Treme-ing My Pants (Not Really, Not Yet)

I realize it is pronounced "Treh-MAY." For the purposes of wordplay in the lede, I was hoping that you didn't. If you did know the correct pronunciation, pretend it says "HBO's Treme? A-Okay!" up there. Pulitzer.

So, I'm watching the series premiere for Treme, for the second time, tonight. The first time I watched it, when it first aired, I was very distracted. And drunk. This time, I am only drunk, so I am able to give it an appropriate amount of my attention. Herein lies my live-ish blogging of theTreme premiere, a solid week after the fact. I would joke about how untimely this "live-blog" is, but no one is reading, anyway. Here we go:

When I (re)begin watching the pilot, my first impression is that I don't understand a lot/most/any of what is being said. I feel racist. Yet again, I worry that I am not a very good Blackperson, since I can't really understand what these colored gentlemen are discussing.

A few minutes in, Wendell Pierce (THE BUNK) expresses enthusiasm about making some "mother fucking money." I understand that. 10 Blackpoints. Pierce looks fairly authoritative wielding a trombone. I think I read one time that he really knows how to play it.*

Then, Steve Zahn's ass. No, thank you. Also, while I have more or less deduced what a "second line" is at this point, I certainly do not know why it is called that. (Perhaps there is a "first line" that is not pertinent down in the Treme?)

Relationships are being established, and I'm finding it a little tedious. It is my own fault. I'm already expecting the familiarity awarded to a devoted viewer of a series in medias res, wherein exposition is already shorthand or avoided entirely. I remind myself I am not watching The Wire, season 3. David Simon must have felt there was a very important reason to show me Steve Zahn's ass right now-- a reason I may forever be too stupid to grasp. It is easy to sustain idol worship, as long as you never concede that your idol's intelligence is within your grasp.

24 minutes in, and Zahn is now shirtless for the second time. I maintain, no, thank you. Not for me. I guess I'm supposed to be learning a lot about his character from all this. Also, Zahn is playing Mystikal very loud and trying to annoy his neighbors for reasons yet to be revealed.

Clarke Peters (COOL LESTER SMOOTH) has shown up a couple times now. Much like his character's introduction scenes in The Wire, it seems Simon and co-creator Eric Overmyer have stuck to the "Show. Don't tell" screenwriters' credo/cliche. Peters hasn't said much and we don't know much about his character's deal yet, but he's been given a good deal of business in just two or three scenes. Right now he's mopping in a bar or something, with major gravitas. Inner turmoil!

A lot more stuff has happened since the mopping, and also not very much at all. Lester's kids are grownups, and they are annoyed by him; but, they are still giving him unsolicited help. Lester doesn't say much to his whiney kids, or anyone for that matter. He mostly just does the stern I'm-set-in-my-ways face, and people acquiesce to whatever he's doing, even though he is sometimes dressed up like an "If They Mated" of Don Magic Juan crossed with Big Bird.

The Bunk (in case you have not noticed, I am not learning nor bothering to look up anyone's Treme character names, at this point) has taken three cab rides in this episode, even though he could not afford any of them. I think he should stop taking cabs.

Well, it's over now. The pilot was fine. You know, pretty good as far as TV goes, but unable to meet the impossibly high bar set by 5 seasons of the Greatest Show of All Time, The Wire. (Not yet.) I'm looking forward to seeing more Treme. And, HBO has already picked it up for a second season, so that's exciting.

Hopefully, going forward, there will be less Zahn ass.

*He doesn't. But, he is taking lessons for the show.

Things with More Appeal.19

The League started on FX two or three weeks ago. I wasn't too jazzed about it, mostly because I don't give a shit about fantasy football, and It's Always Sunny has been turning me off since season 3 (the self-congratulatory arrogance and "wackiness" is nowhere near as funny as the honesty and plausibility of the first season, but that is another post, entirely). I decided to watch The League anyway, because Nick Kroll.

