Category Archives: Television

True Blood Season Four Review

Promotional poster

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It’s unfair for someone to review a television show from a genre he neither understands nor respects. For instance, most women view football as a pointless exercise in which hyper masculine, spandex-clad men gun a pigskin sphere off each other’s heads and smack each other on the butt for a couple of hours. And they are rightly relegated to sideline reportage and pre-game weather forecasts while dressed like they are expected on stage six at Spearmint Rhino.

So, a show like True Blood, an HBO series written for gays, women, tweens and softcore pornography aficionados should, in all fairness, be reviewed by housewives, twinks and heavyset date rapists. It is not designed for 29 year-old, semi-alcoholic black misanthropes. Me reviewing True Blood is like allowing Craig Cobb to host the Hip Hop Music Awards.

With the exception of  Blade, I hate all things vampire. From Anne Rice (who set us down the path of mainstream vampires that look like sensitive SoHo food critics in Halloween costume)  to the abortive Twilight series, the entire genre is, personally, lazy and more well-tread than the parking lot Walter White marked up with Junior’s Charger. So, no surprise that a television show with yet more effeminate vampires, feeble werewolves, human panthers, a fairy in tight shirts and water bras, and stereotypically flamboyant gays was not something I’d seek out in the TV Guide. Continue reading

Game of Thrones: A Scattered, Borderline Incomprehensible Review

Ok, let’s get the racism out of the way.

I couldn’t help but notice there is not a single black person in the entire Seven Kingdoms. No extras, no speaking characters, no off-hand reference to us, nothing. We just don’t exist. I would have even settled for a passing mention by King Robert saying to Ned Stark “remember when your sister dated that black guy? And how we all breathed a sigh of relief when she broke up with him? And how fast he ran when we tried to lynch him? Ah the good old days.”

To be fair, I must give the credit to showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss for resisting the temptation to make us slaves. That’s more credit than I’ll extend to X-Men First class director Matthew Vaughn who couldn’t help but linger on the sole black character’s face for a solid ten seconds while Kevin Bacon (who’s aged about as well as sirloin left in the sun) prattled on about slavery. Do I even need to say the black man was the first to die?

What’s your mutant power, boy? Making my car disappear?

Are you turning all Lord of the Rings nerd on us?

Not quite. I still maintain that any movie with a band of midgets as main characters is a movie best left unrented. Game of Thrones fortunately has no wizards, talking trees (god help me) or trolls – though there are many mentions of dragons and how you don’t want to unleash them. Sadly, I don’t think this was a sexual euphemism. The dragons, thankfully, are left off-screen for the entire season (save for five seconds). Now that I think about it, there weren’t any black people in Lord of the Rings either. Unless you count the orcs – who, admittedly, hold some “urban” characteristics.

I hear this Ned Stark fellow is a moron.

You heard correct. Take, for instance, the time his 10-year-old daughter Anya Sammy Sosa’s Prince Joffrey in the back of his head with a log before launching his sword into the Bow River. Bear in mind Ned’s eldest daughter Sansa is to marry said Prince – the spawn of his best friend no less – and will eventually become queen should all go according to plan. 

If you were Ned would you (a) beat your offending daughter savagely  (b) ground her (c) give her a stern lecture or (d) take your good daughter’s dog and stab it through the throat? If you’re Ned, you kill that damn dog and you kill it good.


Here’s another: You have just discovered that Queen Cersei has been cuckolding your best friend with her own brother and intends to murder her husband so that her incestual offspring can take over the kingdom. A classic West Virginian fairy tale. Would you go to the king with such news or tell the queen what you have uncovered and exactly what you intend on doing with the information? If you’re Ned you tell her. Predictably, Cersei promptly tears up the evidence and a broad sword is brought to Ned’s throat. Lights out.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re getting way ahead of me here. What’s this thing about?

There’s a conspiracy in the King’s Court for the Lannister family – the Bush family of the Seven Kingdoms if you will – to wrest the throne from King Robert, a fat drunk with more illegitimate children than Antonio Cromartie. Along the way a boy is pushed from a window for witnessing incest, a bastard son is sent to die in a frozen tundra (something my parents no doubt wish they’d thought of), Tommy Carceiti goes evil after his term as Baltimore mayor concludes, a hottie is pimped out by her mincing brother and –

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s hear more about this hottie.

