“When I be askin’, “Yo, where did all the passion go!?” - Atmosphere
Tonight I was lucky enough to sit and watch comedian Louis CK test out some new material for an upcoming special. He played Governors, a relatively small venue in my hometown. And while he was up there, about mid way through an impeccably brilliant set of raw, untested jokes, something struck me - Louis CK is, at this point in time, the absolute best in the world at what he does. No comic is more sought after. No comic is more buzzed about. No comic has his current drawing power.
Louie JUST achieved this level of success.
He’s 44 years old.
I couldn’t love that fact any more than I do. At 44 years old, you know that at some point in his life, actually, probably at hundreds upon hundreds of points in his life, Louis CK doubted himself. When he turned 30 he may have internally reconciled to the fact that he may never be a huge star. And then again at 35. And then again at 40. The man began his comedy career in 1984. That’s, for many of his current fans, literally a lifetime ago. Yet, after decades of relative mediocrity in the career that he loves, Louie kept on keeping on. And that perseverance, that resolve, that belief in his own abilities…it paid off. And as the crowd was applauding tonight, Louie smiled. And I could tell that it was genuine. It had to be.
Success is never sweeter than after having tasted failure.
Appreciation for the present is lost on some people, especially when success comes all too easy. And that’s not just true of the entertainment world. Remember the hot kid in grade school? He or she was probably kind of a dick, right? Thought so. And as far as Hollywood goes, you don’t think people who achieve success early in life sometimes take it for granted? Watch Celebrity Rehab.
Take the actor who currently plays Stanley in the American version of The Office. With his look and at his age, the odds were against him ever making it big in Hollywood. But now, at age 54, he’s in every single episode of one of the most syndicated comedies in the nation. He’s on television, on some station, semi-constantly. I love that. You just know that ten years ago he figured that his face being plastered on TV every day to be an utter impossibility. But ol’ Stanley didn’t quit.
Ours is a culture in which if something doesn’t come easy, it’s often abandoned. If at first you don’t succeed, try something easier and hope for the best. Screw that. Yes, giving up and settling is far easier than trying hard with no promise of success, but it’s also infinitely less rewarding. Yes, a silver medal is great, but ask any Olympian, it sure as shit ain’t gold. Win, lose or draw, I’ve always had an infinite amount of respect for people who try. Trying eliminates what ifs. Fuck what ifs.
And yes, at the end of the day you might just not have it in you to do whatever you always dreamt of doing, but shit, what if you do?
What I’m saying here is that if you want something bad enough, don’t convince yourself that it’s unattainable. What comes easy never stays. And who knows, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, hell, it may even be when you’re 44 years old, but someday you just may wind up being the best in the world at what you do.
When I write these columns and title them “Peter Hoare vs…”, it’s regularly meant in a metaphorical sense, meaning it’s my own personal stance on something, such as the previous “Peter Hoare vs The Church” or “Peter Hoare vs Adulthood”. Well, with this one here, not so much. In what can only be seen as the battle of the century, every few days at roughly 1 PM, I wage a war via Twitter with fans of The Jerry Springer Show.
Beyond, “I’m kind of a weird dude”, there’s really no good answer for that question. There’s just not. I’d wager that 75% of what I do in life is to amuse me and me alone. This on-going feud certainly falls into that category.
Okay, allow me to give a rudimentary Twitter tutorial for those who aren’t social media whores such as myself. There’s a section on Twitter called “trending topics”. This ever-changing list features the 10 most talked about things on Twitter at any given time. One day, in between Googling the best beard brushes on the market (the search proved inconclusive), I somehow noticed that “Jerry Springer” was trending. I asked myself why. Did he do something crazy? Did he die? Did he finally release the highly anticipated Jerry Springer sex tape? No. He just has a rabid, and just south of illiterate, Twitter fan base. I couldn’t help but to start interacting with these genetic gems. The results amuse me to an inexplicable degree. So, without further adieu, allow me to share some of these interactions.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @DSwanier Lmao them niggas know they be the daddy lol.
