If you were to break into a genetic selection lab and collect the most detestable genetic sequences you could find (try looking in their medical waste receptacle) add low self-esteem, a tanning bed, a headband, and anything off an Ed Hardy clearance rack, and you’d have these idiots; the biggest tools this side of the wrench aisle at Sears.
Tool Academy is VH1’s reality competition show where attention whore “tools” are confronted by their fed-up partners and schooled in the art of acting like a human being. Like Seasons 1 and 2 before it, Season 3 scoured the nation, looking for the loudest, dumbest, no-filter, no-clue jackasses they could find, all for your viewing horror pleasure.
This year, the Academy has gone co-ed and features two female tools: one straight party slut whose mother runs a brothel, (a fact she’s proud of) and Courtney, a “Lady Lovin’ Tool” with an ego so outsized, it’s even more prominent than her muffin tops and gust-inducing granny arms.
Who says you have to have a d–k to be one?
The premiere episode, “Communication,” introduced the tools, all of whom worked overtime to prove why they so richly deserve to be on this show. For some, being a tool is actually their full-time job, as they’re too busy going to the gym and pinching asses to hold down real jobs. One of the smarter tools thinks twirling glow sticks is a career choice.
Not surprisingly, there are a disproportionate number of wrestlers wearing animal print and electric blue Speedos in the group. One such pit-shaving dude is a diminutive crucifix-wearing Jew who sets a new record for toolicious arrogance. Even the other tools can’t stand him. Believe me when I say that’s saying something. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual. He packs up his thongs and Crest White Stripes and returns to his Keebler treehouse, never to be seen again. We hope.
There’s also one couples’ challenge per show, designed to foster cooperation and renew intimacy. I’m not sure relationships borne from desperation and bodybuilding are particularly worth saving, but that’s nice. And there is a $100,000 cash prize, which could keep one lucky tool in bandanas and penicillin for a good, long time.
At one point, Courtney informs us, “Every girl wants to be with me, wants to know me.” And by “every girl,” she means, well, I’m not sure whom she could possibly mean. Unbelievably, Courtney has a somewhat normal girlfriend named Cheron, who’s saddened and frustrated that her partner is beyond ridiculous and a cheater who brags about it. Here’s Courtney in all her hot, girl magnet glory.
Seriously. I need to see the girls who want to get up in that.
In the second episode, fidelity is introduced as a new concept. Confronted with video evidence of their cheating ways, the tools either start bawling, play the sympathy card (“That’s how insecure I am,”) or take it all the way with, “I’m proud of what I did.”
As mentally ill as these freaks are, you have to wonder about the girlfriends and one boyfriend who still love them, and hope for more someday. Tool Academy needs a companion show called Doormat.
Later, Cheron loses her mind when she sees her circus clown girlfriend kissing a dancer who surely wasn’t paid enough to be reciprocating. Cheron storms out of the room during the pseudo group therapy session. Huh. I thought lesbians are supposed to be good with tools.
These two have a chance of making up because A) lesbians love staying too long at the fair and B) they’re still wearing coordinating outfits. And either tunics are in this year or The Big C Dawg is a total fashion tool, too.
The show’s therapist, Trina Dolenz sums it up when she says, “This session has been unbelievably ghah-stly,” in her lovely British accent, the only touch of class for 25 miles. As the sole judge, she expelled the surfer tool in the second episode. Is it a consolation that some tools are so pure, or purely asinine, they can’t fake sincerity, even for money?
Welp, that was two hours I’ll never get back. These jackasses make Jersey Shore look like Masterpiece Theatre.
Should I blog the rest of the season, or just throw dung in my eyes? I leave it to you guys.
