You guys, this show is just too sad to watch, TOO SAD! It’s one thing to make fun of Julia for her online antics, but it really is something else to see the crazy in claymation. It’s not funny-haha. It’s just deeply depressing, and as I had suspected, somewhat exploitative. It’s one thing for Julia Allison to be a psychotic asshole all on her own, but to bottle her up in some all white condo and goad the crazy by staging contrived situations for the sake of “entertainment”. . . gah! It’s just shameful and sadistic and disgusting. I have never been so uncomfortable watching an hour of television in my life.
Look, I understand the blatant hypocrisy of what I am writing. I have said some mean, MEAN things about Julia Allison. In fact, just yesterday, I compared Julia to a post-op tranny who wanted to get fucked to make sure her new parts worked. And I have been relentless in my callous name-calling and merciless reblogging of Julia’s insanity, (I admit it) disturbingly so. But Bravo, you need to stop. I sincerely mean that. Come on, if I, one of Julia’s most vicious detractors, can’t get behind this show like I would a leather-clad bitch boy bent over a sling, there is something seriously wrong with you. I recall a joke made by the great Margaret Cho about right-wing Christian fundamentalists: “Even the Satanists are saying, ‘Wow, you guys are being really mean.'”
I have never really been able to eloquently articulate why I continue to blog here. I mean, let’s not kid ourselves. This place is weird. We’re a bunch of cooped up hens pecking abhorrent and depraved insults on a keyboard 24/7 and directing them at a woman who for most (but not all) of us exists solely online. Julia Allison is completely irrelevant now, and just a few years ago, she was only relevant in a microscopic group of bull-horn waving media types who think they are more important than they actually are. I’ll concede, New York Observer, that, to the unindonktrinated, we come across completely unhinged. And time and time again, commenters have expressed how difficult it is to explain this little hobby to people in their offline lives, and few have come up with a concise and clear explanation. I know I haven’t, because explaining Julia Allison to those who don’t know Julia Allison takes hours of untangling the threads of her unraveling crazy. And the most I can get out of somebody is, “Yeah, she’s a nutball. But really?”
The only word that comes close to explain why I the donkey is “fascination.” That’s it. I find Julia Allison fascinating, because I have never encountered someone so lacking in self-awareness in my life, someone so unwilling to explore her role in her own misery. The lack of work-ethic and personal responsibility astounds me And just when you think she can’t get any lower, our donkey goes out and gets a bigger shovel. I’d like to think, and feel free to call bullshit, that woven in between vicious insults and fantastically bitchy snark, is honest and sincere advice — namely don’t be an asshole, apologize, get a real job, take responsibility for yourself and MY GOD, WOMEN, SUPERGLUE YOURSELF TO A THERAPIST’S COUCH BECAUSE, YOU ARE HONEST TO GREG, MENTALLY ILL.
Now I’m not apologizing. Julia actively courted this attention. She should have learned, years ago, long before this site popped up, that the reaction she receives from broadcasting her life online is derision. If Julia were a reasonable, mature adult, she would have pulled the plug on her online antics years ago, during the relentless Gawker coverage. Yet, here we are, years later, same shit, different face.
But there’s a reason why Jacy and I stress over and over again to not poke the donkey. It changes her behavior. It would be like Jane Goodall hurling rocks at a chimpanzee before walking over to squat and take a piss on it. OF COURSE IT’S GOING TO REACT. But it’s kind of unfair for you to point and laugh at her because you are the one that made her a raging asshole. It’s really cheap, and frankly, not even remotely as rewarding as watching the crazy unfold all on its own.
And that is the fundamental problem with Miss Advised. It is one gigantic poke. Producers have ignited the mental illness of a narcissistic hosebeast for the sake of entertainment. But the result is simply not entertaining. It’s gross and calculated and callous.
The editors and producers clearly hate her. And every second I spent watching this sadistic mess, makes me hate humanity just a tiny bit more.
And with that, on to episode 2.
Julia Allison begins the episode by yammering on about being a journalisth. She proves what a serious journalist she is by spouting off the titles of superficial lady rags that she wrote for (and some she possibly didn’t) more than five years ago. And you want to know something new about Julia? ELLE is her dream job, even though I don’t recall her ever having mentioned ELLE being her dream job ever, no, not ever, in her exhaustive record of her inappropriate lifecasting. Her real dream job? No job, silly! Oh, and writing is hard and prethentathon and perfethion, and her momsers wrote for Nixon, and Julia tells us how she takes her craft very seriously, as if she is completely unaware that Google was invented and people can use the search engine to make a more accurate assessment of Julia’s writing standards.
Producers thought it would be funny to pile up all of Julia’s stuff in one corner to create the illusion that she has more stuff than she actually has. That way they can trick the audience into thinking they are watching Hoarders, a reality show people actually watch.