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare Have I been using the word “be” wrong all these years? I’m embarrassed.
HIS RESPONSE: @DSwanier Shut up you dumb, white motherfucker.
MY RESPONSE BACK: None. He nailed it.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @YoNiggaFavorite Jerry Springer Be Some Bullshit If It Aint Black Folks
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare If YoNiggaFavorite says it, well then it must be gospel. No whites on Springer!
HIS RESPONSE: @YoNiggaFavorite Suck A Dizz. Nice name.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @scheminassKEE this bitch on jerry springer drawn on her self never could be one of thoese bulls
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare Go back to school.
HIS RESPONSE: @scheminassKEE I can’t. I’m 36
MY RESPONSE: Silent pity.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @_YouScreamJaaay This Lady on Jerry Springer Lean ha Baby Daddy Shit !
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare Lean ha Baby Daddy Shit!? No way! Sold! What channel?
HIS RESPONSE: @_YouScreamJaaay It’s on the WB
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare I was mocking you, dumdum.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @Vintage100 THAT BLACK ASS GIRL ON JERRY SPRINGER GOT STALE FEET !
MY RESPONSE: I didn’t even have one. I was dumbfounded
ORIGINAL TWEET: @UpAndComing__ When the fat hoes whip out they titties on Jerry Springer
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare Favorite sentence fragment ever? Yep.
HIS RESPONSE: None. But he did then go on to tweet…” @UpAndComing__ Who da fuck names farts?”
MY RESPONSE: I retweeted his fart question, as I thought it raised a good point.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @REALnigga_HERE This lady petty as hell on Jerry springer she probably somebody gma fuck u showing them old saggy tittys for
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare Pure genius, sir.
HIS RESPONSE: @REALnigga_HERE Thanks, my niggy!
MY RESPONSE: I smiled. I made a friend.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @_FuckLess I hate waking up early cause I miss Jerry Springer
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare This couldn’t make less sense. Can you only watch when you’re sleeping? He’s not Freddy Kruger. You’re awake. You CAN watch it, bozo.
HIS RESPONSE: @_FuckLess Yo! You don’t know me. Shut the fuck up!
ORIGINAL TWEET: @iFuckYoBitches bbl after Jerry Springer Goes off ! <3
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare With an internet handle like IfuckYoBitches, you know he has his priorities in order.
HIS RESPONSE: @iFuckYoBitches You fuck yoz!!!!
MY RESPONSE BACK: @PeterHoare No, sir, fuck yoz!!!
ORIGINAL TWEET: @BirthOfAPrince ypsi ppl are so triflin lol omg jerry springer lol
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare Exactly.
HIS RESPONSE: @BirthOfAPrince Right?
MY RESPONSE BACK: @PeterHoare Totally.
ORIGINAL TWEET: @KiunEvans122 How’s on jerry springer scandalous af lol and jerry with his sarcasm don’t make it better lol smh
MY RESPONSE: @PeterHoare Helen Keller used better grammar. You stink.
HIS RESPONSE: @KiunEvans122 U dun fuct up.
So there you have it. I encourage all of you to start a Twitter account and play this game on your own. Or perhaps you already are. Maybe one of you are @UpAndComing__, in which case I wonder, have you ever found the answer to the question as old as time itself…”Who da fuck name farts?”
I’ve got a lot going on inside my head. The problem is, I don’t know what to do with it. Until now.
Today is the first day in over three weeks that there has been a working Internet connection in my home. Which is why I am not the least bit surprised that I’ve been sitting in the same spot since…
“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it” – Ferris Bueller
I’m without question guilty of the following. Everything I’m about to vilify, I do. I’m well aware that I stink. But being aware that a problem exists is the first step in solving it. With that being said…
Relaxation is increasingly becoming a lost art. Old people can sit on a stoop, sip a glass of iced tea and just, well, be. They don’t feel the need to Instagram their view from the porch. They don’t need to tweet “This iced tea sucks a fat one! LoLz!” They don’t check in at “Jeb’s Porch”. They can just sit, decompress, think, reflect…relax. How many of us can do the same?
