Category Archives: TV Shit

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.

Fuck Me, It’s Dwayne Dibley!

fuck me dwayne dibley

Dwayne Dibley or J.Alexander. Can you tell them apart?

Mrs Bison spent about four hours yesterday taking Bison Daughter shopping, on account of the fact that she’s grown out of everything. In the good old days we’d buy clothes in advance – whatever was on sale at the end of the season we’d buy it in a larger size for next season, and that way we’d stay ahead of the game. (To be fair, when I say “we”, I obviously don’t mean me.) However that doesn’t work now because the girl has discovered “fashion”. That means a shirt with no logo from Target is “unfashionable” but the same shirt with “Hollister” plastered all over it is “way cool”. Never mind that they’re all made in China and would fall apart if she didn’t grow out of them so quickly, the branded stuff is much better.

There’s a balance here – I’m not going to force my kid to be the only one with no logo gear, but I’m also not giving in to this “everyone else has it so I have to” bullshit. A few branded items amongst the other stuff go a long way.

The marketing of branded clothing to kids is an irritating way to suck more money out of our pockets but at least the clothes still look like clothes. The other night I had the misfortune to experience re-runs of America’s Next Top Model on TV. Have you ever seen such a load of complete bollocks in your life?

The whole fashion industry seems to be populated by freaks, degenerates and weirdos, the kind of bizarre, self-obsessed nonces that you’d cross the street to avoid in real life. Just look at what goes up and down catwalks in the major fashion shows – no-one in their right mind would ever conceive of actually wearing any of that crap, and anyone who’d pay what it sells for clearly has more money than sense, by a phenomenally wide margin.

I don’t want to sound like an expert on America’s Next Top Model, but it falls into the standard reality-show format, where a cast of wannabes are put through a series of tests and gradually eliminated by a panel of judges. One of the judges is a “bloke” (I use the term in its broadest possible sense) by the name of Miss J.Alexander. What struck me when I saw him on the show was that he was dressed in the kind of gear that would make anyone look like a complete pillock. The whole fashion industry is an “Emperor’s New Clothes” experience; if some “high fashion” name started prancing around in a bin bag and wellies suddenly everyone else would want to. Who could believe that flared jeans came back, for fuck’s sake?

But as soon as I saw J.Alexander, the famous fashion figure and catwalk coach, the first thing I thought was “It’s Dwayne Dibley!” Yes, the ultimate fashion-failure character from Red Dwarf. He was the spitting image! I know everyone from the UK will know who he is, but here’s a link to Dwayne Dibley for those who don’t. And if you haven’t watched Red Dwarf before I can only suggest that you’ve clearly been wasting your life to date.

At the top of the page are four pictures – two are fashion failure Dwayne Dibley and two are fashion guru J.Alexander. Can you tell them apart?

So forgive me if I’m somewhat reluctant to ponce about in whatever the fashion industry tells me is now “in”. Remember, just because it’s fashionable doesn’t mean you don’t look like a twat.

Decline and Fall

It is hard for anyone who has watched TV in this country recently to argue that there hasn’t been a “dumbing down” of America. Channels which had names that incorporated words like Discovery, Learning, Geographic and History, now dispense a seemingly endless supply of reality TV pap. Just when you think the bar cannot be lowered any further, a new show emerges to make you despair for the future of civilization in the United States.

Of course you can argue that it’s not the TV companies’ fault – they are in business to make money, which they make by selling advertising, and which they can only make money selling if they keep their viewer numbers high. So the thesis goes that they only show crap because the American public will only watch crap. Crap sells.

All great civilizations pass through a “decline and fall” period on their way to historical oblivion. Few would recognize the great civilization of ancient Greece in the indebted, rudderless mess that is modern day Greece. And the fearsome empire of ancient Rome is in no way reflected in modern Italy, lurching from one dysfunctional and corrupt government to another. The British Empire long ago disintegrated, and the country seems determined to complete the transformation into irrelevant backwater, selling off its industry, opening the doors to millions of immigrants and outsourcing all important decisions to unelected bureaucrats in Brussels.

