I watched between mini-blind fingers, and my friend held the remote poised for quick channel change action on the second I should mouth 'M' for MERCY. But as he said, I'd been watching all season long. It was down to three contestants. I'd survived the horrible swimsuit competition, followed by the even more loathesome lingere competitions, all intermingled with an excrutiatiating number of evening gown changes and exaggerated silences that wept for the loosers before the finalist's names could even be muttered. I might as well pick a favorite. Predict the winning team. Well Peter, we're all winner's here tonight...
SWAN started out as an all time favorite prime time spectacle, but for all the reasons I thought it disobeyed the mainstream. Fistfulls of plain janes trying to sap up their worst features for the applications. Obnoxious husbands they couldn't stand to be around to poke the fire ("Before we got married, and before I started staying out all night with strippers and blowing our nest egg on that there Dooley, Jane used to have a real good self image. I haven't really even wanted to have sex with her now but maybe five times in the past seven years"). Dozens of family and friends able to testify for what big of loosers they always were and looks like will always be... I reveled in the disaster of it. The murder of the surgeries with them waking up sedated and screaming of how it wasn't at all worth the painful agony...then there not even a tiny pint of Ben and Jerrys to stroke them on the back, run fingers through their hair and say 'there there'. So, three months later...with the magic of television we witness the monumental unveiling of their whole new cookie cutter face, only to crush their spirit yet again in a match against opponents deamed far prettier than them still. Hell will be filled with such phsycological anguish. Sheer brilliance.
But it ends in this?
Wait...lingere competition? We're all winners here tonight bullshit? At least the 'wild card' girl they accidently messed up on didn't win or I would have really gone nuts.

Now the more anticipated expose, threatening to arrive any moment now...POST SWAN-COACHES to PUMPKINS.
mmmm...
To feature the unveiling of the tiny nubs left for teeth when the veneers rot off and the military insurance doesn't pay for replacements.
...with helpful tips devised to scam insurance for routine lasics surgery.
New moves for starter strippers at tin roofed neon signed joints to keep up the weave!(because all the beautiful confident women that men love have the same long waving locks that stretch down the back like a 70's porn star!)
Prescription drug recommendations for that peaceful easy feeling that reassures you the marital problems were always your fault...somehow...something that ankle surgery didn't quite make perfect. Your husband is still the same... but damn, your new and improved and too hot now really to still stay with that looser anyway.

Some people say that I'm a dreamer...but I'm not the only one.