New Teleparodies

The Snuff Factor: Killing the Goose Who Got the Golden Egg Laid

Art Dimsdale

Of course it was only a matter of time for TV to turn from the peeled-skin corpses of CSI and other crime lab series to live reality show versions. But with the death last week of Boiff Krauthammer, the blimpy, aggressive contestant on “Face Factor,” reality entertainment has had to face the sobering prospect of a congressional inquiry into its behind the scene realities. This could spell the final autopsy of reality entertainment.

“Face Factor,” as you know, combined elements of the extreme makeover shows with “Fear Factor,” one of the early reality-daredevil commercial successes. Utilizing the latest technical advances in plastic surgery, plus the aura of the John Travolta-Nicholas Cage film Face-Off, “Face Factor” pitted contestants against each other in a kind of Mr. Potato-Head ensemblage.

Genetic samples taken from each contestant are harvested for six weeks in the rapid-growth labs of Bioscab, the biotech giant which sponsors the show, and which revolutionized the plastic surgery trade. The Bioscab peel, which used genetic therapy to modify faces, did for the human face what Viagra did for the human penis, erasing the shrivel virtually overnight.

With spare parts now grown contestants then meet with the selected member of the opposite sex, having the full availability of ears, nose, eyebrows, mouth, chins, and hair of the other contestants available, as well as a personal “facial designer” for advice on how to “dress” appropriately. Rumors have surfaced about other body parts in jars available for use as well, especially after the Krauthammer Incident, as the media is calling it.

Though contestants are doused with ample antibiotics and steroids for the duration of the show, something went drastically wrong in Boiff’s case. Two weeks into the shooting, a nose started growing on Krauthammer where it should not have grown. Way where it should not have grown! Way down in a place where The Organ is supposed to be, and which is supposed to grow only at those inspired moments of passion.

Worse, Krauthammer’s facial nose began to act peculiarly, apparently perking up at mealtimes, when catering arrived. Despite Krauthammer’s best attempts to save the appearances, the obvious soon became obvious. By some genetic fluke, Krauthammer was undergoing a case of transposed heads, so to speak. What should have been his ticket to ride turned into his facial freak show. Oddly, however, the female contestant, Virginia Dover, showed an initial interest in the new beak, at least until the growth factor went awry, and she realized what the emergent object of her affection in reality was. A dickhead.

The Bioscab people, realizing the catastrophic effect such a genetic boo-boo could have on their livelihood, cancelled shooting immediately and scheduled Krauthammer for surgery. At first he was reluctant, feeling himself a kind of reborn Cyrano de Bergerac, hoping for Roxanne. It took but the mention of two words from the surgeon, however, to bring Krauthammer around. “Michael Jackson,” the surgeon stated, and before he could launch into the history of the lost nose of Michael Jackson, Krauthammer was sobbing: “OK, OK, I’ll do it.”

Krauthammer died on the table, between his severed nose and penis, a sad testimony to the skin-flick industry that is reality TV. Whether the entertainment complex can survive the congressional hearings will dominate the entertainment news for the next year of the hearings. But don’t hold your breath. Instead, try to see if you can find any wrinkles on the committee members' faces.