Filed under: tube sucks
WHAT a fabulous weekend we had. A perfectly wonderful, perfectly fabulous weekend, thanks in no small part, to the perfect musical artistry of the performer our perfectly brilliant DJ LAMPSHA wisely featured here — a perfectly talented guy named Paolo Nutini. Was he totally cute and was that a perfect spin and/or way to celebrate TheSnark’s 1-year Anniversary, or what? We have one word to describe it all, and that one word is, um, “perfection”.
Sadly, the perfect love we feel for our more-than-delightful, more-than-perfect NBFF (who really is perfect, in more ways than you can imagine) was diminished ever so slightly by something decidedly less-than-perfect we were compelled to watch last night on TV.
BEFORE we launch into our rant, however, perhaps an overview of the “quality” programming we’ve been subjecting ourselves to for the past few years is in order. Behold the glory that is: Seven Minute Sopranos…
CAUGHT up? Good, then let us proceed with today’s post:
PARDON us for what you’re about to read, but we’re in a state of such verklemptedness we don’t know where to turn. So, if you don’t mind, we’d like to rant and/or rave about something we found moderately confusing and majorly annoying for a minute or two, because, well, we can. And yes, we’re not too proud to confess it has to do with the Last Ever Episode of HBO’s mob-series, The Sopranos. Not because the show is now “officially” off the air, but because of the way they just
THAT’S right, never, in all our years of watching television — which, as you may have ascertained by now is more than 2 or 3 or 17 — have we ever been left with such a non-ending ending. A NON-ENDING ENDING, we say, and with good reason: the show had no real
WOE is us. Or maybe it serves us right, for watching such freaking drivel for nigh on to 7 years (or has it been 8? 9?). 7 (or 8 or 9?) years of watching guys being whacked while other guys got laid. Then watching the guys who got laid get whacked and/or whacking other guys, which THEN got them killed deader than a doorknob. A doorknob that’s not just dead, but shoved up some whacker’s ass. Eww. Meanwhile, Tony Soprano, the doughy center of this made-for-TV manufactured Mafia-related mayhem just kept getting fatter and fatter and fatter. Oh yeah, baby, we thought the fact that the place he hung out most was a “family” butcher store sporting a statue of a big fat pig on its roof was bloody hilarious. But that’s not the point, the point, which is as plain as the blubber hanging over Tony’s belt, is that
BUT maybe that’s just us. We don’t “need” our programs wrapped up in a neat and tidy little piano-wire bow, but would it kill the producer to do something slightly more definitive than, well, than NOTHING? Yeah, we think so, too. That said, we have a couple of theories about the reasoning behind last night’s abrupt ending:
1. They ran out of tape.
2. Something shiny distracted the director, and he yelled “cut” 4 seconds too soon.
3. One word: blackout.
4. The editor forgot to finish the piece, and was heard to say later “my bad”.
5. David Chase got whacked before he could write the last page of his script.
WHEW. Thanks for letting us get that off our chest. We realize we may be the only ones struggling with this thing. We realize we may be the only ones who even remotely care. We realize a lot of other things, but our mind is rapidly fading to black, so we think we should stop before we dig an even deeper finale hole for ourselves. We also realize the video at the top does not, technically, qualify as a “musical opposites/cheap laughs” kind of a thing, but guess what? We don’t give a
THE “good news” is that, for the next two days (at least) you’ll be treated to much more entertaining posts by talented others who are not us — DIESEL and/or NOT-Diesel but CRUMMY JOEL, and, of course, TEH PENGUIN — than the one you just forced yourself to read (not by talented “others”, but by us). The “bad news” is that we’ll be back to rant, rave, and/or whine by Thursday (or will it be Friday?). Ah well, at least no one’ll leave ya hangin’ at Humor-blogs.com, unless you count that guy in the place with a
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