Scott Feschuk

Maybe this should be the I love Scott Feschuk blog…

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While ideas for blog entries have been filling up my notepad, I haven’t had much luck when it comes to actually putting down these ideas on paper. This doesn’t seem to be a problem for Scott Feschuk, since he has come up with many great columns lately. I found one from a couple of months ago that I really like, and since this blog seems to be suffering from a temporary lack of originality, I am once again borrowing his genius to make my blog more interesting. I’m planning on writing an article on how fabulous Feschuk is in the hopes that if he does discover my blog (yeah, right), I can get out of a lawsuit by claiming to have expanded his fan base. Then again, the blog’s stats aren’t impressive enough to garner that much attention; this is the first time I am happy about not having a circulation anywhere close to my objective of a million a day…

Without any further ado, I bring to you; once again and probably not for the last time, a brilliant blog post by Scott Feschuk.

We are not yet done screwing up this planet, OK?

SCOTT FESCHUK | June 4, 2008 |

From the deepest jungles of Brazil comes remarkable news of a small indigenous tribe that has had no contact with any other human being on this planet, not even George Clooney, who seems to know everyone.

Recent photographs taken from the air, and later broadcast by cable news channels, show several members of this primitive society wielding crossbows and covered head to toe in red paint. According to researchers, this probably means they really, really support their troops — either that or they just tried to break into Macaulay Culkin’s hut.

The startling discovery of an isolated, uncontacted society is like an M. Night Shyamalan movie come to life, except not boring or dumb. It also challenges our conventional wisdom. For instance, if Walt Disney was completely wrong about this being a small world, what else is a lie? Are the ocean’s pirates not actually crudely rendered animatronic scoundrels? Are there no roller coasters embedded deep in the mountains of space? Can mouse, dog and duck not truly live in harmony?

Some scientists insist it is paramount that we preserve this Brazilian tribe’s autonomy by shielding them from contact with the rest of society and allowing them to carry on their ancient traditions. These are known as “pansy” scientists.

But I say it is our solemn duty to inform these people about the many vast wonders of the wider world that the rest of us are currently imperilling, sullying or destroying. I say we cannot sleep if there exists one society, one tribe, one person on earth who has not yet been exposed to advertisements for Kung Fu Panda. I say that even as we turn our eyes to Mars, even as we scour the outer reaches of the galaxy for signs of existence, we must come to grips with the unsettling fact that we are not yet done screwing up people on this planet.

I will therefore be mounting an expedition into the deepest Amazon. After cutting through foliage, after fending off wild beasts, after running the world’s longest extension cord to keep my Dr. Pepper chilled, we will achieve a deeply historic “first contact” with this idyllic society. We will embrace our fellow humans. We will learn from their simple utopian paradise and subsequently destroy it by getting them bickering over who has dibs on the Wii.

As I travel through the deadly Amazon, I will be accompanied — and, at the first sign of a snake or cobweb, piggybacked — by my elite “first contact” team, which shall be comprised of:

· one doctor, one anthropologist, three entertainment lawyers to negotiate movie rights;

· one Geraldo Rivera (for bait);

· 170 camera operators dressed as bushes;

· one trunk full of post-Genesis Phil Collins records (in case we see a volcano);

· trampoline;

· three Coors Light Maxim golf caddies (no point hauling the trampoline if it’s not going to be put to good use);

· photograph of Scott Baio, in case the tribe needs a god to worship;

· actual Scott Baio, in case the tribe has a god to worship and needs a human sacrifice.

Some may consider my expedition monstrous, a blight on civilized thought, a thin pretext for rounding up the last untainted control group on the face of the earth for my client, the pharmaceutical industry. But think of this way: if you were an isolated tribal culture, would you want to learn about Tatum O’Neal’s drug bust by smoke signal or carrier mule? That’s the kind of news you need to have broken to you in person.

Once contact is made, we’ll have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll discover all about the Brazilian tribe’s culture through its noble traditions of storytelling, cave drawings and erotic acts performed on bespectacled Caucasian strangers (these are guesses). And I’ll fill them in on all they need to know about the rest of earth’s culture by showing them Planet of the Apes and a picture of Mariah Carey’s cleavage.

But there will be more to share. I shall teach them of literature and philosophy and how the study of both enhances the mind and, at a post-secondary level, the prospects of joblessness. I shall give as gifts to these savages the finest achievements of modern humanity — the combustion engine, the antibiotic, the McRib. And I shall explain to them a range of baffling concepts in ascending order of complexity:

1. fire.

2. wheel.

3. quantum physics.

4. why Star Jones is famous.

It is roughly at this juncture that I will introduce to them, especially those of them who are hot, the concept of the reality show.

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