Chat show hell.
Voyeurs in the audience.
Exhibitionists on the stage.
And me? The voyeur or voyeurs -
Transfixed by the inanity of it all.
The audience, like Romans at the Coliseum, screams for titillation.
Screams for vice.
Then screams for someone to pay the price for its fun.
The sacrificial fool basks in his five-minutes fame.
He teases the audience with misdeeds conceived in a wet dream.
The audience – as shocked as a nympho at an orgy.
Still, the game has to be played.
The script needs to be followed.
The host, like a lion tamer, throws the audience titbits which titillate.
On which they gorge like mad dogs.
He controls the audience as Hitler controlled his.
There is form to this chaos.
A gradual crescendo of outrage - orchestrated to a climax
In which the sinner is brought out to face the rabids.
He is barely safe, as the audience strains at the leash.
It is red-eyed and foaming like a medieval crowd on the scent of a hanging.
Or like those zealots who lust for Hindley’s blood.
The host relishes his power.
He teases and tempts, but keeps control…
Even the shows final showdown, the cathartic release
In which fists and expletives fly,
Is carefully orchestrated.
Oh! Isn’t this fun!
Dear Host, please let there be real blood.