Tag Archives: Saturday Night Live

Million Dollar Extreme

I love great sketch comedy, and as demonstrated on this site, I have tremendous nostalgia for the video industry of the 1980s and ’90s. By nature I am protective of those things, out of love. I have little tolerance of exploitation of them.

I believe the modern peak of sketch comedy came with two shows; Mr. Show with Bob & David, and The Kids In The Hall (both on HBO). Since the 1990s, these programs set the gold standard. Inevitably, new sketch comedy shows are compared to them, and they seldom hold up. I don’t think The State gelled until they became Reno 911. Broken Lizard has moments; generally one or two per film. Too many comedy groups nowadays are post-UCB; all manic energy, no focus. That’s fine if the group is performing live for an drunken bar audience. TV is a different matter.

 

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Filed under Bad Influences, Nostalgic Obsessions, Unfairly Maligned

No Dark Sarcasm In The Classroom

Comedy stinks right now because you forced it to stink. You vilified every experience in life that makes a great comedian. You made the safe, sponsored version of laughter the norm. You’re so afraid to really laugh in front of other people, that you turned comedy from an anti-establishment weapon into a cottony security blanket.

Comedy stinks right now because of you. Because you’re afraid of your true feelings. 

You probably don’t even know who this is.

Let’s take, as an example, one of these pusillanimous women that the media holds up as Queens of Comedy. You know the ones, I don’t have to name them. They’re all over glossy magazine covers at the checkout aisles, making “zany” faces to remind you they’re funny. 

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Filed under Bad Influences, Faint Signals, Late To The Party, Thousand Listen Club

Where Is The Love?

I don’t watch Jimmy Fallon. I don’t like him. I never have. Why do I feel bad writing that?

He is robot, yes?

Fallon didn’t get the job because he had the most talent as a late-night talk show host. He got it because he was the available cypher. He never makes waves, or complains about pay. He has no opinions regarding corporations, no matter how toxic they are, or how much pressure they exert upon his artistic freedom. He loves karaoke because he loves to imitate. He is permanently star-struck.

The perfect talk show host.

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Filed under Don't Know Don't Care, Faint Signals, Uncategorized

Forever Insufferable

If it were up to me, this entire website would be nothing but pictures of womens’ tits. Oh, except in the sidebar, there’d be a link to all the reviews I’ve written about Transformers toys. If it were up to me.

Wait a second… it is up to me. It’s my site. So why don’t I?

Good question. I could probably make a tidy income doing it. So why not?

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Filed under Bad Influences, Don't Know Don't Care, Idiot's Delight, Robot Toy Fetish, Worst Of All

The 5 Greatest Television Show Themes

Do you know what a “cold open” is? Sure you do. Every current sitcom you watch uses it. It’s when the show just begins, no fanfare, no opening titles. Right into the action, because the producers know you’ll change the channel if you have to sit through 30 seconds of the same music every week.

Congrats! You’ve done exactly what was expected of you, and nothing more.

“Cold opens” are like “cold sores”. They spread easily. Saturday Night Live has done cold opens since before you were born. You’re used to it in sitcoms. Hell, you were getting tired of the “typical sitcom theme”, anyway.

That’s why they suck now.

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Filed under Faint Signals, Girls of BIUL, Nostalgic Obsessions, Thousand Listen Club

The Face of Kellyanne

Last year, all I wanted to do was crack jokes about Hillary Clinton’s ever-smug face. Her daughter Chelsea, too. Throw in that awful Debbie Wasserman Shultz, and you’ve got a trifecta of ghoulish visages I was literally salivating to goof on. Caricature unflatteringly, at the least.

And I didn’t.

I didn’t make fun of the women at the Trump rally, either. I couldn’t; they were all attractive, and could possibly have shamed me as a man.

While the entire media industry decided to make fun of Donald Trump’s face, like a bus full of second-graders, I didn’t stoop to their level. And oh, they had a field day. They’re still doodling him as an anus, or a Cheeto. I’ve seen that illustration of Trump as a shit-spattered baby so many times I could forge it from memory.

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Filed under Bad Influences, Don't Know Don't Care, Girls of BIUL, Idiot's Delight, Worst Of All

A Toast To Absent Friends

Imagine if legendary and revered comedian Bill Hicks hadn’t died in 1994.

Some people believe Alex Jones is really Bill Hicks. I am not among them.

What if- just hear me out- he supported Trump in 2016? How would that make you feel about him? What if he’d gone “right-wing”, pre- or post-9/11? Would he still be referenced in Tool songs?

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Filed under Bad Influences, Faint Signals, Idiot's Delight, Nostalgic Obsessions

Dear Bubble People

Wanna make sure I never watch your movie or show?

Title it “Dear White People”. 

Scrub away guilt!

I won’t touch it. I don’t respond well to condescension. I could contract full-blown AIDS, “Dear White People” could have the cure, and I’d die happily, blissfully ignorant, broth bowl in hand, tumbling to the linoleum with a smile.

Any white person who would willfully watch something titled “Dear White People” is fearful of people who aren’t white. Period.

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Filed under Bad Influences, Don't Know Don't Care, Idiot's Delight, Worst Of All

Sponge

Oh boy, it’s “Song”, from “Band”! How exciting!

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Filed under Don't Know Don't Care, Eatable Things, Faint Signals, Idiot's Delight, Nostalgic Obsessions

The Joke Shop

Somehow, in 1987, I convinced my father to drive me to a joke shop in Paterson, New Jersey.

In the back, there’s a kiddie pool. JOKES, PEOPLE! JOKES!

The name of the place escapes me; it was unremarkable, something like “[X] Joke & Novelty”. Three years later, hunting for liquor and without proper ID, my friends and I were chased away from this very same area by a man swinging a chain over his head. Alongside Newark and Camden, Paterson is one of Jersey’s finest hellholes.

So getting my dad to drive me out there for gag items was quite the coup. I wanted a realistic fake faucet that could be attached to the forehead. I got much, much more. Continue reading

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Filed under Bad Influences, Faint Signals, Idiot's Delight, Nostalgic Obsessions