If I were a nobleman, they’d call me Sir Grumpypants
Because I really am that grumpy tonight. Well, kind of in general of late, but who’s counting that?
Breakdown of a Typical Episode of SNL:
4 minutes: opening skit devoted to election
5 minutes: opening monologue
7 minutes: devoted to a perplexingly terrible impersonation of a celebrity by Kristen Wiig
8 minutes: for musical acts
Remaining 45 minutes: inside jokes so inside that only half the writer’s room even gets them
Also, I was shocked when I got home to read about TBS’s disastrous technical difficulties in presenting the ALCS, where people tuned in expecting to see the Sox and Rays duke it out and were treated instead to reruns of “The Steve Harvey Show” and some crawl about a power outage in Atlanta. Because I know whenever the power goes out in my apartment, a comedian with a horribly outdated flat-top cut magically appears.
Know what shocked me more, though? That people still watch baseball. That aren’t Red Sox fans, I mean.
I missed UFC 89 tonight, but won’t be shedding any tears over it. I’ll catch the replays of the fights illegally on the internet (seriously, fuckers, come and get me). chrusty gave me a heads up that one of the decisions will truly induce a head-scratch, which isn’t surprising since the even took place in England. I swear, the judges over there would give the decision to a fox in a fox hunt.
Oh, what else is there to gripe about?
…I got nothin’. Kids, if you haven’t seen all of Woody Allen’s movies that he made up until 2000, I highly suggest you do so. Because that’s what I’m trying to get accomplished through my latest Netflix queue updates, and I’m having a blast. I can’t believe that it took me this long to develop anything resembling an appreciation of the guy.
Alright, that’s all. There’s your goddamn blog post.