It turns out, The League is fucking awesome. I can't say that I'm ROFFL (Rolling On the Floor Fingerbanging, Laughing) incessantly, but I almost never have that reaction to any comedy show-- even when it's an extra hilarious ep of Two and a Half Men!

Quite honestly, The League is great because it isn't trying to be over the top, setting-otters-on-fire-funny. It's just consistently brave and edgy, and they don't "wait for it" after a character delivers a choice line. They throw away jokes that are funnier than anything on Family Guy or The Nanny or whatever it is the kids are into, without dwelling on it because on The League there's always another funny line immediately. They don't need/don't have the time to beg for the laugh or shove in your face that they're COORS LIGHT SNOWBOARDS EXTREME COMEDY. The show knows it's funny, but not in an arrogant, pleading way. It's dope.

The characters are still anchored in reality, they're just funnier than people are in reality, which is why it's definitely fun and worth it to watch a TV show about them. So, yeah, join The League: You'll feel like a winner!*

*Sorry.

3 Hot Guys and Will Ferrell Play Tennis

So, I got a job like two weeks ago, hence the increased infrequency of my posting. Just when you thought this blog couldn't get any worse, here we are. In any event, I'm sure no one noticed, as I'm pretty sure the only person reading this blog is me. (I like to double check to see if there's a missed opportunity to crowbar in another racist joke or two.) 

To wit, a video blog, or "vlog," as I refuse to call it.

For some reason, Gob/Mr. Amy Poehler/Will Arnett/Hotness #1 is playing tennis with Andy Roddick/Hotness #2 against Andy Murray/Hotness #3 and Will Ferrell/Will Ferrell. Also, Keenan is there (no idea where Kel is), presumably to add color -zing!- since Quddouche is no blacker than Roger Sterling with some hastily applied shoe polish - doublezing!-. In any event, the video is mildly amusing. So, watch it. Or don't. I don't know. Fuck off.

So You Think I'm Not Going to Hurt You

Fair warning: This is going to get gross.

This guy, Alex Da Silva, a 41-year-old salsa choreographer (gross) and judge on Fox's "hit" show So You Think You Can Dance (gross), is like, really into raping women (criminal; also, gross). Allegedly.

Ugh. That mugshot. The salsa. Fucking. Gross.

I don't really care to imagine him luring his dance students into his gross bedroom to "show them new clothes" or "ask for help fixing his computer," only for him to whip it out and make some homemade guacamole on the unsuspecting waitress dancer. In case you're unclear, by "whip it out and make some homemade guacamole," I mean "rape and jizz on a bitch."

Speaking of misunderstandings, Silva's attorney Harland Braun said the case was a misunderstanding of “the difference between seduction and rape.” Make that four separate incidents of misunderstanding. Sheesh. That's a lot of guac.

Hey Da Silva, a bit of advice: While you're in jail, don't drop the maraca.

LTNA to Japanese: "Just Say You're Solly"

I first saw the Japanese game show clip below a few months ago. For reasons I do not recall, I was reminded of it again yesterday, and felt compelled to share here on LTNA.

Yep. That happened. 

I don't really care to share any thoughts on this. I just think the thing that bothers me most about this video is that it is not the most offensive thing I have ever seen. Le sigh.

Now, This Is Happening

We've already been over my love of HBO's The Wire, and my bottomless contempt for those who "don't get it." However, I will freely admit Walter Cronkite biting the big one yesterday isn't exactly a cause for pause, let alone an LTNA post, as I'm under the age of 60 (barely), and don't really have any thoughts on the matter. Frankly, I think the guy had a pretty decent run. I mean, he was 92 frickin' years old. Besides, dying "suddenly" is so last month. 

