Chris Jepson: It's disgusting. Show me more.

A memorable movie exchange for me is from the 1942 classic, “Casablanca.” In it Captain Renault, played by Claude Rains, unexpectedly shuts down Rick Blaine’s (Humphrey Bogart) nightclub in Casablanca, Morocco. It is, of course all a bogus pretext but Captain Renault indignantly proclaims, “I am shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!”

Immediately after announcing his feigned outrage, an employee of the nightclub hands Captain Renault some money and says, “Your winnings, sir.” I laugh just at the thought of it.

Over the years, I’ve observed a similar outrage to that of Captain Renault. You’ll be watching a news program or a talk show or an individual will be interviewed on the street and utters something to the effect, “It’s horrible. It’s tragic.” Or, my favorite, “I’m appalled, it’s disgusting.”

It could be their displeasure at some trend in society, in the movies or on the Internet, of “twerking” teenagers, of public displays of gratuitous fondling, etc. I am reminded of those black-and-white photographs of movie theaters of the 1950s showing gasping crowds, hands over their eyes, aghast over some cheesy horror film on the screen.

This can all be reduced to, “It’s horrible, it’s disgusting. I’m shocked!” With hands over their eyes, yet with fingers splayed open, they eagerly look out and add, “But show me more.”

It’s soooo disgusting, but show me more.

The latest national distraction is Bruce Jenner’s transformation to a woman. Now known as Caitlyn Jenner, she seductively graces the cover of Vanity Fair in a stereotypical cheesecake pose of feminine wiles. I researched the estimated number of transgender Americans and offer the often-cited 2011 estimate of 700,000 individuals. Out of 315 million Americans, maybe 750,000 individuals find themselves “in” the wrong body. It seems to be mostly (statistically speaking) men with their hangy-down-parts wanting to be female, literally.

I cannot imagine—and I can imagine a lot—having this challenge in my life. While sympathetic to the sorrow that must accompany such confusion and doubt, I simply do not care. Please do not show me anything more to do with Caitlyn Jenner. Let her get on with her life. Oh, I anticipate she’ll become a public spokeswoman for something. Her story has already become an endless drip of inane drivel.

Same goes for Sarah Palin. She’s a joke, a sideshow. A cheap carnival barker of shopworn Republican supply-side gibberish and social fascism.

I do not care about any of the Kardashians either. Kim Kardashian, specifically. Her claim to fame is an, uh, hmmm, let’s see, a callipygous derriere so substantial you could host a tea party for six on it. Who cares?

And then there are the Duggars, a family with 19 children. That, in and of itself, is an obscenity but it gets goofier, the parents gave all 19 children first names beginning with the letter “J.” The parents forsook birth control, allowing God to ultimately determine the number of children they have. In a denial with ironical, somewhat humorous, implications, the anti-gay Duggars deny being Quiverfull Christians. Oh, and of course, they have a “suspended” TLC TV show that gathered 2.3 million viewers weekly. Oh, and a son who fondled his sisters, but that was years ago. I was completely unaware of this litter until the folderol over the son. It’s disgusting. All of it.

Their choices, their values are so antithetical to my perspective that I am amazed and wonder, “Who cares?” Oh, and I’m shocked. Of course.