WHOA. That was some funny crummy hump-in-the-road related letter NOT-SO-CRUMMY JOEL wrote for us yesterday, wasn’t it? Why yes, yes it was. Trust us when we tell you we laughed and laughed and laughed. Mostly because the letter made perfect sense. Pot holes? Seen ’em. Crappy American made cars? Had one. Disdain for a city government incapable of helping crank up it’s image to any thing worthwhile, hoping the words: “Drive as fast as you can through this metropolitan nightmare and pray to whatever god you have that you never find yourself living here” might score points with tourists? Hey, we lived in Fresno back when it was the “Least Livable City in the US“, and that was its motto.
NATURALLY, none of that has anything to do with today’s post. We just wanted to take a moment to nod vigorously in the general direction of someone capable of writing in a fashion both coherent AND entertaining, before offering up one of our own “crummy” letters to someone who seems to have lost that skill. Please bear with us while we attempt to get this off our chest. But don’t look, because once this is off our chest, our chest, which was rather ample once upon a time, will be bare. Maybe droopy. Whatever our chest is, we don’t want the likes of you staring. We’re nothing, if not modest. If any of that made sense to you, chances are you “get” the show we’re about to bitch slap, and will be excused from reading further. If the word fuck offends you, you should have stopped reading one sentence sooner.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Dear David Milch (if that’s your real name):
We may not be your biggest fans, but we have been great admirers of your work over the past several years. Heck, we were glued to our sets each week, during your NYPD Blue heyday. Well, we were until you killed off Bobby, that is. After he “died”, we were pretty upset. Oh, we tried to watch during the “Rick Shroder” phase, but we kept seeing him as that kid in the film about a man who hit other men really hard until he died, and we had to stop. Besides, all that death, alcoholism, and destructive behavior? Truth be told, eventually NYPD got a little too NYPD-pressing for our tastes, if you catch our drift, and we’re guessing you don’t.
Then you came out with one of the best shows ever. And by “best shows ever”, we mean, DEADWOOD. David (may we call you David?) that was just fanfuckingtastic television. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. We were horribly and/or fuckingly disappointed when it was cancelled. Did we say “fuckingly disappointed”? Make that fuckingly verklempt. Then we realized the words “fuck” “fucking”, “fuckingly”, and/or “fuckilicious” were sneaking into our everyday vocabulary on a more regular fucking basis than was proper and/or fucking acceptable, so we decided the cancellation was a fucking blessing after all, and we let our fucking anger go. The fact that we knew we’d be treated to not one, but two 2 hour “movies” fucking softened the fucking blow, but that’s beside the fucking point. The point, which was fucking with our mood a minute ago, is that Deadwood was fucking awesome.
Now, David, as your new best friends, we feel it’s our right and/or duty to ask you a small editorial question regarding your newest creative effort, currently featured on HBO, i.e. JOHN FROM CINCINNATI. Uh, David? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHOW ABOUT? Wait… perhaps it would help if we shared a few things about this surf-related “television of the absurd” program that we know and/or wish we knew, but don’t:
1. John. From Cincinnati. Crosses the border from Mexico into California. Looks for Butchie. Maybe for directions on how to take a world class dump. Parrots the words spoken by everyone else. Might be an alien, might be an angel, might be a retard. Has “magic” pockets filled with money and/or credit cards.
3. Bruce Greenwood levitates while wearing a wet suit.
4. Dead bird and/or surfer boy — both not so dead, after all.
5. Good actors who can’t surf. Bad actors who can surf. Show set in a fictitious So Cal beach town with at least one funkified surf shop, owned by main characters. NO extended scenes involving the actual sport of surfing.
7. NYPD and/or Deadwood-esque dialog. In Southern California. Dude.
8. Luke Perry is a conniver. And he’s, like, old.
9. The guy who played Al Bundy plays a guy named Bill who talks to a parakeet named Zippy. John (From Cincinnati) manifests himself in 3 or 4 different places, in order to sermonize to the entire cast — whether they’re in the scene, or not — about circles, lines, zeros and ones, walls, boning, dumping, and/or the Father. The Father who is not their Father, but may be John’s Father, who may or may not be in Cincinnati, even as John sermonizes. Cassie’s camera, Cissy NOT teaching her son how to masturbate, Shaun parented by his porn-queen mom over a tuna sandwich, someone coming on someone else’s face, and so forth and so on.
