You know how child actors turn out badly?
Well, that Peppermint Lane show was one of the worst for the kids who starred in it.
Instead of going to school, they had tutors on the set, but they were paid to give the kids passing grades.
All they knew how to do was be a child actor. And that doesn’t last.
Some got into drugs and alcohol.
Others lost their money to greedy parents and turned to crime or other ways to get by.
The puppets made it into museums, or on toy store shelves, envied by the surviving few.
Tag: television
The Preacher
The imam wore a suit and an immaculately-sculpted beard, and he spoke perfect English as he answered the interviewer’s questions…
At first, he said that terrorism is not allowed under Islam.
But a minute later, he was saying that the captured men should be allowed Korans and have access to imams so as not to violate their right to practice Islam.
Point after point, he contradicted himself, smiling his “Fuck you, America” smile wider and wider.
“They are not terrorists.”
It was then that a robotic camera rammed into the imam, breaking his jaw.
“Software glitch,” said the camera operator.
The Crime
It was a sunny day without a cloud in the sky when Bert killed Ernie.
After all those years together, Ernie only wanted to share his bathtub with his rubber duckie.
And all those stupid, annoying questions.
The last thing Ernie said was “Why is it Sesame Street instead of Sesame Court?”
Bert snapped.
A few hours later, Bert called the police and confessed.
The police said they’d send someone to pick him up.
Three hours later, the police unit had gotten lost on the way.
The officer called Bert: “Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?”
Ribbit
Kermit the Frog’s a famous Hollywood celebrity, but if you asked him, he’d give up the singing and dancing in a heartbeat to pursue his lifelong dream of being a weatherman.
He’d log the temperature, winds, and rain in his journal every day. For Christmas, he’d ask Santa for a barometer, but all he’d get is acting lessons or a banjo.
In college, he studied meteorology and got perfect grades.
But when he got a television gig, he was assigned to Muppet News Flashes, not weather.
You see, he’s green, and the weather map uses a green screen.
Poor bastard.
Groundhog Kink
I know a weatherman who likes to dress up in a groundhog costume, hide in a tree, and poke his head out to look for his shadow.
He also likes to wear a diaper and get whipped by two women in leather corsets and boots.
At least, that’s what the newspaper says. He tweeted that it was just a one time thing, and he was doing research for a news story.
He’s been suspended from the television station, but he still does the groundhog costume thing.
It’s not like you can tell who the fuck is wearing those things, right?
Madness
I don’t give a crap about March Madness.
Professional sports are a waste of time, but college sports are a waste of academic institutions.
Instead of focusing on educating students and researching the frontiers of knowledge, these colleges and universities train and babysit these gargantuan kids to perform for the crowds.
Where there should be a series of lecture halls and labs, producing results around the clock and year, massive stadiums and arenas sit idle, waiting for a few home games a year.
Forget that slam dunk… give us a cure for cancer! A pollution-free engine!
The ignorant crowd cheers.
Whispering Trees
It all started back in the Sixties when an advertising executive was sitting on his back porch, listening to the wind whisper through the trees.
“I’m listening to trees,” he said.
And that’s when the idea hit him: Trees that whisper advertising when the wind blows through them.
He mastered botany, genetics, grafting, and meteorology.
Then, he raised generation after generation of trees to perfect a single strain that whispered advertising.
“Eeeeeeat Hossssstesssss Twinkeeeeeeees,” whispered the tree.
By then, of course, Hostess had gone bankrupt.
So, the ad man used the trees for firewood.
They screamed curses as they burned.
We Wish You A Merry Come In Peace
Every Christmas, the weather guy puts Santa’s sleigh on the radar display.
This year, I’m going to hack into the system and replace Santa with a gigantic meteor.
That way, when he pulls up the map, instead of convincing children to go to sleep, the entire broadcast area will run screaming through the streets with panic.
I hacked into the television station’s network and did the swap.
That night, I watched the weather report.
Right there on the map, for all to see:
A UFO?
Most people ran screaming into the streets.
I didn’t.
Maybe Santa traded in the sleigh?
Shampoopoo
Every week, shampoo manufacturers come up with a new formula that incorporates some obscure and absurd natural ingredient like monkeypuzzle tree oil or himalayan yak scrotum shavings.
Sure, the supermodels in the commercials are practically orgasmic over their shiny and bouncy full hair, but all I ever want is to shed less dandruff and not smell like a flower shop.
Nope. It’s impossible to get shampoo without this wacky Amazonian rainforest crap in it anymore. I’m stuck with hyacinth pollen extract reviving my roots and Mongolian rose elbows on my split ends.
No wonder why Bruce Willis shaves his head.
The Ghost Pimp
Ruth is a psychic who helps ghosts resolve the issues which keep them bound to the material world.
Once these issues are resolved, they can finally head off into “the light.”
“The light” used to refer to Heaven, but escorting ghosts to the hereafter doesn’t pay jack squat.
Now, Ruth puts ghosts into antique lanterns and sells them as emergency battery-free lighting.
I’m sure you wish that Granddad or Aunt Sue were at peace up in Heaven, but you must admit that the stairs to my root cellar are rather peaceful too, right?
I even oiled the stairs. No creaking.