Taking all that into account, along with the fact that I am quite certain no one wants to hear my thoughts on the current situation in Pakistan (more to the point, I have no thoughts on Pakistan because I am willfully ignorant on the matter), I'm just going to remind the world-- i.e., Carl, the person who reads this blog (hey pal!)-- that The Wire is televised manna. I haven't blogged much this week because there's not been much for me to talk about; but, I figure, why let that stop me, when I can regurgitate material from posts of yore?

I've been re-watching The Wire in its entirety over the past couple of weeks. If you're a Wire fan, you undoubtedly realize that saying "in its entirety" is slightly redundant, because that is the only way to watch The Wire. Once you watch one episode, your life is pretty much fucked for the next month, because you realize the entire 60 hours of the saga deserve review. It can't be helped. 

As soon as I wrap up this pathetic excuse for a blog post, I'll be firing up the old DVD machine and finishing up Season 3 along with my case of Sam Adams Light. Yup, home alone on a Saturday night with McNulty and the gang keeping me company through my teevee. Don't be jealous. 

The only way to make my night more awesome would be to fall asleep while eating a waffle sundae and crying. However, I just did that Thursday night, and I pride myself on being unpredictable. Translation: I will most likely wake up in my laundry basket tomorrow afternoon, amidst the detritus of a McGangBang with a side of self loathing, while Montell Jordan's "This Is How We Do It" plays on repeat through my iTunes. I love the weekend!

Things with More Appeal.18

A few weeks ago I saw the documentary-ish film Food, Inc. I wouldn't recommend it if you ever want to eat again. But, if you are actually interested in what exactly goes into the taco salad or whatever traditional Mexican delicacy you're shoving into your Chalupa-hole, you should definitely watch it.

It's really only a "documentary" in the sense that Michael Moore movies are documentaries; but, I found this one way less self-righteous and bloated. Food, Inc. indeed takes a definite point of view, but if you're on the opposing side, you're probably Lucifer. 

I've mentioned before that I take more interest than many in just what the fuck it is we're all eating, and this flick is pretty much entirely about that. The nice thing about seeing the movie is that it doesn't involve reading books or actually doing anything. And, every ticket comes with a free soapbox, so you can go yell on the nearest corner after it's over and hoot n' holler about how ConAgra and Yum! foods are giving us all "the diabetes." 

Indeed, you will feel like your supermarket is less a place to procure food and sundries, and more a place to get some palatable poisons, after seeing this film. But fret not, the next time you get blackout drunk, I'm confident you'll still be able to rationalize eating that bacon cheeseburger chimichanga with extra syrup. "Pobody's nerfect!"

What I like most about Food, Inc. is that, at the end, the filmmakers include specific ways that we can all take action and seize control of an industry that seems to control us. In the end, they show that it's not entirely hopeless, after all. Just...mostly hopeless.

Oh, Good. I Was Just Saying Law & Order: SVU Reruns Aren't On Enough.

These pockmarks can see through your lies.

Law & Order, Law & Order: SVU and Law & Order: Criminal Intent make up approximately 50% of cable programming. It's true.* I don't think there is any time of day where you don't at least have the option of getting a healthy dose of Dick (Wolf). This is fact, and has been fact since the dawn of cable syndication. However, it seems that my cable company started carrying a newish channel within the past month or so, called Sleuth.

Sweet Abba-Zaba. When they named this channel "Sleuth," I think they missed the opportunity to capitalize on what this channel really should have been called, which is "You're Home at 1:30 PM, Living on the Dole and Probably Fat, So Here, Watch Law & Order: SVU All Fucking Day, Except Sometimes We Show Criminal Intent Episodes Too, Just to Fuck With You, Fatty." I know the channel is owned by NBC Universal, because of duh, but jeebus, it is nothing but L&O spin-offs!

