Part of the ongoing series of random thoughts which don't necessarily merit a full post.
Alone Again, Or?
Sometimes it's preferable to go completely without than it is to settle for something awful: never eating pizza at all beats even once having to work your way through the crap served by Pizza Hut; being utterly deprived of television would be a profound improvement over a prime time schedule filled with Gray's Anatomy, Ugly Betty and According to Jim; it would be better to be dead than be forced to live in Corpus Christi, Texas, etc.
This belief holds especially true when it comes to relationships.
It's a hell of a lot more desirable to be alone than it is to be saddled with an idiot (yes, even one who's talented in bed).
I'm sure that at some point I'll expand on this idea, but for the moment two types of people come to mind that I can highly recommend you avoid like the black guy at a NASCAR race.
#1. Women who love football
Yeah, I know, most men think they've struck gold if they happen to stumble across something that doesn't simply tolerate their Sunday fix but actively participates in it and happens to have a place up front in which to put their penises from time to time. You know what though -- think about the women you've met in your lifetime who really love football. I'm not talking about the ones who are more than happy to get into it once in awhile; I'm talking about the ones who love it -- the ones who own jerseys and know stats and believe there's nothing the least bit offensive about Budweiser in a plastic cup and scream as loudly as you do when the ref makes a lousy call and are equal parts furious and heartbroken when their QB chokes during the playoffs.
Now think about arm hair, a lack of decent fashion sense, the inability to apply make-up, an intellect that rivals that of a Slinky, a CD rack full of Creed & Daughtry and front-row seats at the Nickleback show, the inability to take her to dinner anywhere more upscale than TGIFridays and -- should you stick around -- the distinct possibility that she'll eventually either A) begin sleeping with one of her seventeen-year-old students, or B) leave you for that woman she met in the drill-bits section of Home Depot.
If you're lucky, she'll just be really, really average.
#2. Anyone who uses the term "My Boys," or conversely, "My Girls"
No, seriously -- just punch this person in the face and get it over with.
Burn, Hollywood, Burn
It's one of the universe's most puzzling conundrums: HBO's Entourage bills itself as a comedy, and yet is never funny. Never. Like, not even once in awhile.
I'm not entirely sure who the core audience is for this show, but after much internal debate I think I can safely say that America's collective IQ could be raised substantially in a very short amount of time if these people were forced to register with the government for immediate relocation to offshore internment camps. It's simple conditional science really: if you watch Entourage because you think it's funny, you're either hopelessly deluded or just incredibly dumb -- since it's not -- and are therefore a prime candidate for the camps; if you watch Entourage because you're truly fascinated by the day-to-day triumphs and tragedies of four vapid, over-indulged and underworked assholes whose lives revolve around bedding girls you can't have, making money you'll never see, living a life you'll never live and buying $300 t-shirts at Fred Segal then discussing how they look in them -- once again, you're perfect material for the camps; if you watch because you'd like to in some way emulate the aforementioned assholes -- off to the camps; if you watch because you work in Hollywood and either hope you might see yourself on TV, or simply think that the life you lead is so goddamned amazing that, well, everybody wishes they could be a part of it, right? -- fuck the camps, you get a beating at the hands of ten Brooklyn teamsters who've been told that you're a gay athiest who raped a ten-year-old boy from the neighborhood.
Given that America is inundated with the idiotic real-life antics of young, spoiled Hollywood every day from every conceivable media outlet -- why the hell would anyone possibly choose to suffer through an unfunny TV comedy about said same?
Hug this out, bitch.
(The Cynicist Manifesto: Addendum -- 1.31.07)
(The Cynicist Manifesto -- 9.22.06)
Monday, March 19, 2007
Posted by Chez at 8:55 PM