David, David, David. Have you lost your fucking marbles? Or have we??? What were we doing with your fucking marbles in the first place, David? Our head hurts, and that’s never a good thing. In closing, David, we’re begging you to please, for the love of Bobby (may he rest in peace), explain to us, once and for all, what’s going on. And, David, if possible, it would really help if you could do so before next week. Believe it or not, David, we plan to keep watching John From Cincinnati, but we’re convinced it would be a hell of a lot more entertaining and/or fuckalicious, if we knew one thing: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHOW ABOUT?
Thank you for your time, David. And so forth, and so on.
PS: David, don’t think we weren’t more than a little chagrined to learn those 2 Deadwood “movies” were, in fact, someone’s sick-ass idea of a joke. Well, look at our faces, David. Are we laughing?
PPS: David, it recently occurred to us that HAHAHA is nothing but a bunch of oddly connected straight lines, to someone who can’t read Humor-blogs.com.
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
Filed under: tube sucks
WE love television, we really do. And because we love it, we watch it all the time. Okay, so maybe we don’t watch all the time, but trust us when we tell you our TV is on a lot. Because of this, we’ve come to appreciate a number of programs quite a little bit — some more than we’d care to admit in a court of law. Fortunately, this blog looks nothing like a court of law, so we’ll go ahead and share, in hopes you won’t later subpoena us, because we will lie likes dogs in heat about what we do — and do not — watch at any given moment on any given night.
BEFORE you toddle off to ponder what the hell that first paragraph was about, allow us to delve deeper into our programming preferences, and why we think it may be time to make a few changes. No need to switch that dial — this will be a short enough post to hold the attention of everyone — including those of you who find yourselves distracted by the fact that we’re ending this sentence with three dots… See? You made it through that, you can make it through this.
ACTUALLY, our need to discuss TV — albeit superficially — is because we’ve been feeling a bit under the weather lately. Now we know what you’re thinking — the flu? A cold? Allergies? Normally, that’s what we’d be thinking, too. But, thanks to a couple of medical shows that are high on our “must see TiVo”, we fear it might be something else. After pondering last week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy, for instance, it’s occurred to us that the snot leaking out of our nose might not be snot at all… Why? Because one poor sap — who kept showing up in the clinic with a runny nose — was treated for a cold no fewer than four (count ’em 4) times before a member of the Very Smart Team of Doctor’s said “That’s not…” and everyone laughed. But then the doctor got all serious and said, “That’s NOT snot. This man has a spinal herniation! Get me a CAT stan, scat!” After everyone, including the doc, laughed again, a CAT scan was performed (stat), and guess what? Turns out the guy did have spinal fluid gushing out of his nose! Whoa, we said to our-mildly-hyperchondriacical*-selves, could that happen to us? How would we know? More to the point, what would we call it… A Spinus Infection? Then we laughed and laughed, because, even when we don’t feel so hot, we crack ourselves up.
ON the same episode of GA, a VIP was brought into the ER with BAB (big-ass balls). After everything remotely feasible was ruled out as the cause for his largesse, the Very Smart Team of Doctors came up with the only possible explanation: the man had a Penis fish in his urethra. Of course! The ol’ Penis Fish Up the Penis Syndrome. “Eureka.. heh, I mean urethra… now get me a CAT stan, scat!” Following much smacking of heads, a joke about Blow Fish, giggles, and the aforementioned stat CAT, the Team of Very Smart Doctors grabbed a pair of tongs, reached in to the VIP’s p-e-n-i-s and pulled out the swimmer — revealing the fact that it was the size of a large Moray Eel — causing members of the viewing audience (us) to wince and say “What the…? That thing wriggled up his penis and he didn’t notice?” Needless to say, we were impressed. Grossed out, but impressed.
SPEAKING of orifices — which, apparently, we were — according to our favorite medically-themed shows, some people’s orifices have virtual neon signs hanging over them that say, “Strangers Welcome”… and by “strangers” we mean “icky things”, like penis fish… or ticks. We don’t know about you, but ticks scare the bejeezus out of us, never more than when we found out they were capable crawling into a vagina. Can you say ewww? We can, and we did. We should probably mention that the vagina/tick-thing happened on House, another medical show we enjoy watching, despite the fact that we’re in a constant state of terror since learning we can die under so many different and/or disturbing circumstances, including — but not limited to — the aforementioned ticks, really old chicken poop, and/or a bra hook. (One errant hook pierced a woman’s back, and she wound up with a staph infection. Of course, no one noticed it, because they left her bra on for a week — a week! — while treating her for a variety of other obscure things. They finally realized they’d made a big mistake… but by then she was dead. DEAD.)