Let’s play a game. The next time you’re at a busy bar, look around. If you count more than ten people on their phone, buy me a beer. If not, I’ll buy you five. I’ll win every time. Before smartphones existed, what did people do at bars and restaurants? Talk to each other more? Maybe borrow a quarter to go beep someone with 80085? At the goddamn beach, an area designated for relaxation, you’ll see a veritable sea people on their phones. And by people, yes, I’m including my stupid self. Why!? What the shit is so important that we can’t leave our phones off, or even more unimaginable, at home, while we’re at the beach? Call me crazy, but I suspect all beach related phone activity is less checking for that life-altering email and more updating your Facebook status to say “At the beach!” or some derivative thereof. Smartphones make stupid people.
I’m not saying people should give up technology. That’s asinine. I fucking love technology. I’m the modern man, damnit! But, like everything in life (sans heroin), moderation is the key. And I certainly don’t subscribe to the belief that people should stay off of Facebook. Those who don’t at least acclimate themselves to Facebook to a small degree aren’t on some kind of intellectual plane that the rest of us are not, no matter how pretentiously they state the fact. What they’re doing is consciously being left behind. Like it or not, someone resisting Facebook today is the equivalent of someone resisting email 20 years ago. How many letters do you currently write? In fact, nowadays I can literally go weeks without even using a pen. It’s the inevitable evolution of society, for better or for worse. I’m not against the use of it, I’m against the over use of it, if for no reason besides the fact that Facebook and its social media brethren distract us from real life.
Life is a series of moments, seamlessly strung together one by one. Nothing more, nothing less. And sadly, once they happen, they’re gone forever. Life has no DVR. As much as I wish it were, this isn’t Saved By The Bell. We aren’t Zack Morris. We can’t freeze time, break the fourth wall and pontificate about why Lisa Turtle won’t blow Screech behind a dumpster at The Maxx. Trust me, I wish we could. Each day a ridiculously hot blond girl longboards passed my apartment. You better believe if the possibility existed I would Zack Morris the fuck out of those moments. But I can’t. So there she goes, rolling over my heart in the process. Time, much like the mysterious, big-breasted longboarder, moves on.
What I’m saying is, appreciate the moments in real time. Whenever we pause to tweet, Instagram or Facebook the fact that we’re experiencing something great, we actually miss a portion of the greatness. Live the moment, then reflect. Doing the opposite is like ordering a hamburger, telling everyone you know that said burger is amazing, then by the time you actually get a chance to eat the burger it’s cold and not as good. That, for my money, sucks. Also, now I’m hungry.
And like I said, I’m aware I suck. I, more so than many of you, am guilty of everything I just wrote about. Some days my iPhone battery dies before lunch. Pathetic? Sure is. But I’m a work in progress. Lately I’ve been consciously trying to soak up the moments, one by one, as they happen. I’m also trying to learn how to properly relax. And if I do, I’ll try and tell you about it. With my mouth, not my thumbs.
Some people gracefully shift from youth into adulthood. It’s the natural progression of life. They concede to the simple fact that what they did and enjoyed in their teens and 20’s just isn’t what they do and enjoy now. Stories about being out at the bar with friends have been all but replaced with stories about children doing cute shit and the woes of mortgages and family finance. That, in a nutshell, is adult life.
I stink at adult life.
Little by little I’ve come to realize that I lead a preposterous albeit relaxing and enjoyable existence. I, simply put, am terrible at being an adult. Even just then, I typed out the word adult and sat and glared at it as if it’s something that I’m not. I could have just typed ‘I’m a bad Nazi’ or ‘I’m a bad cosmonaut’. But the problem is…the sentence I actually typed is factual. I’m 30. In fact, I’m just south of 31. That’s an adult; a legitimate, card-carrying, grey-hair-growing, 401K-having adult.
