Tag: television

Profit And Prophet

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Jerry Bruckheimer finished his pitch.
Sumner Redstone raised an eyebrow and imagined the protests and burning.
“No,” he said “Hell no.”
“But he helps the police solve crimes no one else can,” said Bruckheimer. “And he’s a prophet.”
“We are not doing CSI: Mecca,” said Sumner. “Not after all that cartoon crap in Denmark.”
“Not the same,” said Bruckheimer. “We won’t film his face. We’ll film over his shoulder, or just his shadow over the desk and casefiles.”
“No,” said Sumner.
“And we’ve got Tony Shalhoub signed up for it,” said Bruckheimer.
Sumner leaned forward and smiled. “Tell me more…”

Fabio Sucks

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I’m just as stunned as you are. Fabio was a great spokesman for “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.”
I guess his vampiric transformation was just too gruesome.
Such a waste.
And that’s what fooled us all – the hair, the muscles. Who knew he was so brilliant with chemistry?
It didn’t take him long to get labspace at Unilever to develop a cruetly-free food source for himself.
Not only will “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Blood!” eliminate any fear of transfusion-related ailments like AIDS and Hep-C, but it’s damn tasty, too.
Still, every now and then I miss draining someone.

The Headless Nessman

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Shaking nervously, Herb Tarlek looked out into the hallway.
“Do you see him?” whispered Mr. Carlson. “Do you see… Les?”
“No,” said Herb. “He’s not out here.”
“Well, no wonder why you can’t hear him,” said Johnny Fever. “Your jacket’s way too loud.”
Venus and Bailey cowered in the corner. “We’re all going to die,” whimpered Bailey.
Jennifer took a deep breath. “Who’s watching the back door?”
Just then, Andy let out a hideous moan and fell to the floor, an axe buried in his neck.
The Headless Nessman drew back the axe, hacked again, and dragged off Andy’s head.

Pee Wee’s Hellhouse

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Pee Wee Herman always said “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Decades past his prime, Paul Reubens looked in the mirror and agreed.
Behind him, talons clacked on the coffee table. “So, Reubens,” said the Devil. “Do you agree to my terms?”
The contract was signed, and his youth was restored.
“Now I can finally stage my comeback! HAH!” shouted Paul, prancing happily in a circle. “Wait – what do you get out of this, Satan?”
“I can think of no worse torment for humanity than you on the airwaves,” said Satan.
And then he headed for Pauly Shore’s home.

Grow

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We only regrow accident victims. We don’t touch terminal diseases.
It’s hard to explain widespread cancer miraculously disappearing. But you can always say they’ve just come out of a coma after taking months to heal their “nonfatal” injuries.
Add a few scars, flash the memory – they’re back.
Now, sometimes the growth-accelerants fail to slow down when halted. We test for that, but sometimes an age spurt kinda kicks in.
As opposed to Peter Pans, who never grow old.
Ever wonder why some child stars die young from drugs or accidents?
Can’t have them living forever.
That’s what reruns are for.

MVP

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What was that about there’s no such thing as bad publicity?
We bid six million dollars on the sponsorship rights for the official truck of baseball. For that, we got to hand the keys of a shiny new truck to the All-Star MVP.
He smiles nice and wide.
I swear, as God as my witness, we didn’t know that the guy didn’t know how to drive.
Five minutes later, we hear screams. He’s run over a kid in the parking lot and smashed the truck into a light pole.
No seatbelt, and the airbags failed.
He smiles, bloody and gap-toothed.

Reality Show

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The producer called the show “Back From Hell.”
The rules? Die, go to Hell, and then make it back.
First one wins a million bucks.
We’d take cameras with us and send video back through a new technology someone had invented.
They weeded us down to twelve, handed out pills, and said “You have to do this willingly. Suicide is a mortal sin.”
A dozen deaths later, we arrive in the Woods – the middle ring of the Seventh Circle. Our corpses hang from our branches.
“Now what?” we say.
I knew I should have tried that Ballroom Dancing show instead.

Coyote

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It was Paco’s first time crossing the border, and he didn’t want to get caught
His cousins tried the desert route. Those that survived were caught and spent five months in jail, only to be bussed back home.
“Use the coyote,” said his grandmother. “He is a genius at crossing the border.”
Paco found the coyote. He handed him the money, and the coyote handed him a crash helmet.
“What is this for?” asked Paco.
“The catapult,” said coyote. “Our would you prefer the rocket roller-skates?”
Paco shrugged. “Who am I to question genius?”
“Supra-genius,” said the coyote. “Hold tight.”

A tribute to Don Knotts

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We have reached a stage of technological advancement that at any time, at least one television set on the planet is receiving signals in some way, shape or form that contain the image of Don Knotts. And from this moment forward, Don Knotts will appear on at least one screen or another somewhere, from now on until the end of civilization.
Every scientific achievement, every war and every armistice, every struggle against the impossible has led to this one monument to posterity: Don Knotts’ electronic immortality.
Perhaps we can learn something from this. Or, more likely, in spite of it.

Arby’s lies?

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So I’m watching television and this commercial comes on for Arby’s. It’s got Hulk Hogan’s voice, but some kind of pipsqueak as a body double.
Anyway, the commercial is for their chicken sandwiches, and the big thing they’re hyping is the fact that they are now 100% real chicken.
Well, if it’s 100% real chicken now, what the fuck was it made out of before? Beavers? Particle board? Yarn wrapped around tungsten ingots? WHAT????
Instead of selling me on their new product, they have me questioning their other products.
Is it real cheddar in the beef and cheddar?
We’ll see.