Watch more reruns!

According to a recent study conducted by the University of Buffalo Research Institute on Addictions, watching television reruns can have some unexpected benefits. Now sure, you might be saying to yourself, “Shouldn’t a school that researches addictions be spending less time watching syndicated TV and more time figuring out a way to, oh I don’t know, kick a heroine habit?” but the truth is, TV might actually help you get off that pesky smack.

It turns out that watching reruns, then reflecting back on the episodes of your favorite shows, can actually help you maintain self-control and resist temptation. Who knew? Watching all those hours of Perfect Strangers might not only be hilarious (Oh that Balki, such a whacky fellow), but it might help you to resist eating so many Oreos after 11pm, or even stop you from blowing that guy for some meth!

So, in honor of this discovery of yet another reason I should stay on my couch all day, I've included some other benefits and life lessons you can take from reruns of some of my favorite TV shows of yesteryear:

"Sometimes, when I think about Shawn, my pants feel funny..."

Boy Meets World: Heed the advice of your elders

If there’s anything to be learned from this show, it’s that there is no better place to look for advice, than to your sage-like, elderly neighbor. Episode after episode, Cory Matthews, his friends, and even his parents, turned to Mr. Feeny for his invaluable lessons from the other side of the fence. So if your next-door neighbor is an old man, especially one who lives alone, you should absolutely be pestering him with all of your inane problems. Maybe he drinks a little too much, once threatened to shoot your dog, and he still calls black people “coloreds,” but trust me, that man has a wealth of wisdom that can solve even your most troubling quandaries.

ALF: Tolerance

When Alien Life Form Gordon Shumway’s space ship crash-landed in the garage of Willie Tanner’s suburban California home, did he report it to the authorities? No. Did he feel compelled to protect his family by alerting the proper organizations that an alien being had slammed into his car park? No. He did what any upstanding, tolerant American should do; he let it live with him. Sure Alf caused a ton of trouble, was constantly trying to eat the family cat, and eventually got the Tanners arrested in season four, but Willie was not about to let himself judge Alf by the color of his fur (or the fact that he fell from space). So take a lesson from Willie Tanner here, and when you find a hobo taking up residence in your garage, look not at whether he is black, white, brown or purple… just let him move in with your family.

Charles in Charge: Responsibility

Charles, a young man trying to work his way through college, could’ve bartended, he could’ve worked in the school bookstore, or at a local pizza joint, but instead he chose a venture with a bit more responsibility… raising a family. The Powell family was a busy one, dad was in the Navy, mom apparently worked enough to only appear in like five episodes, and grandpa… well I guess grandpa just didn’t give much of a shit. So when they needed help taking care of a wise-cracking young boy and two budding blonde teenage girls, they naturally turned to a twenty-year old male stranger. And to his credit, Charles accepted the daunting task of watching over Jamie, Sarah and Adam (incidentally, the two girls would grow up to be this and this), and didn’t sexually violate a single one (though he and Adam did have some tense moments). That, ladies and gentleman, is the epitome of responsibility.

Does Snooki have a calzone in the oven?

"I can totally store breast milk in here!"

Rumors are swirling that reality star, perfume spokesperson and all-around female role model Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi is pregnant with her first child... or at least the first one that was crafty enough to get past her daily banana and Plan B smoothie. So for a moment let's just ignore the implications of this somehow qualifying as national news (looking more and more like the Mayans were right), and just consider the possible repercussions of a Snooki pregnancy:

- The question of "Who is the fawtha?" makes for a ratings record-setting, 6-hour long, greatest fucking episode of "Maury" EVER.

- Next season, the gang bands together to convert the "Smush Room" into a nursery.

- When an ultrasound shows the baby is upside down in the womb, expert doctors use a baker's shovel to delicately reposition it.

- The baby makes a classic Jersey Shore entrance when it falls out on the dance floor after some guy punches Snooki in the head.

- Lil' Snooki becomes the face of a new line of Jersey Shore baby food, which includes flavors like Tequila Sunrise, Pureed Meatball, and Hangover Blocker.

