Category Archives: rant

Not Funny

One of the distressing side-effects of Christmas holidays is an increased willingness to spend inordinate amounts of time in front of the television, watching the kind of moronic claptrap that during the rest of the year would rapidly trigger the off-switch response. Having free hours somehow lowers the bar, so that even moderately worthless crap seems like a good reason to slob on the sofa and gaze at the screen for a while.
That is not to say that all discrimination has been abandoned; reality TV is still utter drivel, Honey Boo Boo and her disgusting relatives can all still fuck off and die, and those weird Alaskan bush people can wander off into the wilderness and indulge in whatever unbiblical intercourse gave rise to their unholy brood. Actually, the list of shows worth watching is still really, really short, and consists mostly of cop dramas. If at any time you’re tempted to drift into the realm of network sitcoms they conveniently show clips from time to time, just to remind you why you shouldn’t.
Oh fuck they’re bad. I have in the last 24 hours seen reminders of just how bad, and as a means of determining when you’ve been at home too long and should really get back to work you could do worse than use the following: if at any time you’re tempted to turn on Two Broke Girls, Mike and Molly or the McCarthys you should grab your work clothes and get the fuck out of the house. If you don’t have a job to go to, just leave the house anyway. Or kill yourself. You’d be doing society a favor.
How does anyone manage to make sitcoms with such pitiful, weak, worthless humor? How do you come up with such weak premises and then overlay them with jokes of such mind-numbing banality that only a cretin could enjoy them? And then run them for years? Until the threadbare original premise has been worn to dust on the backs of the idiot actors with which our screens are infected?
I struggled with this question. I know that good sitcoms do exist – we had loads of them back in merry old England. Why are the ones over here so fucking shit? Are Americans somehow programmed to accept more mediocrity, like with their chocolate? And how do you go about writing something so unfunny in the first place?
“Here’s a really great concept – we’ll have a sitcom with fat people.”
“But surely we did that already? Roseanne was fat, and that King of Queens guy was a bloater too.”
“Yeah, but this will be different. We’ll have a whole new slate of jokes about it being OK to be a fat bastard. Not good jokes, but lots and lots of them, all delivered by a really annoying fat bitch”
It still doesn’t make sense. You’d have to specifically breed writers to be that shit – you couldn’t possibly hire them that way. You’d have to start by taking weak comic writers and breeding them selectively with the retarded. The offspring of that accursed coupling would be a litter of retarded comic writers. It wouldn’t be easy, obviously. The comics would be trying to shove it in all the wrong holes, just to be funny, and the retards would be putting it in all the wrong holes because they didn’t know any better, but eventually I figure you could get them to breed. That wouldn’t be enough though. For a real CBS level of comic banality you’d have to take the comic retards and breed them again with a whole new set of retards (or maybe the same ones – it’s not like it matters) and then take the second set of offspring and have them write the script for Two Broke Girls. One part weak comic to three parts retard.
For sure that whole process would take two generations, and would require an investment of time by the network, and a commitment to really shit writing, that is hard to imagine. But what other explanation is there for the sudden explosion of really fucking shit sitcoms on our screens? The second breeding must be reaching maturity and their writing is coming to fruition.
The most depressing aspect of this is that networks are in the business of giving people what they want, and obviously the public likes their humor with very little use of the cerebral cortex required. Which is probably necessary to satisfy the mentality of a population that appears to have been spawned in no small part by acts of love between the actual or borderline retarded. So my TV sucks because people are stupid. I’m half tempted to go back to work, but the stupid live there too, and the sofa isn’t nearly as comfortable. So I’ll smack myself in the head with a brick instead, and get working on my new sitcom about two fat bastards who talk to the dead. It’s called “XXXL Medium”. You’ll fucking love it.

Nothing To Say

If it seems like it’s gone a bit quiet on the Bison front recently you’re not wrong – I’ve got out of the habit of writing stuff. At first I put this down to quality control. You know, “I can’t think of anything really funny, insightful or cutting to write, so I’ll just wait until I come up with something”. Except that I still haven’t come up with anything.

On one hand I don’t know why I should be concerned with the content of this site – I could just fill it up with memes, and pictures of my cat, like half the other crap out there. On the other hand I feel a certain responsibility to the regular visitors to make their visit at least halfway worthwhile. They should expect to be surprised, entertained, appalled or at least moderately offended by what they find here. Besides, I don’t have a fucking cat, and memes are for arseholes.

The last few weeks seem to have been consumed by work, working out and soccer. Sure there was the Olympics, but in spite of there being more stupid, incongruous and meaningless events than ever before, if you were watching NBC you’d have assumed there was nothing but swimming, gymnastics, volleyball and diving. Where was all the boxing, weightlifting, javelin, and all the good stuff? Why didn’t they show sports where there is actually an objectively determined winner, who threw it further, did it faster or beat everyone else to a pulp, rather than an outcome decided by a panel of judges? And why did we have to put up with synchronized diving, for fuck’s sake?

Just when I thought it could not possibly get any worse, the presidential election has descended on us. Now, in addition to the witterings of that supremely unqualified fraud, Obama, and his vacuous dipshit wife, we have endless talking heads clotting up our airwaves with inane speculation and repetitive “analysis”.