So it should come as no surprise that the United States, having peaked as a world power, is now entering its decline phase. The question, really, is “how far and how fast?” Countries decline from the inside out; before they can be overcome by external forces they must first destroy themselves internally. That destruction is driven by people. People can make a country great, if led effectively, but they will also bring it to its knees, when forces of laziness, greed and irresponsibility are left to run rampant.

The direction of the United States is driven by elections, and election results are largely driven by the will of the people (as manipulated by political campaigns, and somewhat corrupted by the constantly-denied tendencies of liberal street operatives to falsify voting). So it stands to reason that crappy politics results to some extent from stupid people. And that brings us back to reality TV: If the people who watch Jersey Shore, Toddlers in Tiaras, shows about fat people, shows about hoarders, shows about clamping, shows about storage auctions and shows about all the other freaks and weirdos who just became eligible for their fifteen minutes of fame, are allowed to vote, is it any surprise that we are in the mess that we are?

What’s more, it’s only going to get worse. Stupid people are breeding at a rate which far exceeds that of bright people. And to make matters worse, far from attempting to overcome this, we are actually subsidizing and encouraging it.

Sensible members of the “working” or “lower middle” classes make decisions about how many kids to have, based in part on the knowledge that they will have to pay to raise them. Not only do members of the non-working class (an increasingly large segment of society that has no expectation of having to work in order to eat) not have to pay for their (frequently) out of wedlock babies, but we actually encourage their breeding by providing free accommodation, food and other benefits “for the well being of the infant”. Stupid teenagers without the common sense, intelligence or education to add value to any employer, and without the “get up and go” to get work, simply have to have some babies and their income is assured, for zero work. More babies equals more income.

The babies they produce are, not surprisingly, of the same stupid, feckless ilk as their parent(s). Whether you believe in nature or nurture it doesn’t really matter; they’re fucked either way. They are raised by lazy parents who, in spite of having no job to go to, fail to spend time teaching their kids to read, disciplining them or preparing them to participate in a civilized society. Stupid DNA, combined with negligent parenting, pretty much condemns us to support yet another litter of worthless individuals. The fact that they breed in many cases before the legal age of consent only exacerbates the problem, with families turning out two generations of parasites in the time it takes productive families to produce one.

This growing underclass of non-productive people clearly has no interest in voting for more responsibility, or less hand-outs, and spends an inordinate amount of time watching TV and coveting what others had to work hard to earn over years. Hence the growing pressure to “redistribute” wealth from those who produced it to the massive underclass of those who did not, and who in many cases have done nothing but suck on the teat of the government since the day they were born.

Left wing politicians, who merely have to acquire the votes of a majority of anyone with a pulse who can be persuaded to vote (either in person, or through a liberal street operative who will do it for them), pander to this envy-driven sentiment, and consistently fail to place any responsibility for poverty at the feet of those who really caused it.

Meanwhile, the liberal media, who have an almost unassailable grip on the diet of information fed to the American people, will vilify and cast as an extremist anyone who dares to poke the sacred cow of welfare and social redistribution. So we go along, pretending that this sad state of affairs isn’t real, while the cancer of the parasitic underclass grows to the point where it will no longer be politically possible to make any changes, at least up to the point where the decline within this country has become so apparent that it is too late. When the IOUs that we write to cover the real costs of this feckless and reckless social policy come due, when we become a larger and more destitute version of Greece, then maybe the liberal media might be expected to open their eyes to the massive lies being fed to America.

Don’t hold your breath. Responsibility and accountability aren’t trending on the web, but I’ll bet Snooki’s wedding is. Just keep digging into your pocket to pay for the kids who will be voting to take more of your money away a few years from now.

Copyright © 2012 Edward Bison

Reality Ever After

Mrs Bison is watching re-runs of Sex and the City, and I have to admit that it doesn’t seem half as bad as I remember it. OK, no need to demand my “guy card” back just yet, it’s not as though I’m watching it myself. How can I be? I’m writing this. No, my point is not that it got better, nor that I turned into the kind of limp-wristed, flamboyant excuse for a man that would actually enjoy it. My point is that compared to the utter crap that’s cluttering up my cable TV these days, Sex and the City is brilliant.