I, like everyone else who has ever seen these shows, thinks SVU sucks the least, because it does. Why would you have a plain old murder, when you can get a side of rape for the same price?  I can only figure they throw in the CI reruns as a stern warning to us losers who lay about all day, fantasizing over the crimes we'd like to commit: Don't even start making arrangements to kill your elderly neighbor, steal his identity and start cashing his Social Security checks, because if you do, you're going to have to talk to Vincent D'Onofrio. Indeed, that is deterrent enough. Either that, or the CI reruns are considered intermission to get out of the fucking house, maybe look for a job.

But, joke's on you, Sleuth Network! I can usually find a rerun of 'Feld (this is what I call Seinfeld, because I am cool, but also too busy to say "Sein") to pass the time until another ep of SVU comes back on. I hope the next one's from Olivia's bulldyke-haircut era, but before Stabler got hair plugs. Those are classic!

*This is not true.

Puke.

Two friends of mine directed me to a recently discovered atrocity, a website called Fancy Fast Food. Rather than dwell on what it may mean that more than zero people knew this was something that would be right up my alley-- what with my penchant for masochistic food porn (This Is Why You're Fat is my homepage, after all)-- I've decided to share the horror with those of you who end up reading this blog accidentally after it turns up in your Google search for photos of Oprah Winfrey's bush.* 

Basically, this website gives detailed instructions on how to makeover various fast food items to make them into "fancy" foods. Instead, what happens is no. Just, NO. The photo above is the result of a makeover of some White Castle shitty bullshit burgers into "Tapas de Castillo Blanco." Did I mention "no," yet?

I can't actually bring myself to get through all of the instructions, because once I read sentences like "Meanwhile, using a food processor, blend the french fries into a pulp with a little water. Do the same with the beef (no water necessary) until it’s ground and moldable. Hand-roll the ground beef into meatballs, then pan-fry them until they start to brown," I usually have to take a quick break to vomit for the rest of my fucking life. I didn't think it was possible to make White Castle food even more of a sickout puke party; but, I guess I stand corrected.

*True story. Hey, I'll take a "unique" user however I can get it.

I Am What's Wrong With This Country

So, I mentioned last week that I'm unemployed right now, making clear that said unemployment is indeed the impetus for my renewed attention to this blog. I've never been unemployed before, and it is taking a toll on my comfort level, to say the least. Not knowing where I'm going to get my next dollar is an uneasy feeling. I'd prefer not to suck dick for coke (never mix business with pleasure), so working jobs I hate has always been the more palatable option. Um, so to speak.

But, today I got my notice from The Man saying that I've been awarded unemployment pay. Remember those feelings of doom and malaise I was talking about, woven in with blueprints of suicide? GONE. Hooray for free money!

Now, I've got about a week before I actually start receiving my free money, but did I mention free money? Suddenly, all those years I spent rolling calls and making reservations for aging yuppie assholes at Katsu-ya seem like an even bigger waste of time than they did before. If all I had to do was get laid off to still get enough money to live a pretty lovely life, I should have seen to this happening a long time ago.

I want to celebrate with the free money I don't even have yet that's burning a hole in my pocket. Peanut butter and crack sandwiches for everyone-- on me!

No Sir, I Assure You I Am Not Going to "Love [Your] Nuts"

You may already know that the ShamWow™ Guy is also the Slap Chop™ Guy-- not to mention that he's everyone's favorite hooker-Slap Chopping™ enthusiast. Well, that fucking Slap Chop™ commercial just came on NatGeo HD and weirded me out anew, so I decided to share the suffering. I mean, I was just talking about that dipshit, after all.

Oh yes, it was the long version, so you're going to get three minutes and change of Vince's nut-Slapping™ intensity and cryptic orders to "stop having a boring life." Maybe I should start assaulting prostitutes to spice things up, too.

OR...Slap Chop™!

He also demonstrates how easy it is to Slap™ together standard breakfast fare (you know, hard boiled egg™, pickle™, green onion™ plus a pinch™ of ham™, pounded™ like an unruly whore™-- I mean, Slap Chopped™-- into a fine paste™, just like no one ever used to ever make™ ever), because "YOU DON'T HAVE TIME FOR BREAKFAST."™ 

Here you go, sweetums. An oldie but creepy, just for you. 