Here is Julia fake crying over her fake phone call from her fake editor at her fake job. The scene is meant to portray Julia as someone who is fantastically lazy and work-averse, which, yeah we know. So I find it ironic that I have never seen Julia work as hard as she did in this scene to make it look like this whole fabricated set-up was real. But that look of sheer panic and horror over her tight deadline? Completely authentic. And completely hilarious.
Julia has a meeting, which obviously translates to PRECIOUS FOOD. Before we move on, a little personal thing about me, Julia’s Publicist. One of the first rules about this club I go to, um. . . anonymously is that you admit that you are wrong. (Actually, it’s the fourth rule. And the tenth.) So I’d like to admit that I was wrong in assuming that gay Keith Pollack is super gay so it is hilarious that he is portrayed on the show as someone who was hired to date Julia Allison. I apologize. Big Gay Keith is actually being portrayed as her gay Elle editor who clearly thinks that Julia Allison is a stupid bitch.
She pitches her “Guinea Pig of Love” column idea and stammers on like an idiot, and gay Keith hates her and promotional consideration was paid for by Elle, makers of second-rate lady-mags, and CHRIST ALMIGHTY why must she go to a tarot card reader? Why can’t she get actual therapy?
Julia Allison: “Clearly I would benefit from some intense psychoanalysis.”
Gay Keith Pollock: “I would have to say that I agree.”
Julia Allison: HILARIOUS!!!!!!xoxoxo!!!
Flusher Price introduces Julia to some dude named Todd. He points out that Julia has a firm handshake, which was the polite way of saying he immediately noticed her weiner.
But that’s OK because Julia noticed Todd’s weiner as well. And things get hot and steamy inside her Lulus as Julia makes no qualms about wanting to fuck her roommate’s boyfriend.
She might even eschew her compensation in shoes. Julia goes full-on Miss Havisham and desperately lets Todd know that she is desperate for a husband. And does Todd have any friends who are so equally desperate that they’ll go out with Julia Allison despite her desperation?
Todd: No, but I know some dude on whom I need to enact my revenge.
Julia also momentarily forgets that she doesn’t eat meat when she does some sort of herky-jerky shuffle in response to the Todd’s suggestion that they grill steaks, because OMGSTEAKSWON’TSOMEONEJUSTFUCKINGMARRYMEALREADY!
Donkey and J get ready for this beach date, and it is difficult to determine via screenshot who is talking here, because Julia has some serious body issues that should be worked out in therapy, and Julia Price clearly hates Julia, so much so that she comes across as some kind of backstabbing asshole. I guess we’ll never know.
Julia’s date Chris arrives, and she makes a comment about chocolate and licking him up and starts acting all yum-yum-gimme-some like she’s in the “You’re Making Me High” video,” and OMG . . .
The foursome got to the beach to play volleyball and Julia attempts to mate with Chris.
Then that happened and the two topple over unleashing The Big One, and California doesn’t exist anymore because it sunk into the Pacific Ocean. Then Julia amps up her desperation and grills Chris, and it’s all just so terribly sad to watch, and it only gets worse from here.
Like when Julia starts running around in circles in the sand and everyone, including her “sister” Toilet, walk away, blatantly ignoring her.
Then things get really sexy when the date is taken to the bedroom. . .
. . . where, to my complete shock and amazement, we get to see her boner killer of a bedroom ACTUALLY KILL BONERS! And OMG this chick is bonkers, and it’s so obvious that the producers hate her, and Julia does herself absolutely no favors when she lets it slip that she doesn’t mind having her yippy dog in the bed while she is getting plowed, and WOW! JUST WOW! WHO DOES THAT?
And Chris is all, “Oh, hell no. Fuck this shit.”
Then things get excruciatingly painful for the audience as Julia snaps the tether during an ill-advised game of spin the bottle where Chris looks visibly repulsed by Julia and refuses to kiss her. Instead of being able to see signs that can be seen from space, Miss Six Pence None The Wiser begs Chris to kiss her and starts to punch him repeatedly. PUNCHING HIM!!!! And as he is running out the door she literally, like, LITERALLY THREW HERSELF AT HIM, and I thought that was just a figure of speech, and I am cringing with Canklehausen by Proxy because this is all happening on national television, and she is seriously having a mini-breakdown, and it just seems unfair because lest you forget THIS DATE IS FAKE, and the only person who doesn’t realize it is Julia Allison.
The episode closes with me feeling so grimy and gross because “uncomfortable” doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt after watching last night’s episode, and I don’t think shitty reality TV is supposed to make me feel that way.
I feel dead inside. I need something completely different, yet remarkably relevant to cleanse my soul.