RUSH JUDGMENT:

Big things happened this past Sunday. No not to me, don't be silly, nothing ever happens to me. Well there was that one thing that happened to me but I don't think anyone else would consider the return of the Shamrock Shake to be a big deal. I do of course because I'm as much a sucker to the allure of sweet libations as I am to shiny objects. It's the reason I wind up in the back of at least three strange vans a month. 

Oh sweet frosty green heroin.

But to the rest of the world the two biggest things happening this past Sunday were the Daytona 500 and the Oscars. Of course this being Tuesday means I'm a day late in proclaiming that Danica Patrick lost at Daytona and the Oscars sucked. 

Well, THAT part of the Oscars was pretty cool. Yeah, that's
right Adele… kiss him all the way down to the base. 

Now onto other shit that I think is more important. Seems that the 2013 inductees for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame were announced recently and I missed the news that prog rock gods, Rush were finally given the respect they deserved after years of being snubbed by the Academy… or whoever decides that sort of stuff. Now while this is no doubt great news for the boys in the band and they of course earned the honor, I can't help but feel somewhat responsible for it. 

The band is seen here in high spirits while waiting for
an orderly to help them to the stage in Orlando, FL. 

As some of you might recall (probably not though because nobody cares) back in September of last year I did a little bit of bitching about the exclusion of Rush from the list of 2012 inductees. Seeing as they'd gone for years without getting even so much as a second look from the Hall of Fame, one can only assume that the Canadian rockers were sorely in need of a champion. Now this time around, one year after I let my opinion on the matter be known and BOOM, they finally get their chance at enshrinement.

I also bitched about the absence of former rockers/current non-rockers Kiss from the Hall of Fame in the same post. Sadly, Kiss is still without any laurels anointing their heads despite any help I tried to give them. Although I hear that Gene Simmons is kind of a douche so really there's only so much good my words can do for those guys. 

Staring at me like that only proves my point Gene, so stop it.
Seriously, you're creeping me out. QUIT IT!

Like I said though, I'm not here to take all the credit for Rush's good fortune, I'm more than willing to admit it wasn't all because of me. I mean really, they're the one's who've been playing for over thirty years so that probably had a lot to do with it. I'd say roughly 45% of the HoF's decision was based on my words and even that's probably a slightly inflated number. Still, it's obvious that I helped so I guess I should expect a call any day now from one or even all the guys in Rush to let me know that I'm invited to the induction ceremony to be held on April 18th in Los Angeles.

Strange though, the inductees were announced months ago and you'd think I'd have heard from someone by now. I'll give 'em another couple weeks. Someone's sure to… was that my phone?

Nope, just the TV. Anyway I should figure out what I'm gonna wear to the… wait, was that…?

Nah, that wasn't the phone either, just my carbon monoxide detector. Been going off a lot lately, probably busted. Should really get that fixed sometime. Maybe later… getting kinda sleepy right now. Think I'll just take a little nap while I wait for someone from Rush to call.

Any time now and… man that detector thing won't shut up and getting' all… fuzzy like a… zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz 

Behold the harbinger of my doom.

WHAT'S ON THE BOOB TUBE:

Just a little something naughty from the good old days. 
Back when 'Made in America' stood for something 
and 'outsourcing' meant making your wife get you a beer.

Yeah, went kinda literal with the title and header art this week since I finally carved out some time to sit down and watch a television show that I felt I should have been watching all along from the very beginning of the first episode. I say this as if I'm somehow super busy and have so little time to watch TV these days. Well… yeah, let's go with that version of events. Super busy… no time for TV… things to do, finding new ways to fail at life, got a few dreams left holding on that I still have to watch die. You know, not like I don't have shit happening.

The show in question is also one that those who know me best figured I'd been watching all along given my obsession with the wonders of all things boob related. Talking of course about Double Divas on the Lifetime Network. Basic premise, two chicks who own an undies shop outfit special needs clients with bras. Translation: chicks with big tits need big bras. Amazing how very un-sexy this show turned out to be with that much going for it. I sat down the other night and watched an episode, certain that true greatness was about to ooze out of my television… and subsequently, other places. But after only being able to make it as far as the first commercial break without seeing a single tickle-fight or nipple pinch I realized that neither of those things was gonna happen since this show fucking sucks and I've gotten heartier boners from mascara commercials. Eyelashes… who knew?

Such wasted potential… bought all those tissues for nothing. 

But since I'm here and got nothing better to do today — what with Dominos and their staunch refusal to deliver to my house anymore just because I tried to pay the driver with Confederate currency  — why not just drop a few paragraphs about all the other shit I've watched during the week.

So lets start with Monday night. Why? Because Monday's the first day of the week so obviously that's where God wants me to begin. Quit questioning His will, ya fucking heathens! I AM AN INSTRUMENT OF THE DIVINE!

The week doesn't start off well with The Following on FOX. Lot's of noise was made about this show as FOX began hyping it last summer. There was the usual hard sell about what advance audiences and critics were saying. Quotes like: "Scary" and "Thrilling" and "Shocking" were all over the ads. Funny how none of them mentioned "Stupid" or "Real Stupid" or even "Real Fucking Stupid". Here's the hook: a convicted serial killer is given Internet access and allowed visitations from a bunch of random mouth-breathers over the course of eight years and manages to set up a killing cult under everyone's noses. Said cult then thrives thanks to the ineptitude of everyone on the FBI payroll. I gave this one a fair shot but now I'm done with it due to the fear that it might be a very accurate portrayal of how the penal system and the government suck at protecting us. So I guess all those critics were right after all, that is some scary shit indeed.

Hey Kevin Bacon, the killer's right behind you and…
you're probably still not gonna be able to stop him. 

Also on Monday nights is ABC's Castle. This show used to be good until the producers gave into pressure from all those cat-wrangling, frosting chugging, romance novel junkies who just wanted to see the main characters hook-up. Now it's just crap. So much so that they're not even coming up with original shit anymore. Like this last Monday's ep (SPOILER ALERT!) where Castle's annoying daughter gets kidnapped. You ever see the movie Taken? Then you've seen this episode, seriously. Except that where Liam Neeson spent his time awesomely kicking the Belgian shit out of a bunch of Eurotrash slave traders, Nathan Fillion spent the hour getting all weepy-eyed and blubbery while he recounted stories about how precious his baby girl was on the day she was born. And then it had the audacity to be a two-parter. Yeah, I'm done with this one too. Shame on you Mr. Fillion, shame on you! You were on Firefly, man… FIREFLY! I expected better.

Check it out, they drew chalk right around the spot where my level of interest died.

So basically, Monday night is now book night.

Tuesday nights around the Savage household means Justified on FX. I've talked about this show before because it's awesome and Marshal Raylan Givens is the man! If you ain't watching Justified then you just ain't American. 'Nuff said. 

"Oh you wanna talk about gun control? That's easy.
I have the guns so that means I'm in control. Any questions?" 

Given that I just questioned your patriotism in my previous statement, it's ironic that on Wednesday it's right back to FX for The Americans. This brilliant new drama focuses on a pair of Soviet spies living as an American married couple in Washington D.C. during the early 80s. (Ah Reagan's America, how I miss it so.) Hate to admit it but I actually find myself wanting Boris and Natasha to succeed in all their espionage endeavors. Not out of any sort of anti-American sentiment or anything, (You hear that Homeland Security?) just that if they screw the pooch then they'll be caught and shot and then the show will be over because who the hell wants to watch The Dead Americans? Then what the hell would I do with my Wednesday nights?

Hey look, they've got guns too. I'm sensing a theme here and… 
Hey, is that Felicity? 

I'll tell you what I'm left with if The Americans get whacked; Nashville on ABC. My wife loves this nighttime soapy bullshit and since we only have the one TV then I kinda have to watch it too. But I don't gotta like it! Not even when aging country diva Rayna James learned that her husband Teddy wants a divorce after finally realizing that his feelings for former flame Peggy are just too strong to deny any longer. Rayna of course has no idea that Teddy had just banged Peggy to a mattress the night before. And she's not one to talk since she was almost giving the flying-V to her former guitarist Deacon and… You know what, let's just move on. I said I don't wanna talk about it anymore! 

Connie Britton, Hayden Panettiere, shitty Photoshop effects and 
the chair from Game of Thrones: The Musical… what's not to love? 

Thursday nights it's Elementary on CBS, a wonderful update or re-imagining or retelling — or whatever the hell they wanna call it — of the Sherlock Holmes mythos. Right now this is a great show but I'm just waiting for the producers to try reaching out to those same bored housewives and sexually frustrated old maids that wanted to see the hook-up over on Castle. Every time I read about this show somewhere there's some asshole wondering/hoping if there'll be any romance between Holmes and Watson now that the latter is played by the eternally hot Lucy Liu. Well not THIS time! Not THIS asshole! Wait a minute… oh whatever. I don't wonder about the possibility of romance, I fear it! Did we worry about such things when Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law were filling the roles in the movies? Nope. So why we gotta worry about it now? Of course there were a very vocal few who wanted to see Misters Downey Jr. and Law going at it. Not the housewives and old maids though… different bunch of people. Never mind where I know them from. I don't wanna talk about this anymore either! 

Like they say: Behind every successful man there's a good 
woman. And she needs to get back to work because those 
windows ain't gonna clean themselves.

After Holmes and Watson spend an hour foiling murder most foul in a completely professional and wholly platonic manner (And it better stay that way CBS! Remember what happened to Moonlighting?) then it's a hop on over to FX. Third night in a row with the good folks on that network as I tune in for the animated super-spy misadventures of Archer. Without a doubt one of the most politically incorrect shows of the last ten years and also one of the funniest. Nothing bad to say here. So Thursdays are good for me. (Danger zone!) See, if you were watching it you'd know what the hell I was just talking about there and you'd be laughing. Probably for the first time since you got here.

Hmmm… another FX show with guns. But that shadowy side-boob going 
on behind him is sexier than anything happening on Double Divas, so it's okay. 

Friday and Saturday there's really nothing of interest on so that means I got time on my hands to reflect on all my mistakes and regrets and sorrows. If I can manage to make it through to Sunday night without eating a bullet then I at least have The Walking Dead on AMC. This is another one I've mentioned here before, several times in fact. And I'll probably mention it seven or eight hundred more times before all is said and done. But there's really no need to go on anymore about it this time around. If you're already watching it then you know how awesome it is. And if you're not watching it then what the hell am I wasting my time talking to you for?

"And I'm all like… BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! FUCK YOU, ZOMBIES!
Yeah, we got guns on AMC too, bitches!"

Well, that's my week, sitting around watching television. Some days it's enjoyable, other days it reminds me that I'm a just wasting the life that my parents weren't legally allowed to terminate all those years ago. Does it make you as sad as it makes me? Sad enough to make a tax-free contribution to my fake charity? Just think, for only $24.99 per day — the price of a cup of coffee … at Starbucks — you can help save me from this.

Have you no shame, man? For God's sake, close the 
damn drapes! There's kids playing outside!

Look at him, pathetic wretch laying there on his sad fat ass, watching television all day with an empty chip bag teetering on what little he has left of an actual lap. Is that what you want me to become? Are you gonna just sit there and let that happen to Yours Truly in another couple months? (More like a couple days really.) Well with your help and generous donations I could afford to pay the Indian kid across the street to go to the store and buy me more snacks and not end up like that chipless bastard. Perhaps even a bigger end table so I got a place to put some dip and a 75 oz. Big Gulp.

What'd you think I needed the money for, a gym membership? Think I was gonna use it to get up, get out and get a life? The hell I wanna do that for as long as there's still Star Trek reruns to be watched over and over and over again on Netflix? Hell, I might just need a bigger couch. Who am I kidding? Definitely gonna need a bigger couch. So let's get busy sending in those dollars people, and quickly because I'm gonna have to do some dirty business soon and I'll need some cash to pay Sanjit to come over and bring me a bucket.

Don't look at me like that, Captian Sisko. We can't all live in the future where 
they can just beam the poop right out of your bowels. But perhaps someday… 

Before I go I just wanna take a moment and mention that this right here is my 100th post and to commemorate the occasion I talked about television shows and bodily functions. Same trivial shit as I've been spewing all along.

So… yeah, I really need to rethink my life.

THE SOUND OF ONE HAND TYPING:

"No No No… don't come in here Sweetie! Daddy's busy
watching the Super Bowl… with his pants down."

First off I wanna congratulate Tom Fucking Brady for masterfully leading the New England Patriots to an awesome victory over the hated New York Giants last night in Super Bowl 47. After scoring a record-setting 126 points in the first half of the game, TFB kindly took a moment to smile and wink into the camera, thereby impregnating every fertile female watching the broadcast. During the halftime show he jumped up on stage and taught the men of the world how to satisfy a woman by making Beyonce say his name in seven different languages that she hadn't previously known. Then he capped off the 238-0 victory by single-handedly ending terrorism with that same wink and smile.

Thanks TFB, I feel so much safer now… and a little bit pregnant.

