Demmet, Woman!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Above is a screenshot from the latest episode of the particular talk/comedy show—on the particular new cable channel that caters to one particular gender—of which I am a segment producer. (I am in no mood for a lawsuit.) The shot’s from a gag we did where the show’s production team pretended to be that night’s musical guest, renegade rakstars Baste and The Mastards. From L-R: me (The Girl in the Dirty Trench), Pancho (The New Pancho Villa), psycho-guest Oz (who went apeshit on the show’s host during his origami demonstration because the host wasn’t capable of making a flawless flapping paper crane), Tengal (as his alter-ego Baste G’azin, the recurring irate misogynist character we’re grooming for total cult status), and our bad-ass exec prod/demigod Karl.
The episode also featured a whole slew of swearing in the opening spiel (bleeped out, which upped the hilarity as all censorship is wont to do), a comedy skit on the porno industry, an interview with Kael a.k.a. Taba, a welga scene out on the studio sidewalk, etc. It was our best episode yet. It was banned. The powers-that-be refused to air it due to all the profanity and visual humping references. (Don’t fret, Taba, your segment was relatively the most family-friendly.)
Now, considering that it is our thrust to assimilate a (hopefully) funny brand of deviance into this show, our getting censored can be considered some sort of achievement. I suppose it’s a sign that we’re doing something right. All we have to do now is not to temper it, but to let the craptasticness wriggle into the segments with a tad more subtlety. Our request for a later timeslot should also work in our favor (we used to be on primetime, kamusta naman).
It’s good fun working for a chauvinist network, being someone who has more empathy for the dumbass philosophies of the opposite sex than for her own. It is ironic that these very philosophies have placed me in many a damned taxi-riding situation, but still. Can’t fucking help it. But I am, and always will be, a cunt—every inch female, mind and body forever pestered by the fascinating phallus. Yet, judging by my need for self-preservation, I do find it far more constructive to be in the company of men.
There’s a father issue here somewhere.
posted by marguerite @ 4:42 PM
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