Falling in Love with Jerry Springer All Over Again

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by Kolby Solinsky

Editor, White Cover Magazine

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Human beings forget so easily.

You think white trash only exists in the comment threat below some Bill Maher YouTube video? Do you think Internet was the first medium to multiply filth and substance-less comedy like dogs talking and monkeys water-skiing? Guess again.

No. Television has been doing this for a long time. Local news anchors have been buying into animals and baby videos for years. Television personalities have been sucking the funny out of comedy for a very long time.

And, Jerry Springer’s white trash folk tour has been off and running far longer than your Tumblr about the kids from Laguna Beach.

Turn it on. I dare you.

This is where the lowest rungs of American humanity exist. They come from every kind of portable home — some single-family, some the trailer park equivalent of a condo — and they’ve all slept with each other.

Their “episodes” have titles like “MARRIAGE PROPOSALS… AND PUNCHES”.

Because, of course, no fiancee can be proposes to without admitting to her new man that she fu*ked several other guys 10 years ago (and yesterday) and one of them is the father of the kid he’s been mentoring for a decade. Not him.

Nobody can tell their spouses or girlfriends they dogged their ex-girlfriend in the privacy of their own home.

No. They have to do it in front of a hundred frothing telemarketers at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday.

Additionally, most of the things people admit to on Jerry Springer are more in line with real crimes. Violence. Murder, sometimes. They aren’t to be settled on stage. They’re to be settled in court.

(Of course, that’s assuming that the story lines on Springer are real, and they’re not.)

If you want to see how far it’s really fallen, turn on The Steve Wilkos Show. Jerry’s former bodyguard now has his own daytime show of an identical nature, although his bald head and gigantic physical presence make Wilkos a little more aggressive than Springer.

And, all the way, here we are… watching it and enjoying it. And, don’t get me wrong, it’s almost impossible to not enjoy.

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Today, I’m sick. Stuck at home with soap operas, Steve, and Jerry. The episode today was about marriage proposals, and the first one was a completely sincere one (again, assuming it was real).

He told Jerry he wanted the audience to perform a Flash Mob for her, and that she had no idea why she was on the show. She admitted that she figured it couldn’t be good news. After all, she said, it’s Springer.

So, the music started. The audience “performed”. They were terrible but, who am I kidding, it’s not their wedding. The groom-to-be marched down the stairs in his father’s dress shirt. He tried to dance. He couldn’t.

He proposed to her. She was crying. She said yes.

And, I sat there in bed with my laptop in front of me and threw my hands up in the air.

“That’s it?!”

Yes. We all want the slaps. I wanted her to say, “Sorry, baby, but I have some news, too…”

I wanted an illegitimate child or a secret family in ‘Bama or a hidden lover who was always more obese than the woman the guy was already with (which always confused me).

Damn it, Jerry. You’re still magic.

Now, I’m off to YouTube to jump in the middle of a Palestinian v. Israel debate below a Carly Rae Jepsen music video.

Later.