A Sweet Sixteen Nightmare

A Sweet Sixteen Nightmare

By Desertcurmudgeon



Warning:  I’m about to make you hate a child like you’ve never hated anyone before in your life.

Lately, if my TV is on, even just as background noise, it’s tuned to either Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network.  The reason for this is that those two channels are “safe zones” (or so I foolishly believed) enabling me to accomplish my goal of making this guy the ONLY orange monster allowed on my TV screen until at least January of 2021:
 


Thanks to Nickelodeon, I’ve become increasingly aware of another monster over the past several years, this one of the technicolor variety.  This abominable swamp beast goes by the name Joelle Joanie “JoJo” Siwa and she is nothing short of a blasphemy upon God’s Green Earth.  Apparently, she first rose to fame on the reality show “Dance Moms”, a claim to fame I think she might share with Honey Boo Boo, but the origins of her current infuriating ubiquity on the network appropriately renowned for green slime is irrelevant to this, my first ever Future TV Review.  All you need to know about this acutely irritating overgrown kewpie doll is that she’s basically famous for wearing humongous bows in her hair and greeting everything she sees with such a ludicrously over-the-top display of psychotic manufactured enthusiasm that I can’t even excuse the toddlers who somehow find her endearing.  There is literally no age for which this horrifying succubus should be considered appropriate.  She also fancies herself a pop star, though as far as I can tell, each of her “songs” is nothing more than a cliched public service announcement of vague “empowerment” messages, such as “We can do it if we see it, if you see it you can be it, you believe it you achieve it, you just D.R.E.A.M.!”  She doesn’t sing her lyrics, and she doesn’t quite rap them – she just screams them at the top of her lungs and even this ends up sounding so terrible that the producers feel the need to saturate it with auto-tune before unleashing the disgusting finished product upon the indiscriminate youth of the world:
 
 
Of course, she doesn’t really have any message beyond, “LOOK AT ME!!  GO TO MY WEBSITE, BUY MY SHITTY OVERPRICED BOWS AND WEAR THEM IN YOUR HAIR JUST LIKE ME!!! MEEEEEEEEE!!” She’s currently the co-host of some Nickelodeon thing where kids compete in a lip-sync contest.  Regardless of the particular act, their talent (or lack thereof) for lip-syncing and dancing, or the song to which they’re performing (frequently one of her atrocious non-songs), her reaction is always the same: “THAT WAS CRAAAAAZY!!  THAT WAS AMAZING, THAT WAS EPIC, THAT WAS ON FIRE, THAT WAS LIT!!!  OH MY GOD!  WHEN YOU DID THAT ONE MOVE, MY JAW DROPPED OPEN AND I WAS LIKE, ‘HOLY COW, DID I JUST SEE THAT?!!” Every.  Fucking.  Time.  If there’s any hidden lesson to be learned by the children at whom she caterwauls, it’s this: If everyone is “crazy and amazing and epic and on fire and lit”, then NO ONE is “crazy or amazing or epic or on fire or lit”. 
 


When this little turd was still at an age more appropriate to her antics, she already had a dangerously receding hairline and I suspect camouflaging her obvious alopecia was the original motivation for the hair bows.  By the time she’s of voting age, she’s gonna look more like Larry Fine than Rainbow Brite.  And that brings us to the actual Future Review that this post is all about.  On Saturday, Nickelodeon will be airing “JoJo’s Epic Dream 16th Birthday Party!!”  That’s right.  This bow-headed pixie from Hell is SIXTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD.  When I was 16, I was an angry, sexually active punk rock enthusiast well on my way to becoming a full-blown alcoholic, as were many of my peers.  If JoJo and her trail of rainbow glitter had even attempted to pass through the halls of my high school, there is a zero percent chance that she would have made it out alive.

So she’s throwing herself a stupid fucking birthday party and Nickelodeon is airing it.  The promos I’ve been seeing promise, among other things, indoor sky diving, go-cart racing and an arrogantly elaborate birthday cake fit for a spoiled rotten five year old.  During the roughly 45 second spots, you can hear her shout “It’s my birthday!” several times like a fucking retarded toddler.  The worst part of it is that not only her horrible parents, but the Nickelodeon producers, several A-list child stars, and modern day Stepin Fetchit Nick Cannon do everything in their power to encourage this little twat to keep committing her crimes against humanity, probably ensuring that she’ll continue her assault on good taste and maturity well into her fifties.

So here, in a nutshell, is my extremely accurate review of this birthday special that has yet to air: “It sucked so hard that it could take the foreskin off an uncircumcised cock.”

But, of course, you know I’m going to watch it.  If you happen to have the nasty habit of picking at scabs or chewing on canker sores, then I’m sure you understand.