Derek here, and yes — it’s that time again. A fresh batch of “celebrities” (loosely defined) have been dropped into the wilderness to eat kangaroo testicles for screen time.
This season of I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here! proves that fame truly has an expiration date — and apparently, it’s about three reality shows past the sell-by.
We’ve got washed-up athletes, forgotten influencers, and one person who keeps introducing themselves like we should know who they are. Half of them are terrified of bugs, the other half are bugs.
The show’s basically Survivor meets Centrelink: people doing humiliating tasks for a small payout and some public sympathy. Watching them choke down goat eyeballs while pretending they “love a challenge” feels like the most honest metaphor for the entertainment industry we’ve ever seen.
Hosts keep laughing like war criminals while the contestants beg for airtime, protein, or a way out. By episode four, everyone’s crying, hallucinating, or forming alliances that collapse faster than their Instagram sponsorships.
And somehow — somehow — one of them will be called “a national treasure” by the Daily Mail by the end of the week.
If this is what passes for celebrity survival, I nominate the rest of us — we’ve been surviving Australian TV for years.
Mocktopus — where dignity goes to die, but at least we get snacks.
