Let's talk about how not real this "reality" show is, shall we? First off and thank you to the reader who wrote in with this last week Brandon and Brody are listed as executive consultants in the credits. So you know they're having a blast making sure David Foster comes off as Stepdad from Hell. Secondly, Satanic father-figure or not, who naps through the erection of a drive-in theater in their own backyard? I don't care if the lawn happens to be the size of my Havertown, Pa., neighborhood. You'd hear the cars. Or, seeing how the guys chose to screen Martin Lawrence's Rebound, the screams of agony. Thirdly, there is no way Linda is that clueless. The woman bagged Elvis and Bruce Jenner, for criminy's sake! And finally, if you're gonna cut off your wife's kids from your AOR-fueled bank account, why not just evict them? Or, as Foster the Canuck would say, kick them oot? Instead, he brings Brody to work, allows this Spencer bottom-feeder fella to run amok, then skulks around the mansion in his man-Uggs stealing everyone's light bulbs to keep the electric bill down. Huh? These waste cases are selling your Grammys on eBay, chief! You really want them playing with candles? Uh-uh. Nope, I say it's all rigged. Either that or it's karma for Foster's role in the horror Celine Dion has become. You know what I'm talking aboot?
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