Category Archives: Boob Tubery

Dance for Me, My Subjects!

I would like to applaud NBC for their brand new show Superstars of Dance. Not because the show is any good, but because it demonstrates that the network has mastered time travel.

At least I assume they did, and used it to pluck a producer from the 1950s and bring him back to modern times. Because there’s no way that any producer born in the last 40 years would take grown-ass men and dress them in such demeaning costumes just because they’re from foreigny lands. 

Or maybe they went back to the late 1800s, and got old timey editorial cartoonists to do the costume design. Because all of the judges on this show are forced to wear stereotypical garb from their native land. The audience couldn’t possibly enjoy a well-performed dance routine from, say, a Japanese man. No, he must wear a samurai robe and carry a katana at all times!

The Chinese judge wears a saffron Buddhist monk’s robe. The Russian judge wears a traditional puffy blouse, like he’s gonna start step-dancing with a bottle of vodka on his head any second. I’m pretty sure I saw a Swiss guy in Tyrolean hat, and a Samoan guy in a muu-muu, and an African with those weird neck rings. It’s really a spiritual cousin to It’s a Small World After All: an attempt at “international understanding” that just betrays the superior, condescending attitude of the perpetrator.

Remember when Michael Richards said some crazy racist stuff a few years back and it ruined his career? Well, if he said anything as racist as this show looks, he would have been stoned to death in the street.

NBC also turned back the clock to get its audience. They must have come from a time before Dancing With the Stars premiered, because these people are simply AMAZED that dancing has returned to television. They must also be blissfully unaware of So You Think You Can Dance, Pants Off Dance Off, Someone Marry My Mom While Dancing, and the roughly 8 billion other dance-reality shows that have aired in the last 5 years.

Or they got their audience from roughly 15 years ago, the last time Michael Flatley was famous and relevant and didn’t vaguely resemble Lawrence Welk.

Actually, they probably got their audience from a lot farther back than that. Some time when entertainment hadn’t been invented yet. Because these people will apparently applaud anything done in front of them.

Irish step dancing straight out of Celtic Nightmare or some other bullshit diddly-dee PBS special? Yippee! Indian dancing that wouldn’t fly in the cheapest Bollywood movie? Huzzah! Some Argentinean chick convulsing in something that barely resembles rhythm? Oh joy!

Kudos, NBC. When you’re done raiding the past for inspiration, see if you can figure out that whole “who killed JFK” thing.

The Warp and Woof of Ruining Your Child’s Life

You will warp your children. It’s an inevitable byproduct of the parenting process, just like how you can’t make a hot dog without two or three rat turds finding their way into the mix.

Some warping is a good thing, in the long run. A completely unwarped, innocent child would grow up to be one of those scary, infantile grown ups who’s way too into Harry Potter. If you’re lucky, you warp your child so that they have a healthy skepticism about The Ways of the World. If you’re unlucky, they grow up to collect other people’s skin. But in all likelihood, you won’t know how you’ve warped your child for good.

I can trace my own warping–positive and negative–to a lot of things. But I know that parental TV viewing played a major part. Particularly, my dad’s fondness for Monty Python. He never forced me to watch it, but it was on in the house often, back in the days when Python was a PBS staple.

I remember liking it a lot when I was way too young to know what I was watching. I had to ask my dad to translate certain Britishisms like pram and lorry and explain allusions to historic events I hadn’t learned about yet. But I liked the really weird cartoons, and the fact that in any given episode you’d probably see some boobs (PBS was the best friend to a kid without cable in the 80s).

Was I destined to be a nerd anyway, and annoy the shit out of my friends by repeating sketches they’d never see? Yeah, probably. But the fact that I could recite “The Lumberjack Song” at age 7 definitely sped up the process. Was it my father’s intention to bruise my fragile psyche with anagrams and cross dressing? I doubt it. Still, it happened.

Continue reading The Warp and Woof of Ruining Your Child’s Life →

Hell Is Network TV During the Writers’ Strike

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HOWIE MANDEL: Welcome back to Is That A Suitcase, America’s hottest game show! Sandy here is from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and she’s made it past the Coors Light Cold Round and the Doritos Crunchy Crunch Zone. Now it’s time for the Pizza Hut Hot and Cheesy Lightning Round. So far, she has correctly identified SIXTY-FIVE SUITCASES.

