I hate My Super Sweet 16

When I first came across this programme I was dumbstruck. It’s a bunch of cackling, screeching, dribbling, mentally vacant rat children with Sun-In-treated hair making horrifically extravagant demands and treating their parents, their “workers” and most other people they come across like a big bag of festering dog poo. I know the show is edited to make the kids look as bad as possible, but I still feel genuine hatred towards every single one of them.

The kids on this show are truly awful, horrible, grotesque brats. Worse than sweaty little ASBO kids. They have no respect for anyone. Except maybe Karl Lagerfeld. Each episode centres around a particular person (usually a girl, it seems) who has decided they simply must have a huge Screw You, I’m Bigger Than Jesus-style birthday party to celebrate turning 16. Why 16 is such a big deal I have no clue. I guess Americans need any excuse to turn minor occasions into something ridiculous to make up for their lack of worthwhile local culture.

Every show I’ve seen so far has been based on a Hollywood-residing rat child with a vocabulary that doesn’t reach far beyond “It’s hot”, “I’m hot” or, of course, “We’re hot”. They also all seem incapable of having a discussion without a large amount of yelling, foot stamping and uncontrollable sobbing. The routine each week seems to involve them holding their party at an amazingly exclusive club frequented by megastars like Darius from Popstars, Ashlee Simpson and Joey from Friends; making a strict VIP guest list of around 400 of their closest friends; getting a stupifyingly “awesome” rapper to perform; booking some latino dancers to shake their leathery bums; hiring a chocolate fountain.

In the episode I watched last night, the girl had her party on a ship with 500 of her friends. It was actually only her 15th birthday but, you know, who really cares about sticking to the minor details of a show about 16th birthday parties? Despite this only being a warm-up for the big one-six, no expense was spared. She was flown in by helicopter because a limo wasn’t grand enough (her words, not mine) and she wanted to make a huge entrance and “have everyone looking at me. This is my night, it’s all about me and I want to shine.” What else? Her Dad got her a Pimp My Ride-style Porsche worth $200,000. It came complete with little things like plasma screen TVs, her name embroidered into the seats, pink diamonds encrusted all over the outside and inside of the car and numerous other seriously H Samuel-style chicness. She booked MIMS to play his (only) hit “This is Why I’m Hot”, which he seemed to perform maybe five times in a row before she jumped on stage with him and screeched along for a bit. By this point I’d had my fill of the fun so felt the urge to inflict pain upon myself. The resulting drawing of blood made me feel queasy, so I had to take a nap and sadly missed the finalé.

Every episode is like this. Each girl is a carbon copy of the last one but some get a Porsche, while others get a Lexus, and some get fake boobs, while others get fake tips. As I said earlier, I’m more than aware that the intention of the show is for me to hate them and their rich, giggling, cuntish ways. I am not an idiot. But honestly there has never been something I’ve watched that has so consistently displayed a conveyor belt of revolting human should-be-punchbag trolls. I hate them. I hate their dumb sucky friends and I hate their ridiculous, embarrassing, ignorant, bragging families.

I can’t wait for the next episode, obviously. It’s Stevie’s 16th and her parents only have a measly $500,000 budget for the party. I can’t wait to see how the vapid little cretin and her wrinkly air head mother will cope. I hope you will stay tuned to watch the non-stop drama unfold.