When I originally sat down to write this article I thought, who watches PBS? So, I made a list…

1. Nobody
2. Homosexuals
3. Nobody

And as great as having Nobody “write” the article for this week and turn in a blank Word Document to Court, I decided that I’d have to buckle down the manliness and take the persona of a homosexual. Now, I don’t want to sound like a homophobe when I say that it was a very tough mindset to get into. So, as a special treat this week, I’ve decided to preface my article briefly with a look into the process of temporarily becoming a homosexual.

1. I, as most males my age do, think about sex every 8 seconds; so, I decided to attach electrodes to my testicles and nipples. Every time I thought about having sex with my professors, lady friends, movie stars, dead people, or random female animals (goat), I sent 5000 volts through my most sensitive areas.

“PBS is an instructional tool that aids in my sexual pleasure… and my sexual pleasure results in AIDS.”

2. I bought myself a Celine Dion CD, listened to the whole thing.

3. I denied sex with a really bangin’ girl… I mean, I took a rain check… but the important thing is that I didn’t get to have sex with her at that moment. She left with some New Jersey Bitch Guido.

4. I started added G’s to the ends of my gerunds. You know, like instead of “drinkin’,” I said “drinKING.” Nothing makes you feel more gay than that, I think. I mean really… I could take it up the ass from ten cocks and keep my g’s off and still feel like Wilt fuckin’ Chamberlain.

I just realized that I’m talking about hard penises, so it looks like I’m officially gay enough to write this article.

Enjoy, Heteros!


Now, I don’t have the time to write a lengthy article defending EVERY show that PBS has. I’ve got a hair appointment in three hours and I have to go to the Golden Goddess tanning salon before. And before all of that I simply must rub in my tanning lotions and pre-game my fauxhawk so Andre doesn’t think I’m some sort of Straighty.

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But… no less, here goes.

On Friday nights, you might drink alcohol. You might make love or go out and talk to women or bury a hooker. You might just sit around and stare at a wall and cry while you masturbate to Photoshopped pictures of “Skinny You.” But on my Friday Nights, I make a nice Chai latte, cook some unbuttered soy popcorn on my environmentally safe heating apparatus, get comfy in my orthopedic post-modernist chair with biodegradable plastic comforter, snuggle up with my Yorkie Mr. Cuddles and turn on good old PBS.

Everything from The PBS Laugh-Riot Hour to Documentaries on the Knock-Knock! Tribe of New Guinea, I watch. And no, not to see flaccid black titties… sicko. I don’t even like titties. (God that was a hard sentence to write.) No. I don’t merely watch them at all… dare I say, I absorb them. Not the titties I mean… I soak up valuable information, silly! This not only makes me smarter, it gets all the hottest guys’ attentions, girl! PBS, to me, is an instructional tool that aids in my sexual pleasure… and my sexual pleasure results in AIDS. Isn’t it ironic? I think soooooo!

PBS is like… like a publicly supported strand of vibrating anal beads. But recently, PBS has come under fire for being homophobic. And you know what? I won’t stand for it. Nuh-uh. I won’t. I’m here to make a case for PBS, so that any of you silly people that think they are actually homophobic will just shut up and stick to your debauchery so that I can watch my stories.

Like I said, there are wayyyyy too many shows on PBS to defend them all. Not only is there a schmorgasboard of tasty shows like the British comedies “Those Aren’t My Pants!” and “Hey Wanker!!!” there are a ton of cultural exposés. Some of these include “Why Women are Better Than Men: The Menstruation Cycle,” and “Why We Should All be Really Cool and PC So That Nobody is Ever Ever Ever Ever Offended and We Can Live in a Paradise-Like Society, Yay!” So obviously I’m only going to be able to verbally guard two people at most. Luckily, I have two people that I want to defend. You see, these two are immaculate personifications of the abstract concepts of beauty and creativity. They are the men that set my vegetarian loins on fire. They are the men that make me want to give up meat just to suck their huge balls. They are: Bob Ross and Bob Vila.

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So here we go, mk?

Bob Ross is not a racist. He’s a beautiful man. You know that’s all I gotta say, honey.

Bob Vila may be a self-described “Loyal Grand Dragon of God’s Race,” but he’s really not, even with that nasty little gray beard of his. Look at the transcripts for yourself…

Hi, I’m expert carpenter and devoted fag-hater Bob Vila and you’re watching “This Fruity House.” Today, we’re heading to San Francisco and working on this lovely little slum building.

Remember: always wear your safety goggles you cocksucking fairy. We wouldn’t want that lice or pigeon shit to get in those fairy eyes, would we now? You uneducated leach on society.

Do YOU see any racist comments? I SURE DON’T.

And you know what girlfriend? I think that speaks for itself.

Coming down from the temporary homosexual experience…

1. I called my mother, told her she was not a goddess and ought to cook me something.
2. I melted down the Celine Dion CD and fed it to some stray kittens.
3. I caught myself wiping from the front, pivoted, and returned to business.
4. I realized I was actually sitting down to pee, stood up and punched myself in the face.
5. I came to and smacked my penis off a mirror, just to measure the oil spot.

The end.

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