Smile for the Camera.... Darlin'!

Oh dear, it seems I have been neglecting this blog something awful. Clearly my “one pic a day” plans have come a cropper, and hence will be now be referred to as “one pic whenever I get around to it” instead.

Today I read a small article that can be found on Adelaide’s “The Advertiser” website about the most recent victim of Channel 9’s practice of “boning” its female presenters. In case anyone is unsure, Channel 9 is a television station that broadcasts copious quantities of advertising for products no sane person could ever want (at least while they are legally entitled to button their own trousers) with the odd program of dubious entertainment or informative value thrown into the mix just to keep us from trading in our television sets for things we..... well, might actually find of use instead.

Anyways, I’m not here to pour scorn on channel 9, they gush it onto themselves readily enough, I instead wish to unleash my cynical bwahahahaha’s upon the recently boned Kellie Connolly who may just qualify for the “Hypocrite? Who? Me?” award for this year. Yes indeed it appears that Mrs. Connolly has been rocked to the core after being the latest casualty and is not too pleased about it. The pearly whites and the pleasant face it appears were not enough to save her from the chopping block, probably because some other unmarried, non-pregnant, white toothed glamour has joined the ranks and taken her place on the gravy train.... oh yeah and some shit about journalistic ability too, yada yada yada.

Is there a naivety inherent in the concept that if you score a gig on “A Current Affair” or one of the plague of morning breakfast television shows that ooze, puss-like, from the screen you got the gig due to journalistic credentials? ...... wow... ACA, morning breakfast television, and journalistic credentials all in one sentence. I feel sooooo dirty.

Kellie, you didn’t complain when they put you up in the apartment overlooking SinCity Harbour, you didn’t complain when they poured fucking stupid amounts of cash into your bank account. You had a damn good run in a game more crooked than a poker table on a Mississippi steamboat. You don’t now have a right to sully the strides made by the real feminists who are battling the real issues by jumping aboard a bandwagon and saying how appalled you are that it was all about teeth and tits. If your that good a journalist, pursue a career in the free press where there is some integrity, but little chance to attend the Logies underpantless I’m afraid.

The article can be found here.