Don't believe any of that really happened? Well don't tell it to my fragile mind because that's the way it went down in my head since I didn't give a chalky white shit about what was actually happening on the TV last night. Except for when the blackout happened at the New Orleans Superdome, that was pretty funny. Betcha everyone was having Katrina flashbacks for the first couple minutes. Okay, Katrina wasn't funny but panic always is… to me anyway. I'm just twisted in that way. So who won the game anyway? Never mind, nobody cares. Baltimore is a depressing place and San Francisco is America's stickiest city, so fuck them and their teams.

But even though I have no idea what really happened on the field last night, I did sit in front of the big screen with my dad and he seemed to enjoy it so I guess it must have been a good game. We had a nice time though, I made some killer chili, the wife made some guacamole and there were chips and things. Only thing missing… chicken wings. Oh sure we wanted some, would have loved to have had some, but we didn't even bother trying to get any since we heard the news of a big chicken wing shortage going on in the country. And by news of course I mean a bit that I saw on The Colbert Report.

Because the news just seems more real when delivered with jazz hands.

Well it turns out that Stephen Colbert pushed the panic button prematurely, there was no wing shortage, the crisis was averted, no one had to sell their dignity for a 20-piece pack of fried tangy goodness. But we didn't know that so Dad and I never ventured out to find any. A shame really because I do love a good batch of wings. And Dad would've loved to just go out for any reason at all, as long as I stayed well below the speed limit because he's old and yells at me when I drive too fast. But you know how the older folks can be, always ready to go for a ride. No wait… that's dogs, dogs are always ready to go for a ride. Which means my dad must be part canine… which means I must be part hound as well. Which explains why I sniff people's asses when I meet them for the first time. Yeah… that's why.

According to Ancestry.com this is a pic of
my great grandpa… and some jackass in a hat.

That's just the thing with the folks of the earlier generations, they spent their lives out and about, they did stuff, they went places, that's how they were used to living. That's why my dad jumps — well not really jumps, more like a barely perceptible skip — at every opportunity to get outside because to him, that's where life is. And in direct contrast there's today's generation, groomed by technology to stay the hell indoors and do everything via the Internet.

Meaning the future's looking bright for the elder-care professionals of tomorrow because we're currently training ourselves to be the most complacent residents any old-folks home has ever seen. Where my parents fear that one day I'll put them away in some home and never visit them, (WHAT? NO… NEVER… kinda.) I'm most likely not gonna give a damn when my son shoves my 75 year-old ass into some place called Shady Graves or Final Acres. Just so long as I got a place to charge my 22nd generation iPad and a decent data plan, I won't give a crap if the boy don't come around with his slut wife and his rotten kids. I'll be completely content as long as there's still porn to be downloaded. There will still be porn in the future, right? I swear to God, there'd better still be porn in the future!

"Relax Ron, we'll always be here for you."

Besides, who the hell's gonna want to even go outside in the future anyway? Look where we are today. All of China is currently obscured under a blanket of smog so thick they didn't even notice when a factory burst into flames a couple weeks ago. And speaking of bursting into flames, Australia's so close to doing that very thing that officials there had to come up with new color designations to describe the temperature. Seriously, how fucking hot does it need to get outside for the color red not to be enough of an indicator? Still, neither of these situations might even be true since — again — I heard it all on The Colbert Report. And after this chicken wing scam I'm gonna be a little more skeptical about what comes out of that guy's news-hole in the future. FOOL ME ONCE, COLBERT!

"I'm sorry Ron, did you say something? I was busy having a
conversation with your Uncle Buddy here."

For now though I think I'll take my dad out a little more often, let him enjoy some time in the sun while it's still safe to do so. Probably won't be so for my tired and wrinkled ass. And I'm not even talking about what my ass is gonna look like when I'm his age, it's tired and wrinkled right now. More than likely gonna look like beef jerky by the time I'm retired. Aw who am I kidding, in this economy I'm never gonna be able to retire. Be dragging my leathery beef rump through the smog and the burning ozone to spend my golden years as a cab driver, cruising around at 15 miles an hour with my left blinker on the whole time until one day I die at the wheel with passengers screaming in the backseat.

"Here we are young fella… that'll be $21.55…Uggggh."

Well this post has certainly turned into a Goddamned rambling mess of ideas and psychosis. Even the title makes zero sense. And as usual I'm gonna blame it all on those assholes at the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals with their holier-than-thou attitudes, thinking their shit don't stink because they don't eat meat and judging the rest of us because we enjoy a good wing every now and again. I'll bet those bastards were somehow behind the whole wing shortage story in the first place. They're probably the reason I had to sit through the Super Bowl without the pleasure of going all caveman on a platter of tiny poultry! Those  lousy sons of…!

But for some reason I can never stay mad at them.