After watching this again, I think I need an adult.

These Things Come in 3s 3 1/2s

It is unusually difficult to find a photo of this man where he is not giving a thumbs-up. So, this.

Yesterday morning, when I was realizing I'd fallen asleep with the teevee on all night again, Ann Curry's voice was telling me that the Oxi Clean guy done came up deayud (LTNA gets folksy!).  I actually yelled to my pillow "What the fuck is going ON?" before rolling over for visual confirmation of what I thought I'd heard. I had not hallucinated the news.

Ed McMahon last Tuesday.  Then, Farrah Fawcett/Michael Jackson Day, later that week. (I am being polite here. We all know the real story is Jacko, and any mentions of Farrah that have come since then have been obligatory. We all know it. I just had the anonymous blog balls to say it.) 

And now Billy freakin Mays? I repeat, what the fuck is going ON?  Admittedly, I'm not attached to any of these personalities, but this shit is fucking weird. If I were a washed up and/or F-List celebrity, I'd be feeling a bit nervous right now. Billy just did Conan last week, for crying out loud. Who's going to yell at me insisting I buy shitty As Seen On TV products now? 

Sheesh. I totally just lost a bet. My money was on the ShamWow guy going first (meth-fueled murder/suicide, obvi). If I can get some action on a Real Housewife of New Jersey dying, I'm letting it ride.

Oh, and this is old and still sort of funny. Probably a bit disrespectful to put up, in light of things. But, you know, fuck you.

Putting the "Oy!" in "Unemployed"

This is a photo of a bread line. I lack subtlety.

Oh, indeed. Unreliable as ever, it looks like I'm doing this little blog o' mine, again. For a little while, at least. 

You see, the marked fall-off(s) in my attention here over the years have always been due to having pesky jobs that required me to do some actual work at them. Hence, no time to talk about the bullshit du jour that may be amusing. 

But, hooray recession! (Not really.) 

Today is my first day being unemployed, as the show I work/worked for is on an unpaid hiatus that'll last at least two months. Furthermore, due to MASSIVE budget cuts, I can't really count on my old job being there when it returns in the Fall. Sometime during my busy weekend of panic attacks and suicide fantasies, I decided I may as well start up here again. It'll be a nice reprieve from tracing my veins with an Exacto Knife. But, let me tell you, as soon as I get that second interview to be the Assistant Night Manager Trainee at FedEx Kinko's, I'll likely vanish again.

For now though, I'll be posting here daily-ish, just to distract from the terror of having no job and no prospects. Talking shit anonymously in a forum where I have zero accountability provides a brief distraction from the terror of my new reality: Drinking whatever imported beer is on sale (*shudder*) while I watch TV all day-- and mind you, I had to cancel Showtime. Have you ever had only one premium cable channel? It's ghastly.

For now, I'm off to see what awful jobs are out there, so I can talk myself into applying anyway, just to feel like I'm doing something, anything. I never thought I'd be Googling "taco bell careers;" and yet, here we are.

Kill me in the face.

Things with More Appeal.17

So, I've been neglecting you, reader. However, this is only because there really hasn't been anything worth talking about for a couple of weeks, other than politics. I have enough sense to know that the only way to make this blog any worse would be to expound on my political allegiances, and I'd only reveal my ignorance further. As tempting as it is to have my very own nothing-but-spin-zone feature on here (perhaps I could title a weekly series The LTNA Variable!), I decided to revisit my erstwhile-turned-sporadic "weekly" series. Indeed, here's something that I like, which I now bequeath to you, my cuddlecub: Metalocalypse.

This show, unlike some of its suckfest brethren of the ADD-stoner eleven minute cartoons of [adult swim] (Squidbillies, 12 oz. Mouse, Robot Chicken), helps keep the average quality level of the [adult swim] lineup above board, along with other jewels like The Boondocks, for which I have already expressed my profound love in previous entries.