She is Daenerys, daughter of the deposed king, the last of her kind –

Yeah, sounds wonderful. Does she get naked?

Several times. And has sex on camera. But that’s beside the point. You see, her brother has sold her to a savage –

A savage you say? I thought you said there were no black people?

There isn’t! Surprisingly, the savage in this instance isn’t black  although he is of a darker complexion so we don’t forget that the darkies aren’t as civilized as white folk. Daenerys marries the Moor so her brother,  Viserys Targaryen, can wield control of the Dothraki army and take back the lands won by King Robert in some war we don’t see. Before the Targaryen siblings can use this army, Viserys has his face melted, the savage dies a slow and somewhat hilarious death and Danearys gives birth to a triplet of dragons. Don’t ask.


I might be able to sneak him into the Country Club

Can we go back to the naked hottie for a second?

No. I’ve got ten hours of story to go through and a mind already grown bored of writing about a show a night of drinking will wipe from my brain. I’ll try to shorten it for your sanity and mine. Ned finds out that the queen has been giving birth to her brother’s children so that their pure Lannister blood line will rule the Seven Kingdoms. King Robert gets gored by a buffalo or something while out hunting (I may have wandered out of the room at this point to clip my toenails into the toilet). His snooty son Joffrey, the same one who was blasted with a plank of wood earlier, takes the throne and is seemingly in the process of running it into the ground. Told ya this family was like the Bushes. As we end the season, stupid Ned gets beheaded, his family –  led by the tastefully bearded Robb – goes to war with the recently crowned king’s empire, the bastard Jon Snow is contemplating whether sex with his fellow Nightswatchmen makes him gay and Anya continues down her slow road to lesbianism by cross-dressing and joining the Night’s Watch.

How many days did it take you to get through this show?

Only three. And no. You shouldn’t take this as a sign that I’m one more solitary weekend away from a grisly suicide.

May I suggest a hobby?

Leave me alone. I was so sick over the weekend I could hardly breathe. To top it all off this pollen that’s floating around had swollen my eyes shut. But seriously, if this NFL lockout continues there’s no telling what show I’ll get into next. If I, at any point, start talking about the subtle nuance of How I Met Your Mother, get help. Fast.

Shows that Don’t Suck – House

Gregory House

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Every now and again, the trained seals atop American television networks accidentally stumbled upon a good idea. While scouring America’s lavatories, searching for that special pile of excrement in which to grant its own prime-time slot, someone, somewhere, unearths a good idea for a show. Granted, television executives will toss said show out their window and instead rewind whatever masturbatory fodder passes as a show these days. That is why a good show that has not only managed to see the light of day but remain on the airwaves deserves to be celebrated. Please welcome the first entrant into Celebrating Shows That Don’t Suck.


If a televised abortion like Paris Hilton’s My New BFF resembles a heaping, steaming mound of excrement left on a church’s altar, then House is akin to a dribble of piss on the rim of a toilet seat. Granted, ABC’s House is formulaic (patient comes in, House misdiagnoses, almost kills patient before the Act 5 epiphany), cheap and impatient but Hugh Laurie as House is so fucking brilliant, so transcendent, I barely notice the melodramatic plot contrivances that, in the hands of a lesser actor, would send blood flowing from my eye sockets. Continue reading

Paris Hilton’s My New BFF

My cock’s endless quest to find a warm and moist canal in which to blindly plunge itself has reached, I believe, a nadir of sorts. Though shame for the sake of sex is not foreign to me – in fact, it is almost a staple of my pre-coital repertoire. I’ve lied, in the course of meeting and bedding a girl, countless times and in such numerous ways; age (I will forever remain 21), bail status (“no, baby girl, that man you saw on Cops was my twin, Woodrow) and general literacy (“that Barely Legal magazine, surrounded by a blizzard of tissues, was purchased solely because it contained an interview with Noam Chomsky) that most girls don’t know where to find me once their 8th and 8th lab results come back less than spotless. This time, however, I believe I may have gone too far. I made the torturous mistake of watching a full episode of Paris Hilton‘s new joke of a show, in hopes I could, at the end of the horror, have sex with some brainless vixen I’d met at a bar.



In retrospect, as soon as this girl stopped channel surfing on this abomination, I should have ran for the door and done something sensible like order a prostitute.

Kill me

Kill me

Continue reading