Can’t we just get to the part where we watch her die live on TV?

*cue audible gasp from readers* Is Farah Fawcett’s death life doc a shameless me-too self-promo already pioneered by Jane Goody? Maybe. Heartbreaking story? Maybe. But the unstated appeal here is that you get to see Farah near the end. Well-wishers aside, that’s the reason people watch stuff like this. (It’s okay, you can admit it. I won’t judge.) C’mon, you know we were always headed this way. A nation of pop culture junk foodies asking are we there yet?

Yes we are kids. Welcome to America’s greatest national park: Reality TV.

Forget “doc,” that line blurred long ago—this is the ultimate reality show 30 years in the making, ever since Charlie’s Angel’s debuted in 1976 and teenage dudes wondered if there was something about Farah because of what was in her hair. Specifically, written there.

As for reality TV, at the rate we were going, it was a matter of time before it ran out of ways to shock. Hey, I like hot chicks fighting over Bret Michaels as much as anyone, but you become numb at some point and need a bigger fix each time out. Yea intervention reality show! Yea show about limbless Albino monkey children!

The only thing left as far as I saw it was a live execution on Pay Per View. (Hey, it’s in our colonial DNA.) Next best thing? A Marilyn Manson live sacrifice on stage. Barring those two things, you’re left with an internet suicide already did that, or what Farah is doing here, cameras following you around in those last few days. Tastefully, of course.

But maybe it’s me. It’s not like there were cameras present the many times I watched someone near the end. Maybe the public does have a right to know! “So that we can learn from this so that it never happens again.” The media always says that when it tries to justify coverage of controversial topics or events like this.

So, too far or not far enough?