Allow me to clarify. I have my own apartment. Every day I wake up and go into a respectable job where I earn a respectable income. All the key elements of adulthood are there, but…okay here’s an example. I don’t ever want to work. Ever. Seriously. I’m trying to, and am god willing en route to, working as a screenwriter fulltime. Make no mistake about it, the motivation behind that is just as much me never wanting to go into an office again as it is me fulfilling a creative goal I’ve had since childhood. Winston Churchill once said “Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life again”. Winston knew his shit. I love that quote. I live by that quote. I love to write. Hate to work. But some people are cool with it. Fuck, I SHOULD BE cool with it. Most people wake up at 7 AM or earlier, read the paper, get the kids ready for school, put on some well-folded slacks and head to work to suck the day’s dick as they say. (The fact that I just typed that proves my current point in spades). However, when I wake up, here’s what happens.
8:30 AM: Wake Up.
8:32 AM: Loudly yell “Nooooo!!!” to myself.
8:40 AM: Get out of bed while flailing both my arms and legs about like a child being forced to do something.
8:45 AM: Eat toaster strudels.
8:52 AM: Shower.
9:07 AM: Turn on Maury.
9:15 AM: Get FURIOUS that I have to stop watching and leave to go to work.
9:20 AM: If the episode of Maury is particularly gripping, sometimes I take the late train into work so I can see the results of the paternity test.
There’s no 7 AM in my world. Unless I’m catching a flight to go on vacation somewhere, 7 AM may as well not even exist. It may as well be called Blarg o’clock. There are no slacks. Besides myself, there are no children. There’s no paper. In fact, if I were to read the paper there’s a whole shitload of adult words I wouldn’t understand. Nasdaq? Dow Jones? Obamacare? I couldn’t properly use any of those words in a sentence if you paid me. Barack Obama is the President. Obamacare has something to do with health care. That’s the extent of my knowledge about that one, or health care or presidential policies of any kind really. If a super villain were to wire my mom with C4 and say that unless I explained what Nasdaq meant she’s a goner, well, let me tell you something…Nancy Hoare would be blown to smithereens. Exploded mommy. I know who Casey Jones is. He, much like myself, is a friend of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Is Dow his brother? Probably, right?
If you were to look at my Google history right now, you’d see “Is dickhead one word or two?” Allow me to break this down. Here’s what this means. It means that sometime within the last two weeks or so I was typing out the word dickhead, looked at it and thought to myself, ‘Hmm. Does that look right? I’m not sure, and I REALLY wanna nail this one! A Google search this does require!” I’d have to assume that most 30-year-old men will die without ever having to type the word dickhead, let alone making sure to spell check it. I say dickhead out loud like every day! I’ve never made a salad. Ever. Want to know what I have made? Three homemade chipwiches. An hour ago. A few weeks ago my buddy Justin texted me with “Where are you guys?” I, without ANY hesitation, inexplicably responded with “At a handjob convention in Chattanooga”. Nothing more, nothing less. No further information was conveyed. Radio silence. Why? Why did I even think that much less write it? Was I actually at a handjob convention in Chattanooga? Do handjob conventions even exist? No! No to both! I wrote it, giggled to myself like an ass for six seconds, and then carried on with whatever pressing matters were at hand.
So yes, this is what I’ve come to realize lately. I am an irrefutably shitty adult. Great bocce ball player. Fantastic bar trivia teammate. Entertaining road trip companion. Stellar guacamole maker. However, I have indeed reconciled to the fact that I am a shitty adult. Pete problems consist of forgetting to DVR Monday Night Raw or my Munchos going stale because I can’t locate my chip clip. But that’s fine. Because much like the world needs evil to justify the existence of good, maybe it also needs shitty adults to help counterbalance the universe. Much like every circus needs a businessman to help set everything up, it too needs a clown.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go Nasdaq the fuck out of my fourth chipwich.
