Friday, January 25, 2008

T.V. watching strike, Day 80

I think most people would describe me as a "good sport." I'm pretty tolerant of self obsessive annoying bullshit. You need only scroll through my Ipod for proof. Its filled with 235 Days worth of (mostly) legally acquired music, ranging from to Magik Markers to the far superior Hall & Oates. In fact, I have become so obsessed with the idea of filling up the 80G hard drive that enabling the shuffle feature is on par with taking an all-inclusive trip to Sandals: Guantanamo Bay. Fuck Water boarding! Make these evildoers sit through seven hours of Steve Reich with a tiny bit of Billy Ocean in between... just to get their hopes up. I promise you, they will sing like mockingbirds.

Sure, its easy to joke about illegally mistreating prisoners of war- Jay Leno's made a fortune off of it. They almost deserve it. Terrorists make me angry! Heck, Jay Leno makes me angry! I rarely ever get angry at Hollywood; I almost never get mad enough to, say, smash a large vase or key my dad's car, but this time they've really done it! To you, Hollywood, I say this: resolve the writers' strike or else!

Ever since the WGA began its selfish, hateful campaign on November 5th, all i can think about is poor Bret Michaels. Without their help, he may never find true love. (Though he may have to work on his gaming skills- playing Every Rose Has Its Thorn to a captive audience may work on the new girls at the Applebee's franchise you Assistant Manage, esp. after- oops!- 7 too many Tequiza`s, but it's hardly the way to win the heart of a lady. Even if said lady's face looks as if it may have been hit with a hot frying pan or found in a loose pile under an old-fashioned, hand-cranked meat grinder. Can somebody please take the beer goggles off that guy.) Why? So some famous overpaid writer can have a couple of extra sick days to spend in Cannes or Vail? Baby wants a bottle, waaaah. Lil Baby needs better working conditions and better health care. Please, quit whining. I don't have health care. In fact, I technically am not allowed to bleed. If you cut me right now, I could go to jail.

By now you've probably realized I'm not the delusional "worker bee" that Hollywood claims I am. The type of Joe Slob* that thinks by watching Celebrity Rehab (BTW: Clever name, VH1. Are the people who name T.V. shows on strike as well?) the wheelchair guy from TAXI who is, apparently, addicted to farting, is my buddy. No thank you, VH1; I have real buddies that are addicted to farting.

Also, why are the commercials for Vagisil Wipes ™ so prominently featured during Celebrity Rehab? What are they trying to say about their audience?? Do T.V. commercial copy writers belong to the same unions? Is there something seeping out of Hollywood's un-fresh vagina that they don't want us to know about? I think there is. Old fashioned work ethic.

-Sir Adrian

**Please contact me if you are interested in picking up the revolutionary new series I'm developing.** (I'm talking to you ABC!)
Its a reality based-television experience called, Joe Slob.
Synopsis: An interactive game show where contestants compete by giving in to their basest desires, pissing away every penny they have on bad investments such as crack, meth, hookers, gasoline, Blue-Ray DVDs, etc. Then they only eat fast food until they're homeless. Next, we introduce them to a ball busting English nanny who puts them through a boot camp where they learn about manners and more importantly, themselves. Finally, they are flown to L.A. and given a makeover by the king of pop himself, Clay Aiken! The finale is taped live in front of a studio audience. America, and a small cohort of Dutchmen, then choose one winner who will live out the rest of their days in luxury as Paula Abdul's servant/lap dog/pill-scorer. The losers remain homeless.

No comments: