STORM WOES:

Nothing much to say today about all that Hurricane Sandy is doing to the east coast. Millions Are without power, there have been some deaths and property damage is near catastrophic.

Got family and friends in several hard hit areas so naturally I'm thinking about them but my hopes and prayers are with all those affected, not just those I know. That's pretty much it from me today.

CHECKING IN:

"IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!"

Helps if you sing that line just like the song. Yeah… THAT song, the Christmas ditty that Staples office supply stores stole for their back-to-school ads and bastardized in order to taunt children about the fact that summer was coming to an end and their days of irresponsible fun were soon to go bye-bye. What's the title of that song anyway? Whatever, not important since of course I'm not talking about Christmas because it's only October. Not even Halloween yet so shut the hell up with that faux religious celebratory crap. Jesus was born in the summer, people! Christian leaders back in the day moved the celebration nearer to the winter solstice to lure pagans over to their side, con them into halting the practice of banging farm boys and sheep in the name of their false idols and gods and instead start banging farm boys and sheep for…

Yeah, probably best if I don't finish that thought. 

"Shutting up… good call, Ron. And yes, for the record,
I was black. DEAL WITH IT FOR DAD'S SAKE!"

Haven't been here for over a week. Not that I don't love you or anything like that, just that it's Writing Contest Season, hence the most wonderful time of the year thing. (Sang it that time, didn't you?) So I've been kinda busy lately. Don't know if Writing Contest Season is a real thing like award season or fashion week. Been no formal announcement or anything like that. Just seems to be a shitload of contests being offered up right around now so I'm calling it a season God dammit. (Sorry for the blasphemy, Black Jesus.)

Been working to get some stuff together to enter one or two of these things, try to win some coin, get some ink published somewhere. Not as easy as I thought it'd be but then again neither was running the New York Marathon. Not that I ran in the thing, course not. Hell, I'm sweating just from the effort expended to type these words and… (WHEW!) wait a minute… gimme a couple… (Deep breath) Okay, I'm good. But from what I saw from the news coverage of last year's race that shit looked damn hard. Guys passing out halfway through or straining a ligament or something that they would normally shoot horses for doing. And those that finished would get to the end and puke on the race volunteers or shit in their own shorts, all kinds of not pleasant, undignified and nasty. Okay, so maybe writing isn't crap-your-pants difficult, but still not an easy thing for me.

Although I did just shit myself a little when I finished that last sentence. Gonna go find a hose and clean myself up now and I'll see ya'll next week.

Meanwhile… 

Not my doing, got it from some other guy's site, but still… YEAH!

THE NOT-SO-GREAT DEBATE:

Actual pizza may not look this appetizing… or taste like actual pizza.

Have you heard? Dominos has pan pizza now! And they use fresh dough rather than frozen the way that their esteemed competition, Pizza Hut does it. According to the ads it took them three years to develop their new fresh dough so you know it must be good since they put so much time into it. But here's a question: Why? Not only why'd it take them so long but why bother in the first place? Why not just take the same dough they've been using and simply throw it into a damn pan? Or did it take them three years to figure that out?

Actual pizza… told you so.

Don't worry though, this isn't going to all be about Dominos pizza, (although it coulda been) just mentioned it because pizza was on my mind… and in my belly last night. Not Dominos of course because that stuff is just dag nasty, tastes like a hooker's handbag. Never mind how I know that. My pie came from a local joint and was perfect for grubbing in front of the TV while I watched the big debate. This of course was debate number three overall but only the second between our two presidential hopefuls. We all know how the first one turned out. (OBAMA LOST!) And the VP debate between America's crazy uncle, Joe Biden and Paul Ryan, the creepily pleasant guy next door, wasn't all that decisive. In fact, the only thing I took away from the VP throwdown was that Ryan is full of malarkey and Biden doesn't like it one bit. 

"Come on America, say it with me now… MALARKEY!" 

Last night's debate was a different format from the previous two. The first was a standard affair with two guys standing across from one another and the VP debate was the two guys sitting at a table while this one was a town meeting style deal. Can't wait to see what they come up with for the final debate next Monday night. I'm hoping for a Comedy Central roast hosted by Stephen Colbert with a bunch of C and D list comedians slinging insults the whole time. Probably won't go down that way but I'm just putting the idea out there for 2016. Anyway, the town meeting format let the candidates take questions from and talk directly to a group of a-holes that's supposed to represent us, the American people. Well I looked very closely and I didn't see myself anywhere in that crowd. Saw one old guy who kept looking around like he heard voices and couldn't understand that those voices belonged to the two guys at the center of the room speaking into microphones. Second thought, guess I was represented after all. 