It's about a death metal band called Dethklok, and I'm not going to tell you much else about it. All you need to know is that the humor of the show has little or nothing to do with death metal, so don't be reluctant to check the show out just because metal isn't "your thing." Besides, it's by Brendon Small, who has proven he doesn't suck plenty of times in earlier works. So, fucking watch it.

Who needs a taste?

What the Fuck?

Heath Ledger

1979-2008

This shit is fucked up right here. Renfro last week, and now this? In case you somehow haven't heard, Heath Ledger was found dead in a New York apartment a few hours ago. The apartment may or may not have belonged to Mary Kate Olsen, and judging by the pills found near him, this may or may not be a suicide. Also, he may or may not have been found naked according to the New York Times blog (at least, the post that's up right now), but that really does sound like the kind of thing someone mean would throw into the flurry of reports just to make things sound even more fucked up.

If there's anything to that superstition about deaths/bad shit shit coming in threes, the third person in this sequence had better damn well be someone who sucks. Maybe French Stewart has some little known oxycontin habit or something? Let's hope so, because the non-sucky semi-attractive boys dying is killing my buzz.

Virgins Computer Experts Agree with Me

Much of the geek world had multiple dorkgasms earlier this week, when Apple announced it's latest toy, the Macbook Air. I, too, was pretty impressed with the sleek new laptop. At first.

But, upon viewing their informational video, I began to notice several things that the notebook is lacking-- really basic shit, like more than one USB port and, oh I don't know, a fucking disc drive? Indeed, I suppose the lack of a disc drive is somewhat explained away by the very ethos of the Macbook Air. Still though, it would be nice to have the option. If you're bringing this thing on a plane and want to watch a DVD, you're pretty much fucked unless you bring additional equipment.

By the very end of the guided tour, I was left feeling that the product was, quite honestly, another bullshit boondoggle by Apple. Steve Jobs, the world's richest premature ejaculator, blew Apple's load too quickly on this release, yet again. They released a product that wasn't entirely thought out, in the hopes that the niche market of suckers with fuck-you-money who waited on line for days for their iPhones would fall for it again. They will.

I dared not utter this to my friends who were already placing their pre-orders for one, but I'm glad to say that the nerd authorities seem to agree with me. I've said it before and I'll say it many more times: Never by a first generation Apple anything. I happen to be in the market for a laptop, but I'd rather spend my money on Asian hookers and cocaine than this mess. Oh, who am I kidding? I was planning to do that anyway.

Who's Going to Steal My Speedboat Now?

Brad Renfro

1982-2008

Brad had a pretty rough go of it in recent years, and was found dead today at his home, here in L.A. The cause of death is still unknown, but who are we kidding, it'll probably be an OD on black tar H. Or, who knows, maybe he went with the classic speedball.

Poor guy. It's too bad it had to be someone with real potential, instead of Lohan or one of those other drug addict cunts. Bummer.

Iowa Caucus an Easy Way to Make a Grown Man Cry

"Pundits" (I loathe this word) are still chattering about Hillary Clinton's surprise reach-around win in New Hampshire after Barack Obama proved Iowa has jungle fever.

Truthfully, I don't really have much to add to the fray, if anything. I will say that I consider myself an Obama girl, since I figure my black card trumps my chick card. I will also say that Hillary, though, was much more endeared to me when she put her proverbial dick on the table and nearly wept after losing in Iowa.

Of course, the speculation is that NH agreed, and 62% of those polled said her "less cunty" side seemed to give her the edge she needed to win there.* Evidently, all everyone has been thirsty for this entire time is to see this bitch cry. Apparently, when your husband gets a blowjob from a White House intern inciting national attention and his impeachment, that's just an "oh, brother!" moment. You're full of surprises, Hilz.

