Television and Cardboard Box Dreams

I was involved in a discussion today in the Daily Ramblings Irish Pub Forum, where the subject of television sitcoms came up. Since column ideas are sometimes hard to come by (the column I originally planned to write for today was about the old lady down the hall), I decided to take my long rant and turn it into a column.

Oh, like you wouldn't do the same thing if you were in my place. Let's get started.

I really hate sitcoms. I refuse to watch them. Cartoons like "The Simpsons" and "Family Guy", or oddball shows like "Greg the Bunny" and "Andy Richter Controls the Universe", entertain me thoroughly, but the regular sitcoms are just not funny.

All the jokes are lame as hell. It's basically the same boring, crappy "jokes for the whole family" and ridiculously overdone plot ideas: some everyday event goes wrong, or some "crazy" situation comes up, and the situation must be remedied in some other "crazy" fashion. The writers work so hard on making the basic idea fit in with everyday life that the shows become dull and predictable. Example: "The Drew Carey Show" is funny, but Carey could do something a lot better than that. Unfortunately, he went the safe route and produced a cookie cutter copy of every other sitcom out there.

It's a shame that I can't find a television show that's even close to being worth a half-hour of my time. But all the shows that I do like end up getting cancelled because they're too different, too astray from the standard sitcom blueprints created for the boring, nauseating tastes of the general American public. "Family Guy" was as witty as "The Simpsons", and more daring, to boot. "Andy Richter Controls the Universe" was funny, unpredictable and incredibly zany. "Greg the Bunny" was hilarious and hip (and gave Sarah Silverman a decent role and a steady paycheck, both of which she deserves). Sigh. Once the Simpsons goes off the air– which may be soon– I probably won't even turn on my TV at all. Double sigh.

Maybe I'll make my own television show each week, in my living room with a cardboard box that has a hole cut in the front for the screen. There will be puppets, funny "weiner" jokes, and the ping pong game from the "Bozo the Clown Show", with a fabulous brand-new bicycle for those who get the ball in that final, far away bucket. I think people would dig that.

Hell, who cares? I'd dig that.

Uncle Phil could be there, along with Poo Bear and Newt Gingrich's fat mother. Gingrich's fat mother will wear a shirt that says "Gingrich's fat mother", and will warn viewers about the dangers of procreating when you or your spouse is a moron. Newt, obviously, will be the proof. He'll come on the show if I slip him enough cash under the table.

Maybe Speedy Delivery, the mailman from "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood", will come to work on my show, and get mad when he sees that the show is just me in my living room with a cardboard box. Maybe he'll call me a "fucking goob" and storm outside to his car. Maybe a song by "The Sex Pistols" will be blasting from his car as he drives away. Maybe.

There are some dreams, like my television show in a cardboard box, that are great enough where it would almost be a crime for them not to come true.