Two men enter, one man leaves… and then the other guy leaves after him.
So it's really quite civilized and boring. 

As far as the content of the debate was concerned, besides the mention of Romney's binder full of women (Where does he get such wonderful school supplies?) the only really interesting moments happened when it looked like shit was gonna get real and that town meeting was gonna turn into fight. Didn't happen though, just a big tease like those bitches in the toll booths. Oh yeah, they take your money but do you get anything in return? Do they climb in the car and give you a little like you'd expect? Is there any quid-pro-quo for the hard-earned $2.75 that you just forked over? Nope, tramp just waves you on in that insultingly dismissive manner that makes you wanna get off at the next exit and loop around again so you can chuck a dead squirrel in her smug face. 

You could gimme a little something seeing as you've already got the gloves on. 

I don't recommend you do that squirrel thing though. State troopers aren't too fond of that course of action and they will really let you know it when they catch you. And they WILL catch you! Won't matter if you actually stuffed $2.75 inside the squirrel before you threw at her and technically paid the toll and thereby don't deserve the harsh treatment they administered to me… to you, I mean to you of course because we're speaking hypothetically here.

Well this has been enlightening. I feel better about things and I'm sure you don't but that's really your problem, not mine. Not my damn job to make you feel better about yourself, I'm not your misstress. Final word on the debate: since the point of town meeting debates is to come across as likable then Obama won that shit hands down because Romney was kind of a dick last night. For the record though, I'm not high on either one of these guys. Probably gonna just do the same thing I do every Election Day, vote for Indiana Jones as a write in candidate and hope other people do the same. 

And Han Solo would be the perfect running mate
since they look so much alike. I know, weird, right? 

Yeah, I know I was all about advocating the Clint Eastwood/Empty Chair ticket a few weeks ago, but that shit was fleeting. They were just a flash in the pan, flavor of the moment kinda thing, never a serious contenders. But Indy, yeah, there's a candidate we can believe in. He fought both the Nazis and the Russians while Obama and Romney were… doing other things. I don't know, were they even around back then? Doesn't matter. What matters is that come Election Day when you're standing in the voting booth and trying to figure out which one of the media approved candidates will give us the best reach-around while they're jamming us all from behind, you'll remember my words. But more importantly, you'll remember Indy's theme song.

Bum ba de daaa… bum ba daaaa… bum ba de daaaa…bum ba da da da…

Hold on, that might be Superman's theme song. I get them confused sometimes. All that John Williams Orchestra shit sounds the same. Well vote for Indiana Jones or Superman, either way you'll be helping to send the message that America wants a hero in the White House. A real hero!

Bum ba de da, ba de da, ba de da, ba de da daaaaaaaaaaaa!

'TIL TUESDAY:

Where are they now? Seriously, their families are worried about them.

Remember that band? 'Til Tuesday, very big in the 80s with their one hit song… um… that one tune that I can't recall. Well this ain't about them anyway, just that since I used their name for the title I kinda felt obligated to show 'em some love. Today is about a more serious matter, and that matter is…

NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS 23 

SEATTLE SEAHAWKS 24

Gonna let that just hang out there for a moment while I take a breath and try to collect my thoughts.

F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K! F@%K!

All right, wasn't so much a collection of thoughts as it was a collection of words. Well, one word really, (diluted as it is by symbols) repeated over and over through a haze of tears and nasal slop, interrupted only by momentary girlishly whimpering sobs. Suffice it to say I've had manlier moments but still… the Seahawks? The f@%king Seahawks? We f@%king lost to the f@%king Seattle F@%king Seahawks? Really?

Yeah, you BETTER hang your head in shame, Brady!

Oh well, the season's still young and besides, there are things more important than football going on this week. (I know, can't believe I said that either.) And for once I'm not talking about boobs or baked goods. (Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?) Talking about the upcoming Presidential debate scheduled for tomorrow night from Hofstra University. I'll probably have some words to say about that after the event concludes but there's not a lot I can say about it now since it hasn't happened yet. Besides, I'm seriously still trying to get over that Patriots loss and words are escaping me at this point. 

AWKWARD!

