Daniel Conderman 
AI Voice 1
AI Voice 2
Listen up, TV. Yeah, you, glowing oracle of nature’s so-called wonders. I just spent an ungodly amount of hours watching Planet Earth, and I have some things to say. First off—how dare you? You sit there, smugly broadcasting high-definition footage of nature being all “majestic” and “awe-inspiring,” acting like you just blew my mind, when in reality, you just subjected me to an extended infomercial for the chaos machine that is this planet.
Oh, look at the noble polar bear, struggling to find food as the ice caps melt. Look at the delicate balance of the rainforest ecosystem, where every bug, bird, and fungus has its perfect little role to play. Wow, isn’t it fascinating how the world fits together like a beautifully crafted puzzle? No, TV. It’s terrifying. Everything is eating everything else, and the only reason half of these animals look graceful is because they’re running for their damn lives.
You showed me a snow leopard—an elusive, nearly mythical creature, master of the mountains. And what do I get? Twenty minutes of a mother desperately trying to feed her cub while a narrator whispers “she hasn’t eaten in three days…” Oh great, thanks. I just wanted to see a cool cat leap across a ravine, not experience existential dread about the state of carnivorous motherhood.
And don’t even get me started on the insects. Seriously. Why does every rainforest have at least one bug whose entire purpose in life is to look like something it absolutely shouldn’t? Here’s a leaf that’s not a leaf. Here’s a stick that’s not a stick. Oh, and let’s not forget the ants that farm fungus, the wasps that mind-control their hosts, and the spiders that mimic dancing birds. What the hell is going on, TV? Is this a documentary or a sci-fi horror flick?
Also, way to ruin the ocean for me. Every time you lull me into a false sense of serenity with your sweeping underwater shots, you cut to something horrifying. Deep-sea fish with flashlight faces? Check. Octopuses that can fit through a hole the size of a Cheerio? Wonderful. Squids that communicate with pulsating skin-rave patterns like they’re broadcasting alien Morse code? Fantastic. I’ll never be comfortable in salt water again, so thanks for that.
And THEN, you have the audacity to keep circling back to climate change, showing me melting ice caps, bleached coral reefs, and animals on the brink of extinction, all while I sit here wrapped in a blanket, sipping coffee, powerless to do anything about it. I just wanted to see some elephants splash around, not get a full-course meal of existential guilt.
Oh, and the birds. I thought I was safe with the birds. Nope. You gave me a front-row seat to some poor feathered Romeo doing a six-minute moonwalk dance only to get rejected by a disinterested female who barely looked up from her twig nest. Nature, it turns out, is just as brutal as Tinder.
So, TV, what am I supposed to do with all this knowledge? What am I supposed to do with the fact that whales have culture, dolphins have names for each other, and mushrooms communicate through underground fungal Wi-Fi? Am I supposed to feel closer to nature? Because right now, I mostly just feel confused, alarmed, and slightly betrayed.
I need a break. I need something simple, predictable, and not narrated by David Attenborough making me question my entire existence. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be watching something much less stressful—like Shark Tank.
