If I hadn't known any better The GC could well have been a Government initiative to triple the price of alcohol, promote a seven-day working week and initiate a compulsory national makeover month for men not living up to their full aesthetic potential.
The amount of sheer hatred being thrust at this thing by thousands of seemingly self-appointed media critics was awe-inspiring. Not one to forgo an opportunity for a well-deserved dishing of narcissism, I dimmed the lights, booted up TV3 on demand and lowered my expectations to their nethermost level.
I was not disappointed. Online ravings had prepared me for vacant, 10-year-old IQs and behaviour so embarrassing it's already brought widespread pleas for the characters to avoid breeding. Slams against the editing, production quality and scripting abounded, the words "sordid train wreck" were common. Yet it wasn't a train wreck - it was like watching two nicely dressed trains edge gingerly towards each other, halting just before impact and leaning in for a series of uneventful but incredibly awkward hugs.
No matter how successful similar international reality franchises are, the New Zealand psyche is simply not designed for the unabashed show-pony attitude this kind of show requires. Stars of Big Brother, The Bachelor and practically any other reality show are successful because the stars are so hell-bent on attention they'll act in any way possible to achieve it.
If the first episode of The GC is anything to go by, squeezing even a scrap of outrageousness out of its characters seems to be something of a feat. Characters blink down the camera barrel, their conversation so painful you can practically imagine the producers waving a carrot in the background.
Alas, The GC wasn't the only object of gawkish merriment gracing our screens this past week. For those not amused by extreme displays of awkwardness, there's John Banks.
As if the joy of watching an Act politician squirm over a $50,000 donation he "couldn't recall" the origins of wasn't fantastic enough, the comically rotund internet gazillionaire at the centre of it all released a hip-hop song about it while on bail awaiting an extradition hearing for alleged money laundering and copyright infringement charges.
National shame about our political donation laws aside, this was the funniest political saga since the last stupid thing John Banks did.
And finally, not to be outdone by over-oiled "Mozzies" and catchy politico-rap, Conservative Party leader Colin Craig has made a successful but somewhat confusing bid to make all women hate him.
Following the Social Development Ministry's announcement of free contraception for women on benefits, Mr Craig proclaimed the Government shouldn't provide anything if New Zealand girls continued to be so promiscuous. According to expert Craig, the average Kiwi female's life is one of irresponsibility, "destructive" behaviour and wanton sexual deviance. Hilarious on many levels but mostly in that the Conservative solution for punishing those not favourable with a lifetime of monogamy is increasing or at least supporting their chances of multiplying.
One can only hope Colin will one day make it into Parliament, maybe even to prime minister. I shall greatly anticipate the day he does his tour of the regions. He'll strut the streets of Otaki or Moerewa with grateful residents approaching him, toddling tribe in tow, thanking him for his insight into the contraception debate.
"Oh, Mr Craig, I was angry you wouldn't help us pay for the pill at first but in hindsight, it's blessed me with my seven beautiful children. We may all be entering the severe stages of scurvy but one day, Shondelle, Shyraz, Shayden, Shyriah, Shanayde, Shonina and Shellizay will thank you from the bottom of their malnourished souls."
Things may be grim out there, Kiwis, but at least we're a bloody good laugh.
