Why Didn’t Anybody Tell Me That “Friday Night Lights” Is The Greatest Show In The History Of Shows?

Far be it from me to further glamorize high school football, the culture of which is almost solely responsible for driving me into the self-hating profession known as “comedy.” However it needs to be said, and said loudly, that “Friday Night Lights,” the NBC television program about Texas high school football, is a home run!!!

Did I read the book? I did. Did I see the movie? I did. Do I think the TV show is better than the book and the movie put together? I do. Now look, I am not necessarily a guy who is into sports, as evidenced by both my effeminate physique and mannerisms, as well as my affinity for parlor games such as Scrabble and Big Boggle. But I defy any person with testicles to not go apeshit over (as I am calling it) “FNL,” which is so close to “NFL” you can taste it. (It’s also close to SNL, although that doesn’t seem particularly relevant, even though both shows are on NBC.)

Favorite characters:

• The back-up quarterback promoted to “QB1” after the starting QB gets all paralyzed in the first episode. (To clarify, he’s not “all” paralyzed, just half paralyzed)

• Buddy, the town’s big booster, who’s just a big ol’ scumbag, and is also the father of the cheerleader who is both the girlfriend of the paralyzed goody-goody QB, but is also having a thing with the James Dean rebel football player, who is the paralyzed QB’s “best friend,” but through four episodes has yet to visit him in the hospital. Yikes!

• Voo-Doo, the Katrina refugee that Buddy recruits to play quarterback. The only reason I like him is because he looks like he’s twenty-two years old, which is always my favorite element of any high school show.

• Connie Britton who plays the coach’s wife. I just like her and I met her once. Fucked her. (Not really.)

• The various football team extras who have to show up for all the group football scenes but never have any lines.

• Along the lines of the various football team extras, I also like the various football team coaches who have no lines but have to act like coaches to the football player extras who have no lines.

It’s just a tremendous, tremendous television show. Ever since they cancelled “Back to You” last year, I just didn’t think I’d ever find another network show to love. I was wrong. Boy was I wrong. So while I still harbor tremendous resentment towards that band of self-idolizing dickwads who played football in my particular high school, I love the self-idolizing dickwads who play it for Dillon, Texas on this show. If you get a chance, check out FNL on NBC. After you watch it, I guarantee you’ll yell, just as I did, “Goooooooal!”



Here's the first episode:

I'm Sick of the Election

This election has got me plumb tuckered out. My fatigue undoubtedly stems from the fact that I check the polls more than once a day, that I now know how many electoral votes New Mexico has, and that I have developed carpal tunnel syndrome from registering fake voters for Acorn.

Now look, I have said from the very beginning that I’m rooting for the black guy in this thing. Why? Because I find it funny to say, “I’m rooting for the black guy.” It makes me sound both progressive and ignorant in the same breath, a combination I find irresistible. I also happen to find him the better candidate, as well as the only remaining candidate who, to my knowledge, has never called his wife a cunt. Which, in my mind, is a plus.

And the election has been good for my own marriage because it’s given my wife and I something to talk about for the first time in… ever. I tend to goad her on whenever she starts talking about the election because when she’s talking about her dislike for the Republicans, she’s ignoring her own dislike for me. Which is great.

But enough’s enough. I feel like the kid who’s been given free run of the candy shop and ate himself sick. This election has gotten me nauseous. It’s just not fun anymore. The fact that I now even know enough about Acorn to make a joke about them proves it. The fact that any of us is now familiar with the term “first dude” further proves it. I will be so happy on November 5th when I can finally turn my attention away from electing the leader of the free world and return it to the financial apocalypse currently underway. Whoever wins, Barack or Methuselah, is going to find himself in a biblical-sized shit storm upon taking the oath.

Just to put all of this in perspective, not only has our economic meltdown taken a backseat to formerly obscure domestic terrorist/Chicago “citizen of the year” Bill Ayers, but I feel like NOBODY is talking about the fact that Lindsay Lohan totally came out of the closet! What’s the matter with this country??? When did our national priorities get so completely and totally fucked?

Does Sean Hannity Hate America?

After the presidential debate last Tuesday night, Obama spokesperson Robert Gibbs engaged in contretemps with the archconservative radio and television personality Sean Hannity over Hannity’s decision to include Andy Martin (nee Anthony Martin-Trigona) on Hannity’s show Obama & Friends: The History of Radicalism. At issue were Martin’s remarks, as quoted by Gibbs, that a Jewish judge was “a crooked, slimy Jew with a history of lying and thieving common to his race…” among others. Gibbs raised the legitimate question, “Why would Sean Hannity choose to associate with such a person?”

