Damn you, Dancing With the Stars! You're a cruel Tivo hog of a bitch. Your celebrity twinkle toes are on too damn much! This week alone there were five hours of you! Five hours. Seriously.
How can I possibly watch all of my shows when you are bogarting the air waves?! I'd drop you like a dirty diaper if there wasn't so much delicious drama brewing this season. How can I miss Erica Kane's stick-figure tip toeing across the floor like a new born faun? Or Kim Kardashian's big old booty that she can't seem to shake? Or Gay Lance Bass thrusting his pelvis around at a woman like a straight dude? Or Tony Braxton dropping dead of a heart attack? Not to mention, Max is back (oh, how I've missed that sexy, sweaty, chest)! Hell, yeah!
And though I cringe at Cloris Leachman's antics (and cleaves) that make me wonder if she's hilarious, senile, or drunk, I wouldn't trade them for all the Privileged in the world.
By the way, I'm hot for that cute little chef, Rocco. Meow.
I love you Dancing With the Stars, but you don't make it easy. No, you make me work for it. And like a young girl desperate for love, I will let you have as much Tivo space as you need. And if you want, I'll even do your laundry. I love you. You don't have to say it back. Unless, you want to. But, I understand if you're not ready to take our relationship to the next level. Unless, you are and then that's cool, too. Whatever.
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