Just for the record,
is the best show in history.
I may be hasting in making that declaration, especially considering I've only seen two episodes, but damn, is it ever some watchable shit. It's as if the TV Gods asked, would you like to see pathetic layabouts struggle endlessly to acheive their seemingly impossible dreams?
and I said, Well, yea. But will there be a five-alarm flaming cheer coach? Or a whiny kid who resembles a stick and a terrible attitude doing Suicides and falling all over the place?
and they responded, You bet your sweet ass, G!
and then the TV Gods and I did a slow-motion high-five, and the sound produced by the meeting of our hands...well, that was MADE.
And it was good. Was it ever good.
I almost feel bad describing it. If you ever woke up in the morning and wish you could watch physically ungainly teenagers be tortured by coaches shouting trite motivational slogans, you owe it to yourself to tune in. The first episode I was privileged enough to catch involved a fat Drama girl attempting to make her school's cheer squad. The highlight might have been her friends: buncha awkward bucktoothed girls insisting that all cheerleaders were snobs. I wanted to say, wow, you go to one of those
high schools? With the jocks and the goths and the hitting and the locker-putting-in? Poor bastards. We have cliques and muscular guys stealing wormy band kids' Magic cards and things, but I guess it never seems that bad. Or that ugly.
I don't know where I'm going with this. Good show, though.
Someday I will go to sleep and wake up
as Flavor Flav. And until that day, the slowly growing stash of giant clocks on necklaces will sit in my closet, gathering dust, until I awake one day, ready to implore the masses to Fight The Powers That Be.
Uhm...let's see...let me pull out the topic checklist...made is a good show
...wake up as member of public enemy (flavor flav, if not, prof. griff, despite antisemitism)
Apparently, a plug from HFT
is the kiss of death. On Wednesday
, I linked Katie Hall's joyous wonderfully well-written if spottily updated blog. And days later, this
: No more blog.
No explanation. Not even a cursory "let's-just-be-friends." Poof.
Kate is no more, blog-wise. This is a late blog. No wonder I have friggin' abandonment issues.
One of my other favorite bloggers, Jim Treacher
, hung up his spurs a few weeks ago under vague and ominous pretenses, but he took them back down from the Wall of Spurs again, and is currently making jokes about the Hulk's skin care. Good for him. Meanwhile, Kate's spurs just hang there, without explanation, waiting for the return of their gifted owner. What's the deal, Kate?
I was shocked when she told me. "There's no milk! Not a drop left," she said, ashamed. I could tell she was in disbelief as I saw her look back into the refridgerator numerous times, hoping a gallon of milk would suddenly appear... but no luck. "Where could it have gone?" Umm, we drank it, Grandma. I drank it, you drank it, we all drank it. It's... gone.
Ha ha. Kenzie
is funny. Hopefully me linking her will not result in the immediate demise of her blog. Although, at least I know her and see her every day, so if such a thing does happen I can grab her shoulders, shake her, and say "What the hell
, baby?" Not that I would do that. Naw. Although Flavor Flav just might.