You can watch the exchange here:

But Gibbs’ legitimate question about Hannity’s character raised some further troubling questions about Hannity’s known associates. When taken together, what emerges is a pattern of associating with known criminals, adulterers, perjurers, consumers of prostitution, and worst of all, those who would knowingly compromise our national security.

Even a casual listener to Hannity’s radio show will hear contributions from the following rogue’s gallery:

Dick Morris: A Republican strategist and one-time advisor to President Clinton, Morris resigned from the latter position after it was revealed that he allowed a prostitute to eavesdrop on private conversations with the president of the United States, an obvious breach of national security. According to the Washington Post, Sherry Rowlands, the prostitute, said of the incident. “Someone as intelligent as he is should have kept his lip buttoned when he unzipped his pants. I mean, how can you maneuver worlds, and he can't even control what he's doing in his own room with a paid lady” She then went on to say in an interview with the television show Hard Copy that she went public because "it has to be told, whether I'm a call girl who'll blabber or whatever they want to call it, fine. But wake up, America. I mean, if he told me, who else did he tell?" Who else, indeed? Thank God for this patriotic prostitute who didn’t go running off to the highest bidder for her national secrets. And yet, Sean Hannity allows Morris on both his radio and television shows on a regular basis. How can Hannity condone such behavior? Why does Sean Hannity have such low regard for the national security of this country? But Morris is hardly the worst of Hannity’s associates.

I Know I Have a Bad Habit of Posting Hateful Reviews, But I Found This One of My Book on Amazon and it Really Made Me Laugh

From David H. Birley:

I dutifully read the forward (by Abraham Lincoln), the dust cover, and the first two or three items as well as dipping into the volume elsewhere. I found it extremely difficult to picture this as "humor", and was greatly offended by the frequent insertion of unnecessary "naughty words". As an English Language teacher told me once, "Dirty language is offered by folks who haven't anything better to say".

However, before allowing this review to give the impression that I am one of those religious fanatics who find "dam" acceptable, but "damn" not so, permit me to explain "unnecessary" as a modifier of "naughty words". Perhaps I can do that best by giving an example of what I consider to be "acceptable".

In the movie "Fly Away Home" there is a scene where the evening staff at an air base are nervously watching some unidentified images tracking slowly across their RADAR screens. The commander is trying to determine whether to scramble a flight of jet interceptors. He goes outside and looks up, and there is a pre-pubescent Anna Paquin flying an ultralight, trailed by a vee formation of geese (which she is teaching how to migrate). The commander says "Holy [naughty word]". I firmly believe that, had I been the person in that situation, I would have said precisely the same thing. Hence I consider it "acceptable".

Throwing dirty words around gratuitously merely demonstrates an empty brain trying to get the word count up. Not funny, not funny, not funny. If I could give it zero stars, I would.

I’m Considering Filing Criminal Charges Against All Assholes

There’s got to be some kind of law against people acting like assholes. And if there is, those people are going to have to defend themselves in a court of law because I am sick of it. As such I have retained a lawyer and will be filing criminal charges for “general assholeness.”

For example, the other day I was driving home and was caught in traffic. This was the kind of slow-moving bumper-to-bumper traffic associated with road construction or traffic accident or (as I was hoping) suicide off an overpass. The cause of the traffic is irrelevant. What IS relevant is that the guy in the car behind me kept laying on his horn. BEEEEEP! As if to say, “Hurry up!” Well, I couldn’t hurry up because there was a car in front of me. And a car in front of that person, etc. All within plain site of the ASSHOLE behind me who decided that, for whatever reason, the entire highway was conspiring against him. That all of us had agreed to stop our cars in the middle of the road, thus preventing him from getting to whatever gun show he was on his way to attending. (I’m assuming he was on his way to a gun show because if he had already had the weapon, I have no doubt he would have used it on me.) I tried to explain to this by screaming “SHUT THE FUCK UP” in my car, but I doubt he was able to hear me because both of us had our windows rolled up. Sir, you will be hearing from my lawyer.