So here's looking forward to tomorrow's Obama/Romney throwdown and hoping that POTUS puts up a better fight this time than he did in the first one. Yeah, he totally lost that one, doesn't matter how his propaganda machine tried to spin it. Man got beat, but you just gotta deal with it and move on. 

SHUT THE HELL UP! THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU! 

Okay, enough with the anger and the bad thoughts. Happy thoughts… gotta think happy thoughts. Gotta make this into a pleasant experience and end on a positive note. 

MMMMM… TITTY CAKES! THANK YOU, GOD!

IN SPACE NO ONE CAN HEAR ME BITCHING:

"QUICK, TO THE LANDOMOBILE!"

This past Monday being Columbus Day meant that 75% of the cable stations all over this great nation of ours participated in that time-honored tradition of scheduling day-long movie marathons like a bunch of lazy Belgian corpses. Okay, I'm not saying that all Belgian corpses are lazy, I'm sure that's not really the case. Just that I know this one Belgian guy, came over to fix my furnace a couple weeks ago and died right in the middle of the job. No warning, no asking "Hey, is it okay if I take a few minutes off to drop dead?" or anything like that. Dude just fell face down on the basement floor and never got up again. Which of course means he never finished fixing the furnace, damn thing's still busted and I can't get anyone else out to do it now because the cops declared the area a crime scene since the guy may or may not have been stabbed by one of the people living under the stairs. Don't know how that's my fault though seeing as I didn't know they were there either. 

Ain't that just like a dead Belgian, always looking for a free ride. 

But back to those lazy bastards at the cable stations. Brilliant strategy actually, giving the bulk of the station staff the holiday off yet still keeping content flowing over the airwaves thus avoiding any backlash from those pesky corn-holers at the FCC. All it takes is some brain-dead mouth-breather left alone in the broadcast booth to change the tapes every two hours. I speak from experience since that's how I worked my way through school… kinda. Good money if you can get it, only experience required is a basic understanding of how to tell time and knowing which end of the tape goes in the machine first. I wasn't really that strong with the whole telling time thing at first but I had a friend down at the station who hooked me up. It's all about who you know. Still, connections and sexual favors only take you so far in the game, the ride had to end sometime and they eventually replaced me with a stronger candidate. But I wouldn't trade my twenty-three hours in show business for anything. 

Hairy f@%ker gets one lousy point higher than me on the
aptitude test and I'm out on my ass.

All this has been leading somewhere, swear to God. On Monday the good folks over at Spike TV put the monkey in the chair and queued up a Star Wars movie marathon to commemorate Christopher Columbus and his journey across the ocean blue to rape the new world. Not really a stretch for the Spike staff since they run a Star Wars marathon for every holiday except Martin Luther King Jr. Day. (Racists!) And being who I am (GEEK!) I watched a couple hours of it. 'Bout halfway through Empire — for you laymen, that's what we insiders call The Empire Strikes Back — I remembered something that's bugged me about that film ever since the 754th time I saw it about twelve years ago. (Ah, so much wasted time.) 

Lemme set the scene for you. Rebel scum Han Solo, Princess Leia and a couple other minor characters are on the run from Darth Vader and his fellow protectors of law and order. So these miscreants decide to take a jaunt over to the planet Bespin and try to get Han's old buddy (and the universe's only resident black guy) Lando Calrissian to aid them in their flight from justice. Seems that Lando is the administrator of a (somewhat) legitimate Tibanna gas mining operation located on the aptly named floating metropolis Cloud City — which looks a lot like the spacecraft Jupiter II from the old Lost in Space TV series. And for anyone old enough to remember Lost in Space… I'm sure that AARP registration form will be showing up in your mailbox any day now.

Now I'm not saying they stole the design but… bullshit, that's exactly what I'm saying! 

Well Darth Vader — being the conscientious public servant that he is — manages to get to Cloud City before Han, Leia and the rest of their gang of ne'er-do-wells can arrive seeking refuge and he takes them all into custody. Well, this of course does not sit well with the likes of Han Solo and his gun moll because they feel justified in their actions no matter who gets hurt in their beef with the legitimately elected government. And while cooling his heels in a Cloud City holding cell, Han unfairly accuses poor Lando of betraying their friendship by not siding with him and his rebel whore. Harsh words are exchanged and the sad scene ends with Han looking like the wronged party while Lando comes off as a bit of a yellow-bellied cad. 

As if we don't all know the real reason for Han's misplaced feelings of resentment.
Two hands there, Lando.

