longer take care of the animals, or the gardens or any shit else of that farm. “YEAH! THAT’S IT! ANARCHY, UHU!” was what one of the participants that had the stereotype of an “actor son of a teacher of Sociology” screamed, probably making his Sociologist father ashamed. It was settled that anyone who wanted to be the “mister every correct guy” and take care of the things, was free to do it, but it was ok to just lay around or… I don’t know, run naked scaring the chickens. The only thing they would still make was keep giving the mix of animal food and beer to the animals, because the poor creatures also deserved to enjoy life, as they said.

The producers considered to do something, they made a meeting with cookies, tea and coffee, but the audience was even higher, so higher that stop what was happening was out of question. It was already the highest audience f the history of that company. Nothing really bad had happened until that moment, the animals were drunk, but just for a few days, it was just a child play. The artists were just trying to overcome the problems of being locked away of the world in that farm, poor dears, what a pity. The producers decided then to let things go while their smiles were growing just like the money in their safes.

Animals were drunk for some more days, but just some more, because after this time the artists lost interest on that activity. You know how it was, too much job to do nothing and feed animals with especial drunk mix. To make sure the animals would not starve to dead they left all the bags of regular food with the animals. Problem solved.

The great fact, however, to everyone’s surprise, was that the animals appeared to miss the beer and food mix so much. Really, really, so much. For some unknown reason, the animals were now alcoholics, how the following facts proved. At one of those ironic moments of the fate, the artists had discovered a miraculous recipe to conduct creatures to the alcoholism by mixing animal food and the beer of the sponsor. In the following days the animals were different, they were sad, with a tired and miserable look on their faces, with all the symptoms that Wikipedia can describe to an alcoholic. Maybe is in the nature of the human being commit mistakes that forces the universe to go into directions it never meant to be. The animals watched the participants in a attempt to learn everything they could to get out of that moment of crisis, to get out of the alcoholism. The terrible alcoholism.

At first, they tried to make meetings where they could share their experiences and situations caused by their condition of alcoholics. Each one of them had to stand up and tell its history, yes, tell, at that point the alcoholism had forced they to even learn how to talk. The problem was that just like for some humans, this method wasn’t working and in the middle of the second meeting they decided that the best thing to do was to invade the human house, because they certainly had more beer and they were hiding it selfishly. As we can see, the animals also had learned with the participants how to make stupid conclusions and idiotic conspiracy plans of treason that could be avoided by direct and simple questions. Shame.

The animals plan was very simple. They were going to make a fake musical concert. Miss Cow was going to sing, because she was the only one among the animals of the farm that had developed the ability to sing in F, what we all already know is a very special requirement to anyone how wants to be a true musician, especially for the musicians participants of the show, if you see what I mean. Once the show started and the humans became delighted by the slightly hoarse voice of Miss Cow, the animals were going to attack, killing every one and taking the house. It was a perfect plan, after all, a cow that sings in F, who would not be delighted? Who?

All the producers of the show had another meeting. Cookies, tea and coffee were there again. For the first time they said they were a bit concerned and the main discussion were the numbers. The numbers indicated that the audience was incredibly high, the money getting in was so much, so much, that would be immoral to stop men and animals to fight with elaborated plots involving singing cows. No one, no one at all dared to lose an episode of the show.

The problem was that they knew it all could end up very bad, because whenever there is a lot of money getting in, there is someone just thinking in a way to sue somebody to get a part of that money, or maybe all of it. They didn’t want any sue, nor any ugly comments and people from Greenpeace and friends making noise around the cake. The solution was call psychologists, biologists and social agents to justify the show. They also called PhD people to create thesis to transform that mess into scientific experiment. Anything to keep the wheel spinning, the drinks, the awesome stupid talks with people making out, dirty jokes and the promise of a rebellion that sooner or later would light up.

People on the streets were talking, were worrying, speculating, placing bets about how the rebellion would be, or if any would happen. There was this guy with beard and glasses, he said everything was a lie, everything was a conspiracy to make people busy with silly things and not with how the rulers of their country were using their money. Correct or not, no one ever listen to the guys with beard and glasses, not even to Santa Claus who is famous by his “hou hou hou” and not by his subversive politic opinions. You never asked yourself why he wears red? Think about it.

Anyhow, it was going to happen at Monday. A brave chicken was the messenger, inviting the artists to the show of miss Cow. The artists accepted the honor, but they also had the impression that all that was very suspect, after all, a chicken came by to invite you to see a Cow singing is not something that happens every day. No, it is not. The artists were masters in the art of making stupid deductions and theories of conspiracy with no sense at all, being even capable of conclusions of great and deep eloquence such as “the reincarnation is true because the Earth is round”, or even “my breasts have insurance because I’m smart”, so they accepted the invitation, but they knew they should have care.

At the big day, when miss Cow started to sing and people got delighted, all the other animals attacked screaming sentences of order such as “we want more beer, you fucking humans!”. It was an ugly battle and with no winners.

The producers, noticing the audience beating world wide and probably universal wide records, made the most correct thing to do in this case. Using a helicopter they sent more cows, sheep, horses, chickens, and also, of course, guns and rifles. The later ones to the participants.

If they wanted to kill themselves, It had to be an epic battle.

With the help of the producers, a diplomatic meeting was arranged. A designated member of each side of the quarrel, one for the fake plastic artists and other from the alcoholic conspiratory animals, with the host of the show, all together, by a gentleman’s agreement, settled the day of the final battle. It was pointed to the next Sunday at noon. The epic encounter was view in over 100 countries all around the world. Even some astronauts stopped their job for a while to watch. It was bigger than the Super Bowl.

Despite the fact that many were cheering to the animals, they could not fight against rifles and guns, even if the shooters were a bit no so that smart. This way, all the alcoholic animals and their friends that came by helicopter only to increase numbers, were killed. The “not so artistic” humans had won that merciless, and according to many inevitable, clash between human and nature.

Then, there was the end. There was nothing else to do to keep people’s attention on the show. The producers had just one idea. They, like if they were able to do magic, summoned a troop of barbecue’s men to invade the farm. The objective, of course, was to do a gigantic barbecue party with all that meat from alcoholic animal and also with the meat of the animals that came later only to have a miserable and senseless dead.

The few people that could enjoy the meat party says until this day “that was the best barbecue ever made”, what is probably truth, after all no one had ever killed a alcoholic animal in the heat of a battle with shoots from guns, just to see how the meat would taste. But that is it. This is the role of the television and the reality shows, show things that we didn’t knew while they show who we are. And that’s the role of the histories, don’t let us to forget these things. Never.