[Dudes! I’m on vacation! So enjoy this only moderately moldy I Love Television™ repeat column, with adorable old-timey pop culture references left intact!—Humpy]
“THIS WEEK! Super agent Jack Bauer returns in another exciting, pants-wetting, testicle-dropping, liposuction-ing season of the Fox hit series 24! DO… NOT… MISS… IT!!”
Okay, how did I do? See, I’m really sick of scribbling TV columns, so I’m applying for a promo writing job at Fox. Why? Because I’m AWWWWWWESOMMMME! And I’ve learned you can sell anything to anybody if you just scream and use a lot of capital letters and EXTEEEEEEEEND ALLLLLL YOURRRRR WORRRRRRDS!!!

I’ll admit it! I’ve got a huge beef with American Idol. For years I have (okay, perhaps unwisely) used this column as a bully pulpit to point out Idol’s numerous flaws—the worst being that I’ve never appeared on the show, or won. It’s freaking ridiculous, guys! Their job is to choose America’s next worship-worthy singing star, AM I RIGHT? And yet? They’ve repeatedly barred me from competing because of stupid and completely discriminatory age requirements! Result: AMERICA LOSES.

Guys! I gotta admit this whole “race of supermen” thing creeps me out. First of all, why do we even need a race of supermen? They’re just going to eventually enslave us, right? Um, that’s why we’re building robots and teaching apes sign language—having supermen, too, would just be REDUNDANT! Now, if the idea is to use this race of supermen to combat these megalomaniac robots and apes riding around on horseback throwing nets on top of us—well, I’m open to discussion. But only if the race of supermen doesn’t turn right around and enslave us right back!

Frankly, I’m not too sure how we’re gonna get around this whole enslavement thing. It sounds like it’s gonna happen regardless of what we do. So we should probably create a race of people whom we wouldn’t mind being enslaved by, right? For example, super-hot amazon chicks. (Let’s make sure they don’t get the “nag” gene.) I also wouldn’t mind being enslaved by the Hostess cake company. C’MON! Their Ho Hos and Ding Dongs are delicious! And if push came to shove, I wouldn’t kick too hard about being enslaved by Taylor Lautner (the werewolf from Twilight). He seems super nice, and have you seen those abs? JESUS CHRIST! Pull up his shirt and I’ll happily clean porta-potties at Diarrheaville’s annual Prune Day Festival.

For many people, this week is a lot like Christmas—unless you’re Jewish, in which case it’s a lot like that unpronounceable holiday you people celebrate. It’s national “Shark Week” on the Discovery Channel (starting August 1)—a whopping seven days of documentaries devoted to sharks and the chunks they take out of your ass.

Now, me? I say sharks are OVERRATED. I mean, c’mon! What do sharks actually do other than amputate ass cheeks? NOT MUCH. Plus! The Discovery Channel has been hosting “Shark Week” since 1987—the same year my mom first discovered a pube in my diaper. Isn’t it time to let some other animal have a chance? Like, how about “Monkeys on Roller Skates Week”? They’re adorable and hilarious, and if you stick a banana between your cheeks, I bet they’d happily bite your ass off. Or “Crocodiles on Meth Week.” You squirt some meth up in a croc’s grill and laugh and laugh and laugh while they furiously clean your kitchen and reorganize your spice rack.

GUYS! I must confess I’m purrrrr-ty disappointed in the creators of Mad Men right now. Not that I dislike the show… in fact, the boner alert in my pants reached orange (the most boner-ific color) after learning the season premiere of Mad Men debuts this week (AMC, Sun July 25, 10 pm). In fact, my boner is so inflated, I have to wear cargo shorts for the morbidly obese just so I can go outside! (Unfortunately, that still doesn’t stop my boner from accidentally smashing shop windows whenever I happen to turn around.)

So why am I so disappointed in Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner? Because for reasons too mind-boggling to comprehend, Weiner has REJECTED my script for a season four episode! I KNOW, RIGHT?

As a father of at least a couple dozen out-of-wedlock kids, I believe I can speak with some authority on the subject of child rearing. Tip #1: Don’t call it “child rearing.” It’s disgusting. Tip #2: Children are much like amoebas in the brain department, and therefore only require two things: the right to (a) stay up all night and (b) eat as much candy as possible. Offer them a Zagnut bar or an hour less of sleep, and you can get them to wash your car for a year. Tip #3: Kids will believe everything you tell them. For example, my mother told me that when I was a baby, she implanted a microphone in my brain, which would let her know what I was thinking every minute of the day. This totally psyched me out, and even though I was pretty sure “brain microphones” were a scientific impossibility, it worked like a charm. My efforts at mischief became clumsy and insecure. For example, when I’d try to steal candy from the cupboard, I’d invariably make enough noise to alert my mom, who would hop out from around the corner yelling, “AH-HAH! Your brain microphone told me you’d be doing that!!”

