Well, I guess I’ll watch “The Fight Game” Later.
I was sitting here all prepared to bask in some boxing goodness, when I suddenly suffered the visual equivalent of swallowing an entire bottle of ipecac. I just saw the ad for the upcoming season of an estrogen-laced abortion of a show I’ve ranted about previously, “Girls”, and it stopped me dead in my tracks like a right hand from Triple G. Unfortunately, HBO must have had to fill some affirmative action-type quota for hiring broads and fags, and so now horrendous shows like “Girls” or that new one about a buncha whiny butt buddies are constantly polluting their airwaves. I think there’s gonna be a lot more Showtime in my future.
So now because some dumpy old broad approved an awful show about a dumpy young broad that’s written by a dumpy middle-aged broad (evidently, mediocre minds think alike), the entire rest of the world has to suffer. And suffer I just did.
So in the opening “hilarious” sequence, fatso’s eating as usual, and her statuesque, muscle-bound boyfriend is kissing her goodbye in their squalid apartment. I expected this to be an obvious dream sequence, but no, the joke isn’t that she wakes up alone facedown in a gnarled chocolate cake, it’s that as the amorousness of their embrace increases, this nauseating actual event is interrupted by their roommate returning home. Justifiably horrified, he clears his throat to avoid any further permanent scarring of his psyche.
Upon which the male Beauty to the female Beast of this hideous duo replies, exasperated, “What are we not supposed to do this now that you’re around?” Yeah, what sensible person could expect you to keep your hands off a girl who looks like the bouncer at a bull-dyke bar? Their roommate should have been like, “No, I expect you not do this if your eyesight still works.”
What should also be duly noted is that the whole idea of the lead character of “Girls” vomit-inducing appearance has always been the show’s creators defending it is a realistic portrayal of “real-looking women.” Really? Then how about a realistic portrayal at the real-looking men who get saddled—literally—with them? Unless they’re foreigners in desperate need of a green card, dudes who look like they just fell off a modeling runway don’t end up with chicks who look like leaders of a biker gang. I never heard of a fetish for ugly chicks. No, this show isn’t about “real” women, it’s a deluded fantasy for fatso housewives longing for their younger years, and for ugly college chicks who can live vicariously through the ludicrous love life of a garbage can in a dress.
After that disturbing opening, there’s plenty of clips of catty one-liners that only women find funny as an example of what kind of laughless time male viewers should expect. Yuck. The female sense of humor is like Bigfoot, some people claim they’ve found it, but I’ve yet to see enough evidence to believe it actually exists.
Following highlights of the upcoming inane exploits of Dumparella’s semi-hot-looking girlfriends—which by the way, in the real world, that living Abercrombie & Fitch poster she lives with would have been banging instead of her about ten seconds after meeting them—are teased before the absolute worst lowlight of all. In the final scene, the lead character is in a bride’s maid dress that looks like if Jabba the Hutt squeezed into Princess Leia’s golden bikini, and she’s giving fuckin beauty tips of all preposterous things. Of course, as usual she never tires of showing her pasty, shapelessly bulbous arm, and the awful biker tattoo that even further uglies it, but the rest of her grotesque outfit truly needs to be seen to be believed.
Just make sure you have an airsick bag handy, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.