She's Julie Chen. And she wants you to lie down and admit that this is "the Big Brother we've all been waiting for." You may not realize you've been waiting for it, but you have. It only felt like you were hungry for a big cheeseburger. In fact, you were waiting. For this. Now eat it!
Julie is in the...well, she's in whatever you would call the front "yard" of a "house" that isn't a house, provided it didn't have any yard signifiers like grass or trees but only had a wooden walkway, a bunch of almost certainly polyester plants, a few perplexing light fixtures, and a few cameras. Julie reminds us about the seventy-five houseguests, and the six seasons, and of course the battling and lying and everything we sat through an hour of two weeks ago. She again says that "the best of the best" will be back. Welcome to Big Brother: All-Stars. Don't say nobody told you where this boat was headed when you find yourself bent over the rail in about two weeks, dry-heaving and begging for your mama.
Creepy Control Voice takes us on a lightning-fast tour of the house. He reminds us that here, "more than fifty cameras watch your every move, and seventy-six microphones eavesdrop on your every word." If I start with the FBI jokes this season, we'll be here until November. Suffice it to say that I expect a swift condemnation from the Bush administration regarding the recklessness of Creepy Control Voice in revealing the presence of the microphones and cameras, because now our enemies know that we're listening. And by "our enemies," I mean "my enemies," by which I pretty much mean "Alison."
Tonight, says CCV, "the best players of all time" are coming back to take another shot. And they will be "living in complete isolation." It is an interesting definition of "isolation" they use on this show. When there are more than six people to a bathroom, my sense of isolation tends to diminish. CCVs reference to "competing for food" is accompanied by shots of Shredded Wheat and Raisin Bran. Do they eat Shredded Wheat? Seriously? I don't know why I expected they would just eat Peanut Butter Doughnut Cocoa Flakes, but somehow, I did. It's like I think they're living all summer in Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead or something. Oh, and they'll compete for power, in the form of the Veto and the HoH spot. Each week, they'll boot somebody, and at the end, one person will be left. Unfortunately, CCV announces that more than fifteen million votes have been cast regarding which players should make it into the house, meaning that there was just as much silliness and auto-voting and insanity as there is on American Idol, and that the results will reflect not so much who is liked by the largest number of people but what tactics were used for voting. It is safe to say, after all, that one in twenty American men, women, and children did not individually cast a vote for a contestant. Honestly, I despise power voting in all contexts, mostly because it rewards the deranged, and this will undoubtedly be no exception. Who, CCV wonders, will be voted in, and who else will be sent in on the well-founded assumption that the American public doesn't know what it likes?
Julie is standing in front of a raised round platform on which a souped-up version of the usual nomination box rests. I don't know about you, but I'm thinking that baby's nuclear. There are keys sticking out of the box, so presumably, those keys will be pulled in order to name those who have been chosen. One by one, Julie brings out the All-Star candidates: Chicken George (can I call ya Chicken?), Monica, Bunky, Mike, Will, Danielle, Lisa, Marcellas, Alison, Dana, Erika, Cowboy, Nakomis, Diane, Jase, Howie, Janelle, Ivette, James, and Kaysar. Julie instructs them all, when they are gathered, to take a look around at the other people. Because one of you will flunk out before you get out of Torts. Wait, I think that's The Paper Chase. Never mind. Anyway, if you do look at the other people, you will note that Diane is wearing an unflattering black and white dress, Dana is wearing pink pants, Alison's droopy shirt is passive-aggressively trying to distance itself from her boobs, and Lisa is dressed like a comely waitress at Don Pablo's. Bunky's shirt has flames on it. A little too literal, there, Bunkster.