Do you remember when TV shows had actors and stories? Or when we had interesting documentaries, or investigative shows? Now I trawl through the channels and all I find is “reality shows”. You name it and someone’s made it into a reality show. I cannot fucking believe that there are shows out there solely about people who make cupcakes, and all the trials and tribulations of being a cupcake maker. There are shows where people compete in stupid contests to become the next top model, or cake boss, or apprentice or whatever fucking idiot idea someone in LA or NY just came up with. This is about as “real” as little green men probing your anus while whistling the theme from Bonanza.

I could go on and list all the dumb “reality” shows that center around some lifestyle or profession, such as clamping cars, being a woman cop, getting married, hunting wild hogs, giving our parking tickets, collecting scrap metal, buying a wedding dress, operating a pawn shop, having a makeover or losing about two hundred pounds of bodyweight, all of which are chock-full of completely staged situations, created to bring drama and suspense to the tiny-minded plebs watching. What really pisses me off, though, more than anything else, is the plethora of “celebrity” reality shows, centered around the kind of vacuous bullshit non-people whose only claim to fame is being famous. Once upon a time we just had Paris Hilton, but now we have the overpaid, overexposed, real housewives of just about anywhere, all prancing about like utter twats in a massive celebration of the collective stupidity of the American populace.

Unlike the internet, which allows people to self-select according to their tastes, and where absolutely anyone can find something of interest to them (farmyard porn anybody?) cable TV is all about appealing to the masses. Only by attracting enough viewers to support advertising can TV companies make any money, so they work extremely hard to make sure that EVERYTHING we see is targeted at as broad an audience as possible. We can assume that they’ve got pretty good at it by now (economic Darwinism working its magic), so we can by extension assume that the swathes of reality TV shit that they put out are exactly what the majority of the American viewing public desire. I mean, TV companies aren’t stupid.

Now we’ve reached a new low. Bethenny Ever After is coming. A woman famous simply for being on reality TV is now getting yet another reality TV show, just about how tough her life is now that she’s married and has a kid. (Makes a change from a litter of six kids, or nineteen, I suppose.) What the fuck? I’d never heard of this weird looking cow before, but it turns out she’s been on an apprentice show, been a real housewife, and also had some other show about planning her wedding, and now we’re being offered a chance to watch the next episode of her life. Jesus wept! That’s what America’s doing now – tuning in to see what this “famous for nothing” celebrity bitch is doing in her manufactured life every week.

If we could decide for ourselves which cable TV channels we wanted in our bundle you can be absolutely fucking sure that this piece of trash wouldn’t be on my list. I’m about ready to junk cable altogether, because it’s nothing but crap and cartoons.

How did we get to this stage? The great moronic mass of the voting American public is sitting down every night to worship synthetic celebrities. Now we have Kim Fatarse Kardashian (where the FUCK did she come from?) hawing herself, her perfume, her clothing, and just about anything else that you can stick a brand name on. She’s only famous for being famous, and that’s what gets paid for in America today.

You know, compared to that load of old crap, even horse-faced Sarah Jessica Parker’s looking good these days…

Copyright © 2011 Edward Bison

Rescue Pets

The thing about watching Christmas TV in a turkeyed-out haze is that you can easily miss things. For instance, if it weren’t for Mrs Bison’s careful attention to meaningless ads I would have completely missed the commercial for the Rescue Pets Train & Play Puppy. Let’s gloss over for the moment the fact that, in the interest of cuteness, this monstrosity has the kind of massively oversized eyes that make you wonder if it shouldn’t have been humanely destroyed, or at least renamed “Rescue Pets Genetic Freak Aberration Puppy”. No, the “fun” thing about this particular toy is that you can feed it a plastic biscuit (included) and it will then walk off and deposit said biscuit as “poop”, to the apparent delight of the kids in the commercial.

I believe that this toy is supposed to introduce kids to the reality of owning a pet, prior to them heading off to the pound with mum and dad, and picking up the real thing. However I believe I have spotted the minor flaw in this plan. You see, when the Rescue Pets Puppy drops its guts, you just pick up the plastic biscuit; you can stick it right back in the little bastard’s mouth, or, if you are so inclined, in your own mouth, with no ill effects whatsoever. (Unless you happen to be one of Darwin’s “special” children, and swallow the plastic biscuit.)