Man v. Food: A study in indirect homicide

You've all probably seen an episode of Man v. Food. If you haven't, stop reading immediately, go to the Travel Channel website, and soak it in.... Done? You're welcome.
Now let me be clear, this is in no way an attack on the entertainment value of this show. Rather, it is an open question about what it means for us as a people that it's so popular.
I myself happen to love this show. As disgusted as I am by the fact that it exists, when I see it pop up on my channel guide I just can't resist. There's just something so alarmingly engaging about watching Adam Richman fill his shapeless body to the brim with quantities and forms of food that simply shouldn't be stuffed inside of anyone. The real problem is, I can't tell if my interest is piqued by how he will finish an 11-lb. pizza, or if it's something much darker, like the morbid curiosity of what it's like to watch a man slowly die.

"Why have none of you people stopped me?!"

Now in season four, I can't help but wonder how much time could possibly be left on Mr. Richman's cardiac clock. And when he inevitably croaks with a gullet full of Dagwood sandwich, aren't we all kind of to blame? Jumping from challenge to challenge has had a noticeable effect on Adam's girth, and there's no denying that in those inevitable mid-challenge moments when his breathing slows and the pallor disappears from his face, that he looks like he's in the early stages of a massive heart attack (they should seriously consider changing the name of this show to Man v. Mortality, because I swear if you look closely back at the 5-lb. cheesesteak episode, somewhere around minute seventeen you can actually see Death sitting at a table in the corner reading a newspaper). I know, I know, it's impossible to change the channel when Adam is plowing through "The Devil's Asshole" hot wings challenge, with his sweat beading so heavily you just know it's covering every last inch of his weird, lumpy body (that dude must have to wear Sham-Wow underwear), but by staying glued to the screen, aren't we all just helping to murder him? I think we are, and frankly, I don't know if I can live with this on my conscience.
As a people, I think it's crucial that we band together and refuse to watch this program. As fun as it is, I just don't want this guy's impending demise falling on me, and neither should you.

Next Week: An in-depth analysis on the irreparable damage Man V. Food is doing to our foreign relations.

Coors Light: Official beer of the NFL, and Satan

Yummy as a bag of buttholes.

Recently, I spent my day tweeting away about the evils of Coors Light and their unholy marketing strategies only to see, not even a week later, that yet another horse shit ad campaign had been unleashed upon us. Now Coors Light was offering a label that would not only tell you when your beer was cold, but also inform you that "Oh, guess what, this beer is now Super Fucking Cold" (or some shit like that). And not only were they telling you when your beer was "Super Cold," but they were doing so with genius commercial spots featuring Ice Cube arguing with a bottle of Coors Light (FYI Ice Cube, you lost the chance of anyone ever thinking you're "cold" again when you made "Are We There Yet?").
Anyway, I decided that since my Twitter rant had evidently gone unnoticed (there's no blow to the ego like realizing a massive corporation doesn't follow your microblogging habits), it was time to reach out to world with a full-on blog post. One that will hopefully bring Coors Light to its knees once and for all.


An open letter to the soulless bastards at the Coors Light marketing department:
- A wider mouth + color changing label mountains + a view window on the box + a home draft pack + Super Cold Activation + some giant silver train that somehow rips through the streets without ever running someone over = Congratulations, you have mastered the creation of gimmicks. Now consider putting that same effort into deciphering the brewing process, because your beer is unspeakably terrible.
- A temperature cannot double as a marketing initiative. Claiming to brew the world's coldest beer is like Campbell's telling us we should eat Chunky because it's the world's hottest soup. It makes no sense. Besides, everyone knows we should eat Campbell's Chunky soup because Donovan McNabb's mom says so.
- A taste as cold as the Rockies? News flash, cold is not a fucking taste, it's a feeling. And on that note I know my beer is cold when I feel it with my hand. I don't need some paint-by-numbers label to help me crack the case. Even on a blind test I'm confident I'd know if it's cold or not, and on top of that I could even figure whether or not it's Coors Light based on whether it tastes like a Budweiser that has already gone through, and subsequently been peed out of me.
In summation, the only gimmick that will ever get me to drink your "beer" is if every 18-pack came with twenty bucks, and even then, I really can't say for sure. So enjoy your impossibly awful, tasteless, albeit freezing cold beer, then promptly choke on it and die.
Yours in Christ,
TK