With all the special editions that Lucas — that's George Lucas to us in the know — has put out over the years, I want to know why he never used his CGI addiction to add in some dialogue to that scene and have Lando tell Han where to go and what to do with his bullshit sense of indignation. See, Han and Leia are all pissed off and feel like Lando should have helped them instead of crawling into bed with Vader. Especially since Vader is just using the two of them as bait in his hunt for fellow scofflaw Luke Skywalker. Well I would pay good money to see this flick one more time if it meant finally getting a version of that exchange where Lando pimp-slaps Han across the room and breaks it down for him a little something like… 

"Oh I'm sorry, do you not like the way this all turned out? Were you looking for a different outcome to this little adventure? I bet you were hoping that you could just drop in on me after all these years and make me an accomplice in your little outlaw road trip, weren't you? The f@%k is wrong with you, man? There's about five million beings in this city who before yesterday weren't on anyone's shit list until you had to bring the Empire to my front door! And when Vader shows up and puts his big f@%king space gun to those five million heads, you honestly think I'm supposed to just screw all of them over for three idiots and a talking bag of spare parts? (Threepio) Sure, lemme get right over there on the intercom and tell everyone that they're fired. Which unfortunately means that when Vader pulls the trigger and ventilates their asses with laser beams, they won't have health insurance to help patch up the holes because I sold them all out for some "friend" (Spoken with air quotes for maximum sarcastic effect.) I haven't seen in like twenty years, some stuck up bitch that I just met and some asshole I've never even heard of! Really? That how you think I shoulda played it, "old buddy"? (Air quotes again.) Tell you what, you think about that while I go outside, grab a smoke and f@%k your mother. Then I'm gonna let all the city's death stick addicts (A galaxy far far away's version of meth heads) turn tricks for money in the Millennium Falcon and get shame stains all over your rich Corellian leather seats. In the meantime… eat a dick!" 

 "And you see that over there, second star to the right?
That's how far you can shove your f@%king rebellion!"

That would be the shit! Of course it won't ever play out that way because Lucas is retiring from the business of unnecessarily fixing Star Wars and is hopefully devoting his free time and considerable resources to finally fixing Howard the Duck. Don't look at me like that. That movie is only three or four deft cuts and reedits away from being a masterpiece! 

Don't just stand there thinking about it, ya idiot…
MAKE IT HAPPEN!

So I guess when Veteran's Day rolls around and Spike phones it in yet again with another marathon, I'll just have to settle for the same old results as always. Watch for the 873rd time as Lando does indeed tell five million people to suck it and throws away everything he's worked for and built over the years for the sake of a bunch of damn dirty terrorists. (Yes, the rebels were terrorists.) Still, things worked out for Lando in the end, no need to worry about him. After the rebellion he drifted around for a while, had trouble finding work in the new Republic's administration but eventually landed on his feet, they hooked him up… kinda. Like I said, all about who you know. 

 "God, I miss that cape. Bitches loved the cape"

Apparently they DIDN'T hear about his little maneuver at the Battle of Taanab.

GETTING TO BE A HABIT:

Seems that at this same time last year I sat on this very spot and attended to the sad business of bidding a fond farewell to then departing Red Sox manager Terry Francona.

(Sniff) Miss you man. 

Well technically it wasn't exactly at THIS same time. The Francona thing was posted on October 1st of 2011, whereas this one's going out on the 5th this year so I'm a couple days off. And I guess I'm — technically — not really sitting in the same place as I was back then. I mean, it'd be crazy to think I'd be in precisely the same spot as I was a whole year ago. Even though I'm sitting in the same chair at the same desk, odds are that I'd be out of position by a foot or two or perhaps even… 3,226,080 feet as it turns out, give or take a couple inches. (You do the math.) I am however wearing the exact same clothes as I was back on 10/1/11, I know that for certain because I was breaking in a new pair of overalls at the time and they're just about ready. 

"Trust me Ron, you keep at it and when they's
all broken in… Ohh man, you gonna be lookin'
good as me, I'll tell you what." 

But here I am again — deja vu and all that — saying goodbye to another Red Sox manager. This time it's Bobby Valentine taking the walk of shame outta Beantown after a 69-93 season, worst Sox record since… since… for a while now I guess. I don't really know. When it comes to baseball I'm not really a stats guy. I'm more of a — "Hey, what the hell happened? Why's everyone cheering? What'd I miss? I was getting another hot dog. Did someone do something cool? Where's the instant replay so I can…? Hey, pretzel guy, gimme two over here!" — kinda guy.