In the real world of dogs they don’t deposit a small plastic toy right where you expect it. They leave you a massive pile of foul-smelling, sometimes worm-infested ordure, and often where you least expect it. Yeah, let’s replay the commercial and see how the three little girls react when the dog leaves a steaming pile of logs on the table. Who’s going to be laughing and rushing to pick it up then? Ready for your trip to pick out a REAL rescue puppy girls? Just grab a hold of that festering heap of warm, recycled kanga chunks and feel it ooze through your fingers as you scurry to the toilet / trash can / back door.

Herein lies the beauty of electronic toy pets. For a start they have an OFF switch, so you won’t be awakened in the night by scratching and whining. They can be thrown away when they break, with no vet bills, and your running costs are limited to a couple of sets of AA batteries, before the kids get bored with watching the biscuit fall out of its synthetic fur arse. They need no feeding, worming, inoculating, exercising, grooming or attention, and as such are completely useless as a means of preparing for the reality of caring for a dog.

What’s more, I’ve been to the rescue dog place, and let me assure you that it’s not full of puppies. It is, however, extremely well-stocked with pit-bulls. And excrement. And more pit-bulls. There’s an assortment of sad older dogs which part of you wants to bring home so they can be loved again, but you can’t help wondering if the reason they’re there in the first place is that they snapped one day and ripped a little boy’s arm off. I mean, if you were shopping for an adopted grandpa you probably wouldn’t start at the local Salvation Army hostel, would you. Sure, there’s some good guys down there, but the odds are high that you’d end up with a meth-addled serial masturbator with klepto tendencies.

Plus, adopting an old dog is like buying an old car – the nice smell is gone, and you’re on the hook for the expensive maintenance as it breaks down all the time. And there’s always shit coming out the back end.

Maybe, for added realism, there should be a Rescue Pets Savage Pit Bull Puppy. Abused since birth, forced to mate with it’s own mother and repeatedly fight in order avoid having its skull crushed by a black NFL player, it is now ready to come home with you and join your family. Only, WATCH OUT, as it randomly attacks a child and bites their finger in a “plastic biscuit poop” synthetic version of real canine violence. That should get the kiddies ready for the joy of being savaged by a seventy pound Chinese Shar Pei rescue dog like that kid in Wolverhampton.

Or just take a big shit on the floor, then have the kids pick it up and take it for a two-mile walk in a bag. Every day for three months. Then they’ll be ready for a dog…

Copyright © 2010 Edward Bison

Fuck Me, It’s Dwayne Dibley!


Mrs Bison spent about four hours yesterday taking Bison Daughter shopping, on account of the fact that she’s grown out of everything. In the good old days we’d buy clothes in advance – whatever was on sale at the end of the season we’d buy it in a larger size for next season, and that way we’d stay ahead of the game. (To be fair, when I say “we”, I obviously don’t mean me.) However that doesn’t work now because the girl has discovered “fashion”. That means a shirt with no logo from Target is “unfashionable” but the same shirt with “Hollister” plastered all over it is “way cool”. Never mind that they’re all made in China and would fall apart if she didn’t grow out of them so quickly, the branded stuff is much better.

There’s a balance here – I’m not going to force my kid to be the only one with no logo gear, but I’m also not giving in to this “everyone else has it so I have to” bullshit. A few branded items amongst the other stuff go a long way.

The marketing of branded clothing to kids is an irritating way to suck more money out of our pockets but at least the clothes still look like clothes. The other night I had the misfortune to experience America’s Next Top Model on TV. Have you ever seen such a load of complete bollocks in your life?

The whole fashion industry seems to be populated by freaks, degenerates and weirdos, the kind of bizarre, self-obsessed nonces that you’d cross the street to avoid in real life. Just look at what goes up and down catwalks in the major fashion shows – no-one in their right mind would ever conceive of actually wearing any of that crap, and anyone who’d pay what it sells for clearly has more money than sense, by a phenomenally wide margin.