Now hear me citizens who don't believe we deserve to be pandered to by some shit-eating marketing reps who think we'll gulp down any worthless swill as long as it's nice and chilly, and join me in boycotting the most God forsaken adult beverage in all the land (and yes, that absolutely includes this). So pass this post along to anyone you know who loves drinking beer and hates drinking cold urine, and especially to the poor souls who have fallen victim to the vicious brainwashing of the Silver Bullet. Who knows, this may even make its way to a Coors Light rep and shine light upon the horrible error of his ways. 
Regardless, we must band together and bring an end to this evil regime, so stay strong, demand quality suds, and just say no to ice cold Coors Light.

What else are you gonna do... NOT riot??

Since the city of Vancouver erupted following the game 7 loss by their Canucks last week, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I've seriously been missing out.  There's just something so inherently intriguing and eerily beautiful about the beast that is the sports-induced riot... and I want in.

"And this is me in front of Vancouver's famous raging street fire."

I want so badly to know what it's like to be swept up in the whirlwind that is a mass group of people simultaneously flipping some primal switch in their brains that leads them all, you included, to the same undeniable conclusion; "Flipping cars and arson is definitely the logical way to go here." Then, as if controlled by the mob itself, you proceed ransacking and/or destroying everything within reach until you are ruthlessly beaten into submission with a billy club.
Now I know that may not sound like fun to some of you, but imagine the unbelievable rush it must be to want it so badly that you do it in spite of knowing how it will end.  It's basically like having sex even though you know you might wind up with a baby. Speaking of which, these people found the best of both worlds in Vancouver (Side note: If you're reading this 9 months from now, you live in Vancouver, and your name is Stanley... these are your parents) (Side side note: If you're reading this at 9 months old you are some kind of record-setting baby genius who will inevitably rule the world with an iron fist and I'd like to preemptively pledge my loyalty and servitude to you, baby Stanley).
In the end, it's not a question of how logical or illogical rioting is. It's just a matter of me living my life never having been happy or angry enough about anything to turn over some helpless bastard's Camry, and that my friends, just isn't living at all.

The Truman Show: Rated X

While flipping through the channels the other day I stumbled onto The Truman Show on TBS (I guess I caught the two hour block that day where they weren't peddling some unspeakable Tyler Perry abomination) and every time I watch it I am even more impressed by what a truly good film it is. But this time, something else, something very different, struck me about it.
I thought to myself, with the unbelievable amount of reality TV churned out and napalming our brains each year, how far off are we from a real-life Truman Show? Honestly, I'd give it maybe two, three more years before some psycho heads to the office of a development exec and pitches a show that secretly tapes a baby for the entirety of its life. And don't act like you wouldn't watch it. If you soak in six hours of Teen Mom every week, you'd watch this. But this notion struck me with another, much more troubling question; just how much gratuitous self pleasuring must there have been in the taping of The Truman Show?!

"I swear I can feel their eyes on me..."

Think about it, throughout the film, tons of loyal viewers are shown glued to their television sets, addicted to even the smallest minutia of Truman's life. Now think back to ten or so years earlier, when Truman was but a budding young man in the frenzy of pubescent transformation. Now, if Truman is anything like every other boy in the world, around age thirteen his most prominent pastime quickly shifted from after school cartoons to just completely annihilating himself, often several times a day. And if in fact this was the case, logic says that for a large chunk of years in the long-running 24/7 broadcast of his life, the viewers were watching young Truman come home from school, lock himself in his room, and work over his not-yet-fully-grown wang like he was pumping it for information (and what the ratings did in said years would really say a lot about who the show's core viewership really was).
For shame you fictional perverts, for shame.
Anyway, sorry for ruining The Truman Show for you, but if I have to deal with these questions, so should you.