I shouldn’t be typing this right now. I’m currently procrastinating. Instead of sitting here writing this column, I should be showering, throwing on a tie and heading to a church. Ugh. While I love both ties and hygiene (I wish I had a friend named Gene so I could consistently make terrible “Hi Gene” puns), I hate churches.
While I don’t consider myself having any designated religion now, I was raised a Catholic. In fact, the majority of my family is devoutly religious. Church-going Hoare’s they are. As such, until I was 17 or so, on a weekly basis I was forced to wake up and head to St Bernard’s Church in Levittown, Long Island each and every Sunday morning. Forced? Yes. Forced. As a child I always loathed entering a church, still do to this day.
Now as not to upset God (if he does exist), I need to choose my words wisely here. I often find myself simultaneously both defending the church and vehemently opposing it. See, my Mom goes to church every single week. In fact her job, how she earns the money she spends on buying the ingredients to bake me cookies and pies, is by singing at weddings and funerals. Technically speaking, she and God share office space. And she loves it. She really does. If she didn’t go to church one Sunday, I honestly feel like it’d ruin her day. In fact, I know it would. On the flip side, me, her loving son, would have my Monday through Saturday ruined if I knew that there was even the slightest chance that I may have to go to church that Sunday. It’d be like a cloud of impending doom hanging over my head all week. Why do I hate church? It’s really quite simple. I think 8 out of 10 times, if you’re forced to do something as a child, you’ll wind up hating it as an adult. It’s the same logic behind, “Oh you smoked a cigarette? Well then guess what, dickhead? I’m gonna sit here and watch you smoke this whole pack!” I was forced to drink milk every single night as a kid, whether I wanted to or not. Now? Well I’d sooner drink a cold glass of mud than some skim milk. Sure, my bones are so brittle that they rattle when I sneeze, but that’s not my fault, it’s how I was raised. And I know what you’re thinking? You’re saying to yourself, “Dummy, by that logic, why wouldn’t every kid be forced to murder and steal as a child so as not to grow up a criminal?” First off, don’t call me dummy. Words hurt. Secondly, asshole, like I haven’t thought of that. When I have kids, I am 100% gonna force each one of them to commit hate crimes at an early age. But it’ll be against people who deserve it. I’m not a monster. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. Church + Pete = : (
As a child, every priest who ever spoke in my presence may as well have been the nanny from Muppet Babies. I literally never actually listened to one word a priest ever said. I felt like my tiny eardrums were rejecting the words, leaving me unable to decipher what any of them actually were. That’s how boring church was to me. Perhaps now as an adult I’d be able to listen to the priest’s sermon. Maybe I’d hear some kind of poignant message that’d stick with me for years to come. But as a kid, all I could think of was that I damn sure better have paused my Nintendo, because I REALLY wanted to go home and beat Mega Man 2. Church did nothing for me. However, and here’s where I defend the church, it does “do something” for others. I’m certainly not so arrogant as to sit here and think that the church isn’t a constant source of positivity in the lives of others. It irrefutably is. Some people enter a church and an hour or so later leave feeling refreshed, focused and inspired. I, however, felt drowsy and bitchy. Actually, sometimes I felt full. My parents used to sing in the choir. So when they’d go up to the balcony to do their thing, my brother and I would sneak out and go to the Nathan’s next door. To each his own. I think that religion, and spirituality as a whole, should be a very personal journey. It should never be forced upon someone. People should live by their own moral and ethical code.
And to anyone who argues my beliefs to the point where they’d say that everyone should live their life by what was written in the bible, I say this. You’re nuts. The bible is a book, nothing more, nothing less. I truly believe that sentence to be an absolute fact. People who live their lives according to what is written in the bible may as well live their lives according to what is written in Goosebumps vol. 12. I understand that believing in the bible is attributed to “having faith”. I get that, and to a certain degree I respect it. But to a greater degree I think that blindly believing the bible to be fact is simply naïve. Why? Why is this book real? I choose science over faith. It’s just how I operate. How come there are no dinosaurs in the bible? Do the math on the years. Technically speaking, shouldn’t Jesus be battling veliciraptors somewhere in there? If so, that’d be rad. That I’d read. But until those revisions are made, I’ll continue believing that the bible is about as factual as Green Eggs & Ham, I’ll continue to believe that, Pete I am.