I don’t want to sound like an expert on America’s Next Top Model, but it falls into the standard reality-show format, where a cast of wannabes are put through a series of tests and gradually eliminated by a panel of judges. One of the judges is a “bloke” (I use the term in its broadest possible sense) by the name of Miss J.Alexander. What struck me when I saw him on the show was that he was dressed in the kind of gear that would make anyone look like a complete pillock. The whole fashion industry is an “Emperor’s New Clothes” experience; if some “high fashion” name started prancing around in a bin bag and wellies suddenly everyone else would want to. Who could believe that flared jeans came back, for fuck’s sake?

But as soon as I saw J.Alexander, the famous fashion figure and catwalk coach, the first thing I thought was “It’s Dwayne Dibley!” Yes, the ultimate fashion-failure character from Red Dwarf. He was the spitting image! I know everyone from the UK will know who he is, but here’s a link to Dwayne Dibley for those who don’t. And if you haven’t watched Red Dwarf before I can only suggest that you’ve clearly been wasting your life to date.

At the top of the page are four pictures – two are fashion failure Dwayne Dibley and two are fashion guru J.Alexander. Can you tell them apart?

So forgive me if I’m somewhat reluctant to ponce about in whatever the fashion industry tells me is now “in”. Remember, just because it’s fashionable doesn’t mean you don’t look like a twat.

Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

Chia Shit


Here’s a Yuletide suggestion: if you’ve considered buying anyone a Chia pet this year, perhaps you should seriously consider euthanasia as a lifestyle choice. Maybe back thirty years ago the idea of growing organic green “hair” on a clay body was a novelty, but who’s buying these things today?

They were actually advertising the things on network TV here last week, which was frankly amazing to me. Are there really enough people who can be persuaded to rush out and get a Chia head for their nephews and nieces so as to justify a TV ad campaign? Beer, cars, phone companies and boner pills I understand advertising, but Chia pets?

Pity the poor bastard who wakes up to one of those things on Christmas morning.

“What’s in this box? Is it a phone? A Nintendo DS? An iPod?” Cue rustling of paper.

“What the fuck is this? Terrific. No need to head out to that New Year’s party next week now – I can stay here and have just as much fun spreading seeds on this bastard.”

TV Sex Lessons


Thanks to the television there’s little risk that my child will grow up without a full and complete education on the facts of life. We try to be good parents – we answered all the questions about where babies come from without resorting to lies or fairy tales, and Mrs Bison even bought a book to explain it all properly. (I went away on a business trip so I didn’t have to try and keep a straight face when explaining what the “penis” was for.) …

Read more here

Five Rings Of Boredom

So the Olympics is starting. Fucking wonderful – the giant international soap opera of sports is upon us, complete with hopelessly incongruous events such as basketball, and a guaranteed self-congratulatory excess of patriotic TV coverage. Normal service will be suspended while we are all deluged with unwanted and meaningless crap about all the athletes and their “personal struggles” and “path to victory”.

I was a bit surprised that Paul Hamm, the gold medal winning US gymnast from the 2004 Olympics, had to pull out. Apparently he was unable to recover in time from a broken right hand. I did wonder whether losing the use of a hand was really a valid reason to withdraw though – couldn’t he have just got a hand from the judges like last time?

That’s Illogical

In a sign of tragic sadness, Mrs Bison and I have got into the habit of watching Star Trek re-runs on Saturday night if we happen to be at home. (Who am I kidding? We’re always at home, on account of having no life.) We’re not Trekkies, you understand, and I’d heartily support the death penalty for anyone who claims to be able to speak Klingon or who dresses up as Mr Spock on weekends. It’s just that the show has now become a piece of history, harkening back to our schooldays, when we used to watch it after tea during the week.

It’s also fun because it’s so amazingly shit. We missed the start of this week’s episode and joined just in time to see Captain Kirk on a planet surface with a few men you’d never seen before, in red shirts, who you just knew were going to die soon. The thing is, this planet looked exactly the fucking same as the last two planets they beamed down onto, i.e. just like a cheap studio mock-up. They’re supposed to be on a five year mission, but at the rate they get through anonymous men in red shirts (who meet their end in all sorts of weird ways practically every week) I’d be surprised if they had enough people left to keep the ship running. (“I cannae give ye anymore power Captain, all my engineers are fuckin’ deid.”)

Fortunately a good Scotch turns Star Trek from pointless ancient shit into fabulous humor-filled viewing. Provided you drink enough of it.