Bathe those feet in sweet, sweet luxury

Are you sick of letting your base extremities go unwashed because of that pesky bending over at the waist thing? Are you tired of the putrid fungus forming between your little piggies simply due to your unwillingness to literally clean head to toe? Do you find yourself wishing every day that you were born back in the good old days of the first century when Jesus was washing feet like there was no tomorrow?
Well my funky-footed friend, today is your lucky day...

From the makers of "Showering after a hefty dump in lieu of wiping your ass."

 

 

John Cena: Ambassador to the world

Imagine you are in the crowd at the WWE 2011 Extreme Rules event. You are having a grand old time, throwing back beers and watching grown men wrestle in unitards (they still wear these, right?). The guy next to you has three teeth and his wife is holding a sign that says "Triple H can give me the Pedigree any time!" Jerry Lawler's weird chest hair is within mere feet of you. THIS, is America.
But just when you thought things had gotten as red, white and blue as they could, WWE Champ John Cena stands on the announcers table and drops this bombshell:

John Cena Announces Osama Bin Laden's Death To Crowd - Watch more Sports

 Are you friggin' kidding me? Did the guy from such cinematic masterpieces as 12 Rounds and The Marine just give us the breaking news we would have otherwise gotten from George Stephanopoulos? Did we just learn of a Navy SEAL incursion that brought to an end the reign of the most evil man of our time from this dude? Wait, did John Cena kill Osama Bin Laden?!

The best part of this video though is that the honorable Mr. Cena refers to Bin Laden's death as being "compromised to a permanent end." Then shortly after, if you listen closely, you can hear a confused audience member ask aloud "But is he dead?"

Now THAT's America.

More Monsters Please!

When did creatures of the night become so friggin' all encompassing? When I was a kid zombies and werewolves and vampires were around, sure, but they weren't dicks about it.

Frankly, it would've been a lot better had the whole series been like this.

It seems like recently they're on every TV network and in every other movie that comes out. How about leaving some for us normals ya jerks? Must you be in everything? This is one of those Hollywood trends where you can't help but wonder "when the hell is this shit going to end?" (kind of like that trend in the late 90's where we were somehow supposed to believe Renee Zellweger was hot). Now don't get me wrong, some of these films are amazing. Zombieland was hilarious and the Blade trilogy was pretty awesome (until I found out he wasn't paying his taxes, communist), but for the most part it just seems like someone has a shitty script and an exec is like "Fuck it, throw a vampire in there? Sold."
As a writer, it's really got me down on my prospects. I can't help but imagine my first pitch meeting will go something like this:

Agent: Well, they loved your script.
Me: Oh my God really? They said that?!
Agent: They sure did. They just had one request.
Me: Great! What is it?
Agent: They'd love for you to have more monsters in it.
Me: More what?
Agent: Monsters.
Me: But there aren't any monsters in it.
Agent: Exactly. So they think it could stand to have a few more.
Me: I don't understand.
Agent: This is an easy fix kid. They'd just like you to tweak the script slightly to make it less of a satirical comedy on the state of our nation and more of a romantic comedy where a vampire and a werewolf fall in love.
Me: WHAT?!
Agent: They said they'll pay 500k.
Me: Done. (Though I haven't encountered the situation yet, I'm fully prepared to accept the likelihood that I will be a total sellout)

Stoners rejoice...

... for your day, a day that will be looked on as the greatest in your storied history, the arrival of your Messiah, will soon be upon us.
It was recently discovered that pothead paradise food chain Taco Bell is in the testing phase on a taco whose shell is constructed entirely out of one giant nacho cheese Dorito.

"I'm not ashamed to admit how aroused I am right now."

I'll give you a moment to gather yourself... wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth, it's gross... better?
I don't even know what to say here except why the testing? I can tell you what the results will be: FRIGGIN' DELICIOUS. Unless there is some legitimate worry that a Dorito of this size may spontaneously combust (and even if there is, I might just be willing to take that risk), I say for the love of God unleash this miracle of modern ingenuity on the anxiously awaiting public!
Unfortunately, Taco Bell has not yet indicated if or when they will make the tacos nationally available (evidently they hate money), but it's safe to say that the day you see white guys with dreadlocks in hemp shirts flooding the streets with orange fingers and public boners is the day the Doritos Locos Taco is officially here to save us all.