For reasons unknown, I’m often accused of using this television column to talk about anything except television. First of all, the name of this column is “I Love Television™” not “I Write About Television™” (although that’s an awesome name for a television column, isn’t it?). Secondly, there are other things in this world besides television, guys! Say for example, the Twilight series. Have you seen Eclipse yet? Aren’t Jacob’s abs AH-MAY-ZING? Isn’t Edward a pasty-face fop? And isn’t Bella the stupidest person in the world? Seriously, she spends the entire movie whining, “Edward! Change me into a vampire! Change me into a vampire!” Why should he? So she can nag the shit out of him for the rest of eternity? Bella would be, like, the worst vampire in the history of vampires—and yes, I’m including Count Chocula! At least he likes chocolate! Bella is stupid, doesn’t like chocolate, and the only thing she sucks is a person’s will to live.

AMERICA! The country in which I receive a paycheck! AMERICA! The country in which I can say whatever I want about my employer without fear of termination (unless I’m General Stanley A. McChrystal). AMERICA! The country where certain newspapers stupidly refuse to pack their Fourth of July issues with an insane amount of patriotic content. (You guys can’t fire me, right? After all, this is AMERICA!!)

So the other day, I asked this paper’s big boss, “Yo, pops! What sort of amazing patriotic content are you planning on packing into this issue? IT’S GONNA BE INSANE, RIGHT?” Well as it turns out, the amount of patriotic content is not INSANE at all! In fact, it’s decidedly UN-insane!

There’s crap for TV this week—unless, like me, you’ve got a cop fetish. If so, then you may want to check out the premiere of Rookie Blue (ABC, Thurs June 24, 9 pm), which involves an impossibly hot group of rookie cops trying to survive their first days patrolling the streets. The upside? Unlike the somewhat unattractive cops I’ve been forced to bone (it’s a fetish, not a choice), these pigs are WICKED SMOKIN’. The downside? None of them are naked. In fact, that’s the problem with this series—unless these buff pieces of bacon are patrolling a nudist colony, an orgy, or the inside of my pants… NOT INTERESTED.

Anyway, on to more important subjects! LIKE ME! AND MY NEW BAND! For those who have been following my all-ukulele R. Kelly cover band (entitled “R. Kelele” of course), you will be devastated to hear that we’ve broken up. I left the band after discovering my co-ukuleleists were fanny holes and totally cramping my style. Besides, they refused to play any cop bars, cop parties, or cop conventions. LAME!

 

Reason #1! Her teeth look like someone knocked them out with a jackhammer, and then shot them back inside her mouth using a T-shirt cannon.

Reason #2! Watching an episode of her long-running Disney Channel TV show, Hannah Montana, is like experiencing a production of  A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream by the Royal Shakespeare Company—if the play were cast with spastic chimps dosed up on goofballs, who are either furiously masturbating or crapping onto one of the Bard’s sonnets, which they then either hurl at the audience or consume for their own enjoyment.

Reason #3! Miley Cyrus is not Justin Bieber. (You may be beginning to suspect why I’m writing this particular column.)

Reason #4! Miley Cyrus is getting her own special on the ABC network this Friday (June 18, 8 pm) entitled Miley Cyrus: Live from London. First of all, this concert isn’t even “live”—it was taped during Miley’s recent worldwide tour. Sooo… LIAR! Secondly, it’s in London. And the last time I checked, Miley is a citizen of THE UNITED FREAKING STATES OF AMERICA, MOTHEREFFERS! So the next time you plan to do a “live” television concert, Miley, maybe you might not want to farm it out to another stinking country, you anti-American NAFTA lover!!

Reason #5! ABC agreed to televise a Miley Cyrus concert, instead of a Justin Bieber concert.

Reason #6! And this is just plain stupid, because Justin Bieber is way, way, way, way, WAY more popular than Miley Cyrus is or ever was! For example, I was at the mall the other day frantically looking for a Justin Bieber T-shirt (SHUT UP!!!), and finally found one at Hot Topic buried in between a Twilight “Team Jacob” hoodie (which I also purchased) and a Degrassi High crop top tee (which I will return for next week). Was there any Miley Cyrus paraphernalia there? NOOOOOOOO! In fact the only place I saw any Miley Cyrus t-shirts was at SEARS. (Which should tell one something, should it not??)