Still, even as a longtime fan who wants nothing but the best for the Sox I gotta say, tossing the guy after only one season seems pretty effed up. Considering the sad way the team ended last season, brought in a new GM, dealt with rumors of alcohol in the bullpen and lost several key players — most notably the captain Jason Varitek — just doesn't feel like they really gave Bobby a chance.

I wouldn't be so angry if I didn't care so much.

Then there was mid-season turmoil as some of the players turned into whiny bitches and from what little I read on the subject, it's my understanding that Valentine might not have been allowed to bring in his own staff when he came on board. That being the case, I just don't think the guy was given a fair shot. I mean look at Joe Girardi, the current skipper of the (hated) New York Yankees. As a result of his inaugural season as manager, the (f@%king) team missed the playoffs for the first time since the strike-shortened season of 1993. And being the (damned) Yankees with the sense of entitlement the team and its (bastard) fans have strutted around with since (jerkoff) Jeter first put on the pinstripes, this was considered by the (cock sucking) organization as nothing less than an abject failure. 

Have to admit though, those pinstripes are quite stylish. 

Even so, did they fire Girardi after one season? Nope, kept him on and let him spread his wings. And the result? Yet another World Series championship for the (god damned) club the very next season. Could this have happened in Boston? Could the 2013 Red Sox have owned the east and gone on to hoist the Commissioner's Trophy after sucking so bad only one season ago? We'll never know now, will we? Sox just gave up on Bobby V. before he had a chance to find his groove. And if my experience breaking in these overalls has taught me anything, it's the value of perseverance because these babies are coming along nicely. And if they weren't permanently and painfully grafted to my body after a year without removing or washing them… well, let's just say there's a few regrets here and leave it at that.

So here's to you Bobby Valentine. Red Sox Nation thanks you for your service, appreciates the challenges you faced and wishes you the best of luck in all your future… whatever. Yadda yadda yadda, now just get the f@%k outta here already. 

I might've gone too far this time. That guy looks pissed.

Guess the Sox gotta start the process of finding a new manager now. Probably take some time and interview a bunch of people and all that careful stuff. You know who I'm thinking might be perfect for the gig, even if you hadn't peeked at the picture below. That's right…TOM F@%KING BRADY FOR THE WIN, BITCHES! 

Look at him, even has his own hat already. He's perfect!

Hey, it could happen! Hell, no one expected Michael Strahan's freakish ass to replace Regis Philbin either. Yet there he is every morning with Kelly Rippa, looking like he's about to throw her over his shoulder and carry her up to a damn bell tower or something. So if someone was drunk or high enough to make that happen then I'm gonna hold my hopes out for TFB to lead the Sox to the World Series next season right after he leads the Patriots to another Super Bowl this year… AND WINS IT THIS TIME!

He's gonna be a busy boy. Probably gonna need a nap or something.

'TIS HALF THE SEASON:

Unlike you, TV shows like it when I watch.

Probably not news to any who have been here before that I'm a big fan of science fiction in all its many forms. Television shows, movies, comic books and novels, I love it all, even sci-fi hip-hop. Oh it's out there. It's not all that popular… and it's not all that good either… but it's out there. So with all that going for me — or more to the point, against me — we'll just go ahead and use the word geek. It's fine, you can say it, I'm a big boy, I can take it. Heard it most of my life and I'm pretty much used to it by now. And sometimes I can even pretend it doesn't hurt. Sometimes… but not always. Why do some people have to be so mean? (Sniff… sob… whimper.) 

NO! I will not cry anymore! I am stronger now and this is not a playground full of hateful kids with hurtful words! That was last year and Dr. Shriver says I should be ready to face them again in about five or six more sessions! I'M A BIG BOY AND I CONTROL MY OWN BLADDER NOW!

Behold the cherubic faces of my tormentors. Vicious little bastards.

But getting back to me — after that little detour into me — there's something kinda bugging me this week. I know, right! I usually seem so easygoing, so happy and carefree. And that's true, I am that way most of the time… when I'm asleep. The other thirty percent of the time I'm unfortunately susceptible to the world and all it's unbelievably stupid ways. So what's the burr up my ass this week? What's got me here bitching to you for free instead of going to Dr. Shriver at $125 an hour? And more importantly, couldn't I have thought of a more pleasant metaphor than the burr thing? Well I couldn't, so deal with the visual and know that the concept of mid-season finales is indeed that burr. Yes, that's what Ronny's on about at this time, mid-season finales. Seriously, that's the rant. Is it sexy? No. But not counting the burr in my ass thing, has anything I've ever posted here been sexy? No, but I'll try to keep it interesting so go along with me on this. Not like you've got anything better to do. 