No one knows if there is a God or a heaven or a hell. No one. NO ONE. It’s the one question in life that is impossible to answer, and anyone that does claim to have a factual answer to the question is delusional, hopeful beyond logic, or insane. For the record, I hope there is a heaven, I truly do. But at the same time, I’m logical enough to realize that life may simply be a long, incredible rollercoaster ride. And when the ride is over, Six Flags closes. The party’s over, lights out, go home. No one knows. But while you’re on this ride, if you enjoy going to church, if it gives you inner peace or inspiration of any kind, then more power to you. Keep on, keepin’ on. I, however, will continue to hope that reincarnation is real, and that I come back as John Stamos Jr.
NOTE FROM THE EDITOR: If you know Jesus on a personal level, DO NOT post this on his Facebook. Thanks.
Being that it’s almost Easter, I’d like everyone reading to reflect on something. Easter is a really, really weird holiday. It is. Don’t believe me? Keep reading.
First off, for those who believe, the basis behind Easter is that we’re supposed to be celebrating the resurrection of Jesus H. Christ. (Did some digging. The H stands for Hulk). Fine. I’m cool with that. Now I’m not sure if Jesus actually exists or not, but giving Christianity the benefit of the doubt and saying that he does, coming back from the fucking dead is completely bad ass! In fact, if the bible is factual, then that makes Jesus the most powerful and influential zombie in the history. Does that deserve a holiday? Hell yeah, it does. I don’t have a problem with that. But what I do take issue with is the modern day celebration of this one-man zombie apocalypse.
Jesus is back! Let’s eat candy! What the shit? What is that about? Listen, I love Cadburry Cream Eggs just as much as the next guy, probably even more, but what the hell do they have to do with zombie Jesus!? We may as well celebrate by kicking each other in the nuts all day, it’s just as logical. Actually, no, being kicked in the nuts would actually hurt, therefore negating any celebratory vibe in the air. Also, that would mean women couldn’t participate due to their obvious lack of testicles. And I’m no misogynist, Mr. Hoare be lovin’ them bitches, so let me rephrase. We may as well celebrate by listening to Chumbawumba all day. A whiskey drink, a vodka drink, a lager drink and a cider drink? I’ll take either one of those over a fucking peep any day of the week.
And then there’s my biggest Easter pet peeve of all, The Easter Bunny himself. First off, much like the candy situation, what the hell do bunny rabbits have to do with the son of God making his grand reappearance on Earth? Was Jesus actually a rabbit? Did I miss that verse in the bible? Thumper 3:16? I don’t think so. But aside from that, The Easter Bunny is just so damn creepy! Think about it. I mean really sit back and logically think about this. It’s actually borderline terrifying. A 6-foot-tall rabbit that somehow possesses human like qualities, so much so that he has both the physical ability and the know-how to break into our houses in the middle of the night? And then he goes and hides eggs and candy for our children?! And we’re expected to let them eat both?! WHAT!? Great parenting, America. The Easter Bunny. If you ask me he’s like a combination of a Godzilla monster and a child molester. Plus, rabbits don’t even lay eggs! What mouthbreather thought of this crap?
And while we’re at it, The Tooth Fairy is only slightly less terrifying. What if a kid loses a tooth the night before Easter? In that case, we’re advocating the kid to welcome not one but two creepy strangers into their bedroom in the same night! Not my kid! No way, Jose. And why would I want to reward my kid for losing a tooth in the first place? It’s not like he had any say in the matter. It wasn’t a hard-fought battle between man and tooth. Why does he deserve a dollar!? That’s like getting a nickel every time you blink. You know what reward my kids are gonna get for losing a tooth? Another fucking tooth! A stronger, more durable tooth. You want a dollar? Get a job, dickweed.