Reason #7! “New” Miley Cyrus is way more annoying than “old” Miley Cyrus. “Old” Miley Cyrus would do really annoying things like being photographed making a “me Chinese” slanty-eyed face next to her Asian friend, performing a stripper-style “pole dance” during the Teen Choice Awards, and designing clothes for Walmart. However, “new” Miley Cyrus was recently seen faking a lesbian kiss onstage during one of her shows, ostensibly to show how “edgy” she is now. Dear Miley: WE DO NOT “FAKE” LESBIAN KISSES. I want your tongue so far down that backup dancer’s throat, you can taste her tonsils. Then I want your tongue to travel down that girl’s intestinal system, out her bottom hole, up her back, and then over her head so it can tap you on the shoulder and remind you that YOU ARE NOT A LESBIAN. (By the way, if you’re looking for real lesbians, check out Showtime’s new reality show The Real L Word debuting this Sunday June 20 at 10 pm.)

Reason #8! Oh crap, I’m out of space… but… but… JUSTIN BIEBER!!

Reason #9! Her dad’s a douche.

 

 

steve@portlandmercury.com

 

Look. You have your opinions? And I have mine. HOWEVER! It must be stated—and you’re probably already well aware of the fact—that my opinion carries a weeeeeee bit more weight than yours. DON’T GET MAD! It’s not your fault that your views of the world are somewhat less important than the donkey crap that regularly spews from my cakehole. See… here’s the thing: I have a nationally renowned television column, while you… ummm, how do I put this… DON’T. But like I said: not your fault. You spent your youth and college years studying “books” and filling your head with… goddamnit, what’s the word? Oh yeah… “knowledge.” Me, I chose a different path.

Look, let’s get one thing clear: regularly watching Glee does not make me gay. Reading Men’s Health magazine makes me gay. Thinking up increasingly convoluted high-fives to give my softball teammates makes me gay. Cut off jean shorts—makes me gay. Spending waaay too much time detailing my car? Makes me gay. In fact there are tons of “straight guy” stuff I do every day that makes me flaming gay. (However, squealing like a girl when I heard Liza Minnelli doing a cover of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies”—that makes me a very different kind of gay.) My point is that it really doesn’t matter how many women or men I’ve pleased sexually (87 and 42, though that’s a conservative count). While Glee may, in fact, be the gayest show on television—gayer than RuPaul riding a rainbow unicorn at the annual Gaytown Gay Rodeo—it’s a show that celebrates everyone: gays, straights, minorities, majorities, nice people, and a-holes. Though I’m pretty sure it hasn’t celebrated gay monkeys yet. They should get on that.

Ever heard that phrase, “What doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger?” That’s exactly why I eat Popeyes fried chicken every morning for breakfast, four Reese’s peanut butter cups for lunch (washed down with a tumbler of Jack), followed by a sensible dinner. Doctors say this diet will surely kill me—while my Aunt Wanda (and Nietzsche, apparently) says “what doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger.” So the way I see it, statistically, there’s a 50/50 chance of this diet either killing me, or making me stronger—preferably as strong, or stronger than the Hulk. Obviously, I’m going with Aunt Wanda and Nietzsche on this one! SCREW YOU, MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS!

Obviously, the same logic can be applied to television watching. Let’s say, for example, MTV is showing a nine-hour Memorial Day Jersey Shore marathon (which they are, starting at 2 pm on that day), and you’re considering watching the entire thing. First of all, you should ask yourself, “WILL THIS KILL ME?” If the answer is yes—don’t watch it. BUT! If the answer is “no, this will not kill me,” then by all means watch the shit out of it! BECAUSE IT WILL MAKE YOU STRONGER! Your muscles will be stronger (particularly your glutes, because you’ll be squeezing them in embarrassment), your eyes will be stronger (it takes a lot of work to hold your eyes open for nine hours), but most importantly your BRAIN will be stronger (because… umm… wait. I’ve lost my train of thought. WHAT?).

As predicted last week, my underpants are full of crap. There are SO many TV season finales this coming week, and I’m SO overwhelmed, I’ve lapsed into a semicomatose state, wherein all of my bodily functions have shut down—except for life support and the ability to type this stupid column (which doesn’t require significant brain power anyway). But as it turns out, there are upsides to shutting down all systems except for life support. Example: There’s sincerely nothing you can do about it when your significant other is nagging you to wash a dish. The downsides of shutting down all systems: People use Sharpies to draw rude words and pictures on your face. GUYS! I’M NOT DRUNK OR ASLEEP! I CAN SEE YOU!

Another downside? Underpants full of crap. So there’s that.

Guys! What… are… you… doing? Are you seriously thinking about watching TELEVISION this week? Dudes, if you’re going to pick ANY week to watch TV, for the love of god, don’t make it this one! This is the absolute WORST week to sit in front of the tube, and it’s not just because there’s a bunch of absolute crap on (even though there is, and you love watching absolute crap). The problem is that next week is going to be the busiest television-watching week of your entire life—and if you don’t conserve your energy, you’re gonna totally shoot your wad (in a bad way), and have no wad at all for next week! GUYS! You gotta save your wad!!