Oh, you do? Well can't you stick around for a couple more minutes? Please? I'll try to make it worth your while with a little bit of… HEY LOOK THERE!

That's right… using puppies and kittens to win your love. I have no shame. 

Great, you're on board. So as I was saying, I got a few choice words about mid-season finales. Words like: "Wait! Huh? What? Seriously?" And my personal favorite: "… the fuck?" Okay, that last one is more of a sentence fragment, but it fits the mood here since shows that engage in this heinous practice are just serving up fragmented entertainment, so it works in that respect. Now as I mentioned at the beginning of all this, I'm a big sci-fi… (sighs) geek and there were two shows in particular that set me off on the dark and sad path that I currently find myself walking… alone, as usual. (Why will no one watch TV with Ronny?) Anyway, British sci-fi staple Doctor Who had its fall finale this past Saturday after a brisk run of five episodes (?) and the Syfy Channel (Dumbest network name ever.) brought Warehouse 13 to a close on Monday night.

Now I don't have that much of a problem with Warehouse 13 going on hiatus until 2013 because they actually kicked out about ten episodes before shutting down production. But Doctor Who… five episodes? REALLY? When you consider that the hype for this season began back in the summer, the flood of promos and viral marketing dropped in July and built up all the way to the September 1st premier and… REALLY? All totaled I think the promos themselves added up to more screen time than the actual episodes got.

"Back in my day…!" 

Okay, that's really all the grumpy old man routine that I have the energy for today. But the sentiment is still there. Growing up, when I was just a young lad with hopes and dreams that were still alive and well and seemed like they would never die… Sorry, suddenly I'm depressed. What the hell happened to that idealistic young fool? He was so full of light and promise. Where did it all go so wrong for him? Did his dreams die slowly or did they at least have the good fortune to go quickly and painlessly? And when did crying in the shower become part of his morning routine?

Man, I hope Dr. Shriver has an opening this week.

At any rate, back when the phrase couch potato only referred to that week-old French fry you found under the sofa and forced your little brother to eat as a way of entertaining you and your friends on a rainy day (Good times.) television was a very different entity than what it is today. When our evening entertainment was still the purview of the big three (AND ONLY THREE) networks, the formula was simple, shows ran anywhere from twenty-two to twenty-six episodes between the months of September and May. After that you went outside for the whole summer, occasionally returning to the couch to catch reruns of any episodes you might have missed the first time around.

"For the last time, we didn't have DVRs back then! And if you ask me again,
I'm gonna send you to Hell so you can pester your Grandma about it."

I know what you're thinking and in answer to your question: yes, I took my medication today. And no, I have not been exposing myself to my neighbor's parrots again… unless they ask me to. Because it's not weird when talking animals ask to see it, it's consensual. I know the law. You're probably also thinking: "It's just television, Ron. What's the big deal? Get over it! Quit being such a bitch and read a damn book already!" Trust me, I'm on the same page with you there. It IS just television. And to be completely honest, both Warehouse 13 and Doctor Who were really kinda phoning it in this year. Neither was as good as they'd been in previous seasons and in both cases I probably won't bother picking them up when they return in the new year. (Yes I will. I am such a sci-fi whore.) 

As petty as it may seem I think what I'm really having problems with is the term 'Mid-Season Finale'. Because cable shows have been doing this for a couple years now and just last season when The Walking Dead did it they just billed it as: "The last new episode this year." Simple, direct, to the point and not some bullshit label thought up by some middle-management cock-smoker trying to justify his existence by coming up with bullshit labels for things. 

"See here, instead of cock-smoking we'll call it an Executive Training Exercise
and then it doesn't sound as bad. Now get down on your knees, Harris."

I mean what's next? What other truncated functions can we rechristen in this new paradigm? And did I use the word paradigm correctly? It was literally my first time using it in a sentence. (MAZEL-TOV TO ME!)

"What… premature ejaculation? No honey, that was… the mid-coitus finale."

Mid-coitus finale? You know, that's not too stupid. I might just… um… suggest it to a friend of mine because he… sometimes… has problems with… but not me. Because I never… well that is… LOOK THERE!

Puppies and kittens… works every time.