The Big Bang Theory, and excuse me if I’m using this term incorrectly, sucks an enormous dick.
Now I’m not so naive as to think I won’t be offending some of you with this column, but I simply don’t care. Yes, The Big Bang Theory is a wildly successful, bona fide ratings smash. A proven commodity not only in the prime time realm, but in the syndication world as well. Be that as it may, I still find the series to be a loathsome pile of shit.
The Big Bang Theory insults my intelligence not only as a working humorist, but as a human being with a functioning brain, eyes and ears. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence and anything resembling a good sense of humor should agree with me. As someone who’s close to making his living full time in the same industry as this aforementioned shitcom, it’s success not only enrages me, but baffles me. Why? Because it is, quite simply, NOT FUNNY. I heard funnier jokes in The Artist. I’ve seen more entertaining asthma attacks. And those of you saying to yourself, “But Sheldon is hilarious!”, I want you to do me a favor and bash yourself in the crotch with the nearest mallet. He’s not funny. He isn’t. His voice makes me theorize about banging myself in the head with a big fucking hammer.
Here you go. Are you ready? Allow me to explain the genius creative process that goes into the creation of each and every episode of The Big Bang Theory.
-Nerds make science references.
-Nerds make comic book and/or superhero references.
-Nerds nerdiness prevents them from functioning in normal social situations.
-Blonde girl says something that nerds misunderstand for something scientific, she rolls her eyes and walks out of room.
PURE UNADULTERATED SHIT!
Where do they sell the canned laughter used in this show? Next to cans of monkey shit?
And when I said “nerd”, I should have used snarkey quotations the entire time. Those aren’t nerds. I know nerds. I’m friends with nerds. I like nerds. The fake, naselly voices used to portray “nerds” on this show is AWFUL. That’s the same nerd voice used by the nerds from Saved By The Bell. Those aren’t actual nerds, that’s the nerd Halloween costume. The main guy, the kid who used to be on Roseanne back in the day, oh boy, that jackoff is terrible. His voice is so unnatural that you’re constantly aware that he’s doing a voice, that he’s acting. And when you’re constantly aware that you’re watching someone doing a fake voice, then you can never allow yourself to get lost in the show. Sitcoms are escapist entertainment, but the problem is that escapist entertainment isn’t effective escapist entertainment if it makes you want to escape your living room.
This show is so mind-numbingly horrendous that it somehow makes the hot girl on it less hot. I mean, yes, granted, I would still have sex with her, but the level of self-loathing I would experience afterwards would be astronomical. I’d have to go to therapy.
So, having said that, I present to you The Big Bang Theory challenge. If anyone can provide me with a clip of this show that can make me laugh out loud I will immediately PayPal you $5. Shockingly, I’m not a hater. I’m really not. I love to laugh. It’s what I focus the lion’s share of my attention towards, making myself and others laugh. However I maintain that this show is 100% incapable of making me so much as smile. So send me a clip of this show. Post it here on Tumblr, post it to my Facebook, anything. If I laugh, you get cash. And I’ll be 100% honest.
And again, yes, I realize that this show is ridiculously popular. I’m in the minority here, I’m sure. But guess what? I give not one shit. Know what else is wildly popular? NASCAR. Yep, cars driving around in a circle. Allow me to write that again. CARS DRIVING AROUND IN A CIRCLE! And to me, “Derr, look at them there cars goin’ fast!” is the sports equivalent to “Uk Yuck! Sheldon done said something ‘bout science again!”. I’m available to debate both topics, but beware, if you do plan on refuting my argument, bring a pre-prepared statement…because I’m probably smarter than you. I don’t suffer fools lightly, and you like NASCAR and The Big Bang Theory.
Take the challenge. I dare you.