Maybe I’m a little more acerbic than usual today because I had to go and play golf. I went round in 120 strokes, which is slightly more than I might have expected to take if I had simply kicked the fucking ball, instead of trying to hit it with those singularly unsuitably shaped clubs. And all I have to show for it is soreness in many of my most useful joints and sunburn on the bits of me that I failed to cover with Factor 40. I did produce a divot which was spectacularly large and well-formed, rather like a green porcupine, and I was half tempted to bring that back home as a trophy, but I contented myself with a pocketful of balls discovered on my many forays into the weeds.

Which brings me to the only thing of note that I have observed in the last month: the cart wench who came round with drinks was accompanied on her cart by a large labrador dog. I don’t know what she was doing to pass the time between holes, but this thing was sitting there, panting, with the biggest, reddest, most sticky-out doggie hard-on I ever failed to avoid seeing. The lipstick was out by a good three inches. I know, it’s not much, but Mrs Bison said I had to write something. Come to think of it, maybe I could turn it into a meme…

Copyright © 2008 Edward Bison


In the wake of my recent piece about the simple pleasures of flying coach class on American Airlines from Brussels to Chicago it occurred to someone to ask what I was doing in coach. After all, am I not an international traveler with an allegedly important job and two million miles on American alone? Well yes, but it’s our company’s policy that we fly coach on any flight less than ten hours. On one hand I think this is bullshit, but when you look at how the airlines fuck you in the arse for the price of a business class seat I can’t say I entirely disagree. The airline is kind enough to provide us frequent travelers with a few “system wide upgrades” that in theory can be used to upgrade a coach ticket to business class for no cost. I say “in theory” because they only allocate about one seat in business for this, as far as I can tell, and it’s always gone by the time I book my trip. Sure, you can go on the waiting list, in case they have any unsold business class seats at departure time, but business fills up pretty quickly with the kind of people whose company refuses to inflict nine hours of shit, sleepless travel on them before expecting them to work a ten hour day.

This last trip was booked in November and of course the business class upgrade was not available, so I was put on the waiting list. However when my assistant checked the status about a week before the flight she was informed that I was not on the list. Yes I could be added, now right at the bottom, but what fucking good was that? Here’s the fun part – have you ever tried complaining to American Airlines? About anything? They absolutely do not give one single piece of shit about any member of the traveling public, and to demonstrate the point they not only make it difficult for you to complain, but they ensure that any response you receive will be so utterly fucking worthless as to make you wish you hadn’t bothered.

When I fly Northwest Airlines I expect to be treated like shit – I hardly ever fly them and so I’m right at the bottom of their priority list (which is not good because, frankly, their staff are the earthly servants of Satan) – but American keep sending me crap in the mail about how important and valued I am because of all the money my company gives them to fly me around the world. If they’re treating me like crap then the average infrequent flier can pretty much expect to be sodomized in the departure lounge.

Step one is to call the Executive Platinum line at American. This used to be answered by people who would help you with whatever problem you had. Real people, with a voice, and a personality; OK, admittedly a few were a bit thick but most were extremely kind and helpful. Not any more – now you get a giant, perpetual fucking maze of automated options, not one of which says “If you wish to complain about anything please press the hash key now”. I did, however, discover that if you give up and shout “Why don’t you fuck off with your fucking useless fucking system you fucking wankers” then you get a message informing you that they will put you through to the next available operator, so apparently they programmed it to recognize the universal verbal sign of frustration.

You could try complaining via the website – they actually have a complaint form, although it asks for your flight details and if your flight hasn’t happened yet (i.e. they pissed you off before you even got to the airport) then the form won’t let you submit the complaint and redirects you to phone reservations. Even filling in the e-mail form elicited at least five “fucking hells”. And it’s so utterly pointless. The first thing you get is a standard response informing you that they will look into your complaint; the second thing you receive is a short and completely inadequate reply which fails to propose one single meaningful solution and refuses even to accept the possibility that their staff fucked up. The best bit is that the e-mail address on the crappy response is I’d like to hereby suggest that in the interests of accuracy they update it to

Now I realize that those of you who don’t have system-wide upgrades or executive platinum cards might well regard all this as bollocks. “The flight got in didn’t it? Just toughen up and get over it.” Which is exactly the way the airlines want you to feel. These days you think yourself lucky if your plane didn’t do a 777 and crash short of the runway; you hardly dare to expect efficient, professional, friendly service on top. It’s not as though I have many options so long as I live in St.Louis; even the Servants of Satan on Northwest Airlines don’t have many flights out of here. So in order to better reflect the relationship American has with its most valued customers I’d propose the following automated complaint response:

Dear Frequent Flier. You appear to be mistaking us for someone who gives a shit about your complaint. Don’t waste your time – not only will nothing be done, we are already in the process of dreaming up new ways to annoy you. We give you upgrades that you can never use, frequent flier miles that you can never redeem, check-in queues that you can never get through, customer service that you can never reach and flight attendants that will never retire. If you still labor under the misapprehension that we care about your flying pleasure may I suggest that you clearly haven’t been paying attention. Please fuck off and die.

Or, to put it more succinctly, how about a new tagline:

“American Airlines – we can’t wait to fuck you in the AArse.”

Copyright © 2008 Edward Bison

On The F Scale

This has been a hard week. In the past I would have based this purely on subjective things like how tired I felt, or looked, or how long I worked. But everyone knows that stress is the real determinant of whether you had a hard week or not and I am now able to measure my stress on the F-scale.

Read Mr Bison’s Journal for the rest of this sweary story…or can you even watch a cartoon Mr Bison perform here