I came to a realization the other day after thinking about how much I hate TV. I've come to the conclusion that I would rather have my face smashed with a sledge hammer than having to watch another antique collector show. It would be far less painful than watching another hunch-backed geriatric pointing out minor details in lamp shades they stopped making 70 years ago. Here's a clue as to why they stopped making it: nobody wanted it back then and nobody wants it now.

They stopped making this stuff for a reason. I mean, have you seen some of the shit these assholes try to hawk? Just look at the picture at the top of this page. Look at the elated expression on that old lady's face. She looks so overjoyed that she's almost delirious at the prospect of making 20 bucks on that thing she's trying to sell. And what the hell is that thing anyway? Did somebody suddenly declare a new worth for bent-ass looking plastic and didn't tell me? Because last time I checked, sun-faded junk from the 70's was worth a whole lot of not-a-damn-thing.

What pisses me off about antique collectors is that they think they're better than everyone. "Oh look at me, I'm an antique collector. Look at all this junk I've kept like a pack rat." Who are all these people who A) collect all this junk and B) care about it enough to watch other people who collect this junk on TV? Here's my theory on the matter: anyone who watches an antique collector's show is a guaranteed serial killer. Nobody can watch this for any extended period of time and not be completely messed. If your friends watch these shows, call the FBI because you're going to find yourself chopped up in someone's glove compartment if you don't.

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