*Source: My ass.

I Feel Like I'm Taking Crazy Pills

Happy new, bitches. Let's get down to binniss. It's been about thirteen seconds since my last self-righteous rant, after all.

Okay, so the writers' strike rages on. Kind of. What really seems to be happening now is the picket lines shuffle on outside the monsters' headquarters, and late night television has been the first real prostitute of the stalemate between the WGA and NAMBLA* AMPTP.

About 80% of the shows I give a shit about and watch with any regularity are considered "late night," so I took note when Carson Daly's show came back to air in December, despite the strike being fully on and poppin'. "Took note" does not mean "gave a shit," because, let's face it, no one watches/likes Carson Daly or his show. Nonetheless, I assumed it was an anomaly and actually sort of figured it was the producers' way of preventing people from getting laid off, more than anything. No big deal. Even with writers, it's not like Last Call is the cream of the crop in late night, anyway.

So, I was pretty mothersucking cockshitting surprised when Conan announced his return, sans writing staff, and was rendered speechless (almost), when my other two heroes, Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart announced the same, shortly after. I assume that all of these betrayals were a direct result of AMPTP pressures on the talk hosts, much like a pederast pressures an 8 year old into undesirable rumpus room shenanigans with chidings about "not being a very good friend."

At the same time, my curiosity was piqued, and I was interested to see what I naively imagined would be 98% improvised versions of my favorite shows. I will announce, at this point that, that I am not addressing Leno in this tirade because, apparently, my self loathing is in fact not bottomless, as I have not subjected myself to a in medias strike episode of The Tonight Show.

Well, I've seen the so-called "unscripted" versions of Late Night with Conan O'Brien, The A Daily Show (with the definite article altered, apparently in acknowledgement of the show being not-quite-the-same without its precious and beloved writing staff), and The Colbert Report (now pronounced phonetically, apparently in acknowledgement of the show being not-quite-the-same without its precious and beloved writing staff). I hereby call bullshit.

The only show that gets a pass is Letterman's, in this late night strike-sabotaging revival. He struck a deal with the WGA to come back with his staff, a luxury afforded only to him and his other show, The Late Late Show, admittedly. This is the kind of thing, though, that I think could help the strike, by galvanizing the suits to offer a fair deal to the writers through an almost grassroots (in ideology, at least), spread of progress through smaller companies making shit happen, the way Worldwide Pants did.

However, the others, my heroes, came back 100% as scripted as Letterman and lied about it. The main difference is that they are scripted poorly. The shows are nearly identical to the product put out before the strike, aside from obligatory and sheepish references to the strike by the hosts, and a clear fall off in the quality of the jokes. Basically, the shows are back. They're just wack. Jokes fall flat. I swear to God I have not been watching Seussical.

The hosts are clearly torn between putting on a good show and remaining loyal to the strike's cause (which equals putting on a shit show that was written badly to mask that it was written at all?). My feeling is, though, once you're back on the air, your loyalty has been forfeited-- particularly if you're keeping up a farce of putting on an "unscripted" show.

Indeed, Stewart and Colbert both decidedly do not have their customary scripts with them at their desks, to scribble on and shuffle pages for comedic effect. That means fuckall, though. I can see your eyes moving over the cue cards, man. The jig is up.

Some might say that I'm being unreasonable in expecting these guys to adhere to the tenet of having an unscripted show, that of course they're expected to be prepared for their shows. They do have an audience to entertain, after all. Well, I say to you, sir, there is a big difference between preparing and rehearsing, between planning and writing. What these shows are doing is so clearly the latter, in all cases, that it is simply insulting to try to claim otherwise. Face it, the only honorable move is to refuse to come back without a fair deal for your writers. Also, I add to this argument, fuck your mother.

*I am aware that this NAMBLA joke is a rip-off/reference to one of the first jokes that Jon made during the first episode of A Daily Show. I'm trying to be poignant, douche.