OUR point, for we kind of had one at the start of this post, is that we’re feeling better. Or we were before we read THIS ARTICLE, that is. Now we’re fretting over all kinds of new crap that can happen to us anytime, anywhere… even in our sleep. Aieeee. Apparently we don’t need stupid TV shows about even more stupid ailments in order to fear for our well-being. Fortunately, DR. DIESEL will be on call tomorrow, which means we can take it easy for a day (or two, PENGUIN?). With luck — and/or antibiotics — by the next time you see us, our spinus infection will be gone, and our hypochondria under control.
No spiders, ticks, and/or penis fish will bother you at Humor-Blogs.com.
* hyperchondriacical is a word we made up while writing this post
As much as I love TV, I have to admit that I’m getting a little jaded about some of my favorite shows. It’s an undeniable fact that even the best shows tend to start sucking after a couple of seasons.
I still remember the exact moment that I realized, while watching The X-Files, that I had as much of an idea where the show was going as the writers did. After about the sixth “shocking revelation” that was going to “explain everything,” it occurred to me that they were just making it up as they went along. Then Mulder left and they replaced him with the liquid robot from Terminator 2 — and for some unfathomable reason I kept watching. Then Scully left and they replaced her with a hotter yet more annoying chick, and I still kept watching. For some reason I kept hoping that it was going to get better, that they were going to eventually get back to the quirky, freaky little show that I started watching back when it was a clever little joke to name the main character of the show after the struggling fledgling network on which it aired. I stopped watching about three episodes into the final season. I have yet to meet someone who actually knows how that show ended.
It was pretty clear to me early on that the writers were ad libbing 24 from week to week. The show holds together pretty well from one episode to the next, but when you take a minute to think back a few episodes, it starts to unravel. Remember the season when Chloe went from secretary to super-hacker in like 3 hours? I could tolerate the occasional non sequiter or outright absurdity (like the premeditated prison break Jack pulled a couple of seasons ago), but now the show is committing the unforgiveable sin: It’s repeating itself. What, another torture scene? That’s original. How about if the only way to stop the terrorists is for Jack to shoot one of his fellow CTU agents? Yeah, done that a couple times too. I know! We could have Jack break into a foreign embassy to extract information from… Really? Wow. Maybe we could replace Jack with the liquid robot from Terminator 2?
I’m about fed up with Lost too. The deserted island bit only has so much life in it, no matter how much back story you fill it with. Let’s wrap it up already, ok?
We started catching up on the new Battlestar Galactica on Netflix after hearing so many great things about it, and let me tell you, the first two seasons rock. Even if you’re not big on sci-fi, you’ll dig this show. But it’s going to be hard to maintain that level of quality, and I hear the current season isn’t nearly as good.
Season three seems to be where most premises start to get tired. I have high hopes for The Shield this season, but the third season was definitely a notch below the first two, and then they had the bright idea of killing off the one sympathetic character. I have to admit that’s an original direction for a show to take, but if you’ve seen that show you know that one thing it doesn’t need is more bad guys doing heinous things to people. If I produced that show, I’d go in a different direction for season four. I’m thinking The Shield Goes to Hawaii. It worked for the Brady Bunch.
I could go on: Alias, Cold Case, Smallville, The West Wing…. Most shows start to suck around the third season. So I’m declaring a new rule: All TV dramas must wrap up within four seasons. That’s all you get. I don’t care if your show is still halfway decent (I’m talking to you, Law & Orders). We don’t need any more. Make way for some new shows that don’t suck yet.
That is all.
Filed under: tube sucks
WE realize that not everyone watches TV every moment of every day. That would be wrong. Not to mention pathetic. Still, don’t we all indulge, from time to time, in the guilty pleasure of electronic entertainment? Of course we do! if you said “no”, you’re telling a lie from the pits of hell and the spirit of Philo T. Farnsworth is gonna swoop down and bite you in the ass.
Our point, for we sort of have one, is that we all watch the “tube”. And, sometimes, when there’s nothing better to do, we even watch really crappy shows (sports events with undesired outcomes notwithstanding). Why, some of us have confessed to watching episodes of Knott’s Landing on the Soap Network. Others, reruns of The Brady Bunch. At least one of us is addicted to really old/really bad movies, like those frequently aired on TCM. So, what’s your “guilty pleasure”, with regards to bad and/or questionable TV? And, be warned, we want embarrassing stuff here… tell us you secretly watch National Geographic and/or CNN and we’re liable to come out there and smack you. (and, trust us, you don’t want that!) So, come on… don’t be shy. The truth will set you free. That said, please resist the urge to share your passion for porn, Unless it’s PG(ish)-rated and/or involves Popeye and Olive Oyl. Alrighty then, spit it out! What’s in YOUR viewing closet?
Television: chewing gum for the eyes. ~ Frank Lloyd Wright