My Stupid Robotic Arm

First my rainbow machine went on the fritz and now it’s my robotic arm. For those of you who don’t know, I have a robotic left arm. Note: this is not a bionic left arm, merely robotic. The biotic model was a lot more expensive and frankly the extra features (super-strength, hot plate) weren’t worth the cost. I got it just over a year ago. How do I know it was just over a year ago? Because the stupid robotic arm has a one year warranty, and when I called (using my right arm even though I am left-handed) they told me we warranty was expired. SO AGGRAVATING!

Here’s the problem: every time I try to make a kung-fu fist, the arm seizes up and I have to reset the entire apparatus to get it working again. If you’ve ever tried to reset a robotic arm, you know it’s a complicated process in which you need a Phillips head screwdriver and a straight pin or bent paperclip. Needless to say, I don’t want to go through my whole life carrying around a Phillips head screwdriver, especially because most of the time I prefer wearing VERY TIGHT jeans, and the screwdriver simply doesn’t fit in the pockets without causing unsightly wrinkles. (And, of course, when I put in my front pocket, I get a lot of “is that a screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” remarks, which is funny the first million times you hear it, but after that it starts to wear a little thin.)

Now, I know the obvious solution is to not make as many kung-fu fists but you have to understand something: the whole reason I chose this particular model is because it is specially designed for kung-fu enthusiasts. That’s why it’s called “The Kung-Fu Model.” Also, I have a well-deserved reputation for making kung-fu fists at any and all times. Before breakfast, at the ballgame, during book readings, etc. People have come to expect the kung-fu fist. It’s kind of my trademark. For me to discontinue its use would be like Billy Idol changing his haircut even though he is sixty years old. Not going to happen.

When I talked to Best Buy about how much it would cost to repair they shuffled me around to their different departments until I finally spoke to their “Robotic Arm” specialist, who it turns out is a sixteen year old kid who knows less about robotic arms than I do. He in turn called the manufacturer who told me that it would not only cost over a thousand dollars to fix, but that it would take “up to six weeks.”  Forget the kung-fu fist for a second - what am I supposed to do without a left arm for six weeks? They offered to send me a replacement arm to tide me over, but by the time I get it fitted and pigment-matched and everything it would be around six weeks anyway.

There are going to be those among you who say, “We warned you not to buy an off-brand Kung-Fu fist robotic arm,” but to quote the great Sarah Palin, “Now is not the time for finger-pointing and looking backwards.” Believe me, there is plenty of blame to go around on all sides regarding this issue, but now is the time to find solutions. I need concrete ideas that I can apply to my situation, not more of the same “gotcha” blog comments. To do otherwise would be to wave the white flag of surrender, something I am frankly not willing to do, even though that’s exactly what my enemies (Tucker Max and David Sedaris) would like.

Any suggestions would be appreciated. In the meantime, I am going to put a fake cast on my arm and claim kung-fu injury when people ask me to make The Fist. This will only wash so long, though, as everybody knows I don’t do any actual Kung-Fu, only make the fist. Frankly, I’m screwed. 

Some New Joke American Indian Names

I’ve noticed that whenever people want to make funny American Indian names they tend to just put together an active verb with a noun taken from nature: “Sleeps with Rabbit,” for example. Or “Walks In Cow Shit.” Things like that. Well frankly, I feel like that formula is demeaning and totally played out. Therefore I believe it’s time to give serious consideration to creating a new paradigm for funny Native American names.

The obvious way to go would be to use casino gaming as a foundation. “Chief Many Slots,” comes to mind,  but this seems too easy and, frankly, cheap.  Instead, I propose taking a more subtle approach. Here’s an example: “Bill Richards.” Admittedly, on its surface Bill Richards doesn’t seem like a particularly funny name. After all, there are probably millions of Bill Richards out there, some of them probably of Native American descent. But when you add the visual component of a pair of over-sized moccasins and (here’s where it gets really funny) a headdress made out of rubber chickens, I think you begin to see the comedic possibilities.

Another example: Susan Worth. Not funny? Now picture Susan wearing a papoose. Inside the papoose? A DODO BIRD!!!

Try this one on for size: a young Native American prince. His name? Robert O’Malley. ‘Nuff said.

Or what about a family of Native Americans named the Redwings? What’s hilarious about this is that there’s also a hockey team called the Red Wings! Now picture that American Indian family all ice skating. The joke obviously being that there’s no tradition of ice skating in Native American culture. Good stuff.

I could go on and on, but the point of this blog wasn’t to list ALL of the funny new Native American names I could think of, merely to point the way so that you, my readers, American Indian and not, can think of some of your own. I can do it – canoe? Get it? Canoe, can you?

You’re welcome.