/suspiciously thunderous applause/

But you’re still far from the finish line, Sandy. Because there are still THIRTY-FIVE of our lovely assistants on the stage, and each of them hold a THING. I will now point to one of these assistants. She will present the THING she is holding, and you have to tell me, IS THAT A SUITCASE?!

SANDY: Oh my God, I’m so nervous!

HOWIE MANDEL: Before you answer, remember: your ability to identify SUITCASES has already earned you several thousand dollars. If you quit now, you can walk away with that money. If you continue, you could lose it all. But you could also win a million dollars AND A FREE SUITCASE!

SANDY: Oh golly! I’m so worn out from identifying suitcases, I don’t know if I can identify another suitcase!

HOWIE MANDEL: If you’re unsure, there’s still time to pull out. Please take a look at
your family, who stand here corralled on a tiny platform, cheering you on.

HUSBAND: You can do it, honey! You’ve been identifying suitcases your whole life!

SON: Do it for the free suitcase, mommy!

HOWIE MANDEL: Sandy–

/pauses thirty seconds/

I need your answer–

/pauses four minutes/

–now.

/pauses for two ice ages/

IS THAT A SUITCASE?!

SANDY: Oh jeez…handle, leather case, three-digit combo lock…gosh, I just don’t know! Can I use one of my hint cards?

HOWIE MANDEL: Yes, but remember that if you do, you only have SEVENTY-THREE HINT CARDS LEFT.

SANDY: Only seventy-three? Oh no!

HOWIE MANDEL: After this commercial break: MORE DRAMATIC PAUSES!

*click*

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MARK WALBERG: This is Who Would You Hump? , the most CONTROVERSIAL show on TV! We have our contestant Frank strapped to a lie detector and pumped full of sodium pentathol, so HE CAN NOT POSSIBLY LIE. And now, we will find out his innermost, deepest, darkest, seediest, smelliest, stickiest secrets. I will name some people, and you have to tell me TRUTHFULLY: would you hump them, if there was no way that your wife would find out about it, there would be no adverse consequences for either you or the woman you humped, and you wouldn’t feel a shred of guilt about it? First up: Hayden
Pannetierre.

FRANK: Yes.

/ding/

MARK WALBERG: The machine says you’re telling the truth, but that was an easy one. Next: Maggie Gyllenhall.

FRANK: …Yes.

MARK WALBERG: You paused a bit. Are you sure?

FRANK: I’m sure, yes.

MARK WALBERG: Did you pause because you were thinking about her brother getting plowed in Brokeback Mountain ?

FRANK: No.

/ding/

MARK WALBERG: Okay, the machine agrees. Next up: Phyllis Diller.

FRANK: Jesus, no.

/buzz/

MARK WALBERG: Sorry, Frank. The machine says you’re lying.

FRANK: She’s like 90 years old! I don’t wanna hump her!

MARK WALBERG: The machine doesn’t lie, Frank. So not only do you lose, but you now have to bone Phyllis Diller on national TV.

FRANK: I never agreed to do that!

MARK WALBERG: Gotta read the fine print more carefully, Frank.

diller.jpgPHYLLIS DILLER: I hope Fang doesn’t hear about this. HAH HAH!

*click*

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HULK HOGAN: American Gladiators is back on the air, brother, and it’s hotter than ever! We got ‘roided up gladiators, we got insanely overconfident contestants, and best of all, we got ME, the Hulkmeister! Our first contestant is Mark Reynolds from Salinas, California. Oh yeah!

MARK: Thanks, Hulk. Great to be here.

HULK HOGAN: No, man, you gotta jump in and say you’re gonna kill the competition.

MARK: Well, I certainly expect to win…

HULK HOGAN: No, you have to literally say you will kill the competition! Murder ’em! Rip off their arms and club ’em to death with ’em!

MARK: I just wanna do my best…

HULK HOGAN: Say you’re gonna kidnap the other guy’s kids and eat their faces!

MARK: I’m not saying that!

HULK HOGAN: Okay, we’ll get a sass-mouth manager to say it for you. Freddie, get in here!

blassie.jpgFREDDIE BLASSIE: That pencil neck geek is gonna get what’s comin’ to him: a mouthful of bloody Chiclets!

MARK: What do I do now?

HULK HOGAN: Take steroids and do a retarded reality show about your untalented kids.