Alright, television. I don’t like you and you sure as hell don’t like me. How do I know this? There is a show on at this VERY minute (probably not while you are reading this, but while I’m writing it happens to be true…) that is infuriating beyond belief.
I’m looking at you, NBC, and your hell-spawn of MY DAD IS BETTER THAN YOUR DAD. I don’t even know if that’s the correct title. I’m too angry to look it up. The reason why Karf told me that I’m blogging quite furiously right now… The reason why this show will eventually destroy all that is good and decent about mankind… THEY ARE ASKING QUESTIONS THAT NOBODY AT HOME CAN POSSIBLY ANSWER.
Unless you happen to know these kids and their insipid parents, there is no possible way you can use your brain while watching this mess. They are asking the dads questions about their own offspring. How the crap am I supposed to know what Junior’s favorite number is? Why do I give two flying craps? I don’t! Shut up, television! I hate you! I don’t know what the kid’s favorite saying is. I’d guess “LOL” but that was obviously incorrect. Dad knew the answer. And guess what… SO DID HIS KID.
And the coup de grace… the kid actually SMILED when the moron emcee read off the correct answer. All Dad had to do was look at his little monster to see what the answer was. Dad could be neglectful and ignore his kid all day but it won’t matter ’cause he can cheat his way to victory on MY DAD IS BETTER THAN YOUR DAD.
I’m calming down a little bit because it’s 9:02 and the danger has passed. Although, I do want to mention one more thing about this: the music. Yes, we’re talking Who Wants To Be The Weakest Link vs. 100 SUSPENSE-O-THON standard score that is all-too-depressingly familiar to the awful prime time game show circuit.
“For $10,000: What is your son’s……… favorite food?” (synth orchestra sweep)
“Is it A: Alaph-bits” (cymbal brush)
“B: French toast”(dee-dee-dee)
“C: Pizza rolls” (kid giggles nervously)
“D: Cookies” (drum roll begins to build)
“Uhh… gee… I dunno… D? Cookies?” (music builds to a crescendo)
“Do you want to lock in your answer?” Yes. They have to lock in their answers.
“Yes. My son likes cookies. D.” All the while the kid is shaking his head and looking at the floor. Music breaks.
“Sorry. It was C. Pizza Rolls.” (Awwwwww….)
Thanks Dad. You are the definition of fail. I don’t even care if that other dad is better than you. For all I care, I am an orphan.