***This Just In***
I've come to the conscious decision that retelling my exploits while fleeing an actual whirling dervish of cataclysmic proportions in mock-terror would fall under the category of “personally moving – yet wholly passé” dark humor (Yeah, I coin my own humor subgenres. Beat that New Yorker.*). Not that I am averse to such humor – it’s the staleness to which I object. Having said that, I’d like to rededicate myself to the PIC standard of innovation in the realm of humor writing and general “collegiate tomfoolery.” However, if you’d like to read more about those misadventures, send your ATM Pin and attention to my LiveJournal link posted below. LiveJournal and Blogger – joining together to waste more of your time and share more of my life.

Now, let’s get down to business. The media business, that is. There is just something unsettling about knowing that, with every pop-heavy iPod unveiling, another ad-executive convulses from a consumer-whore-induced joy-gasm. I’d say that the companies marketing “self-expression” via pre-packaged, superfluous products were irresponsibly spawning a culture devoid of appreciation for the simplicities of life (like actually playing music) – but it’s not entirely their fault (and in the next few years, i’ll probably be marketing the new iPod- “Chromosome” directly to fetuses with an optional nicotine-gene via Apple’s merger with Phillip Morris) Ah, I love the smell of ad revenue in the morning. The reality behind advertising is partially the fact that networks are the ghouls of the media world, siphoning wealth off the epidermal vanity of an impressionable, trend-dependent society. Networks promote shows that have low-end production costs and high potential for, you guessed it, ad revenue and product placement. I’m just waiting for CNN’s excess Katrina footage to be used for Survivor: New Orleans…sponsored by the Ford Escape. The 2006 Escape Hybrid – Fuel-efficiency for the evacuee-on-the-go-from-utter-devastation.

This blast at the media is really only prompted by the lack of things to watch on the basic Dish Network package. I mean, it’s still baffles my mind that one could possess over 235 channels of steaming mounds of shit – in HD wherever available. I can only be so thankful for finally having the chance to be bored by television – I would rather actually find something worth watching as well. Methinks I doth protest too much though. I did find something worth watching, but the process took forever. It was like visiting a theme park with hundreds of rides, each more defective than the last. I began with the 1987 classic Robocop.

In Robocop, Peter Weller gets credited with desensitizing me to violence – indefinitely. Apparently, violence in movies back in '87 actually was ridiculous. As a side note, Weller used his character’s bullet-absorbent death scene to audition for his later role as a Bounty paper towel. Next came the 1985 Mel Gibson tale of a man just trying to get back his camels in the thriller Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. Two brain cells entered this film – only one would leave. Still, it had one of the great soundtracks of the 80’s. If you care, watch Road Warrior or the other Mad Max films instead. Between Discovery's Dolphins: Deadlier than Tuna and Disney's That’s So Raven That She's More Punk Than Avril, I nearly lost faith in the TV Gods. Then, Turner Classic Westerns provided the stiffy needed to avoid an evening of cinematic impotence. I’m talking about Clint Eastwood grabbing A Fistful of Dollars.

Granted, A Fistful of Dollars was based off a Japanese film entitled Yojimbo – the only real flaw in the film was the dubbing of the Mexican boy named, you guessed it, “Jesus.” Seriously, For A Few Dollars More they could have at least taught the kid his lines. I'm not being too picky with this film's dialogue, though – Clint wasn't exactly Laurence Olivier. He didn’t have to be – this film was about the beauty of simplicity. Released in 1964, it set the standard for a montage: no crappy lyrics – just Clint healing/getting his aim back and Ennio Merricone’s kick-ass soundtrack. Fuck lyrics – you could feel the comeback Clint was making – all while imagining the coming body count. I nearly teared-up over it all. There's just so much beauty in the world… Writing about this flick brings me to The good, The Bad, and The Ugly of the evening.

The Good would have to be finding info about a show that was far ahead of its time: Parker Lewis (Can’t Lose). There’s not enough room left in this column to explain to you the irony of that title. The Bad would have to be the debacle still referred to as Saturday Night Live. Again, not enough time to delve into this one so I’ll just say this: while 97% of the world is water, only 3 minutes of SNL is funny anymore. The relational irony: it was the dryness of the old SNL that gave it panache. Finally, The Ugly has to be Taradise, a painfully unreflective piece of pop-sewage that follows the international exploits of Tara Reid like MTV did Cameron Diaz before her. Between her show and our “stellar” U.S. foreign policy, I’m sure our nation has definitively hit the bottom of the “international PR Barrel.” Based on its title, I was about to designate VH1’s Best Week Ever as a tie for the “Ugly Spot” – and then I actually watched it. Then i was just going to blast the concept itself, when I realized that the show honestly is, unlike everything else in current pop-culture, actual postmodern irony. And yes, I found that ironic.

Let's face it – we here at PIC are dedicated to satirizing everything conceivable, collegiate and beyond – but VH1 can hire actual D-List comedians to do it…with motion graphics and fluorescent logos. They are the Lewis Black to PIC's Daily Show. Plus, Best Week Ever offers a look at what these comedians are actually doing for money, outside of prostitution and Friar's Club Roasts. If Court dropped seven figures into our production department, i'm sure we'd aspire to such quality. Or just buy H3s with Twizzler dispensers. I hear Pimp My Ride can get us a good deal. Speaking of the show, give credit to Xzibit: sure, he pimps rides and all, but he also promotes creativity, as seen in his spell-check-deficient moniker. “X to the Z,” eh, Xzibit? I guess all he's left out is the “why?”

And with that query, I retire to my studies. No more television for tonight, unless Date My Mom is doing a marathon. There’s nothing quite like promoting the indulgence of young milf-lovers everywhere. I can only begin to imagine the sales pitch for this program – because after the initial thought, all blood flow to my brain becomes diverted. Only MTV could air “gems” like this and My Super Sweet Sixteen(!) and pass them off as serious programs. Finally, we’ve embraced some poetic culture. Maybe more of MTV can be declared postmodern. I figure since only a fraction of the universe actually understands what “postmodern” means, MTV can claim it on the technicality. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve mothers to ogle.

Coming Soon
– Continuing in the spirit of innovation, I’ve decided to put a twist on the Snippets “craze” (‘cause beating a dead horse can still be fun if you alternate strokes).

*Seriously, if you guys would like to hire me, I can exposit faux-intelligently on the most abstract of literary humor references. Since I’m currently in a flux of homelessness, it’d be nice to finally get paid while doing so.

As promised, here's the link to my LiveJournal