"Mine is a very familiar story..."

“Hi, I’m Ellen. Like pretty much every woman on tv who is sharing screen time with a guy, I’m smart, competent, and cute. I’m also long-suffering because of my friend Dave, here. Like pretty much every guy on tv who is sharing screen time with a girl, Dave is a fat, clueless bag of uncombed, unshaven fertilizer who couldn’t find his ass with two flashlights and a GPS.”

“As is always the case with the female side of any guy-girl relationship on television, my cool industriousness keeps our small corner of the world from spinning into chaos, while Dave would probably stick his foot into a bucket of water while sucking on a power cord if I let him out of my sight for more than five minutes.

I’m long-suffering, because my ‘partner,’ Dave here, is constantly attempting to undermine our ability to survive in a competitive environment merely by Being Dave- a clunky, clumsy, worthless road block I must be constantly swerving around as I drag us both to the top.

I imagine that Dave and I would be getting our own sitcom in the near future, except for the fact that- let’s face it- our story has been told a thousand times on a thousand different shows dating back to the 1970s at least. Actually, I’m pretty sure that Hugh Beaumont was the last fully functional male to appear on an American television, and even he had to be pulled back to the straight and narrow by Barbara Billingsley from time to time.

So for now, please sit back and enjoy episode #213,497 in television’s longest-running show, “The Adventures of Intelligent Beautiful Woman and her Dimwitted Dumbass Male Partner.’ My only request is that you continue to avoid asking the obvious question- ‘why does she put up with this shit?’ Because to that query, I’m sorry to report, there is no answer.”

After serious consideration, I've decided that I'd rather just be sad

What? You’re taking an anti-depressant, and you STILL find yourself huddled in the dark corner of the palatial estate your husband slaved to provide for you? Ok, Drama Queen- since you insist, we are going to add something to your treatment- a prescription for Abilify.

Now, we should tell you that there ARE some possible side effects. Nothing to be all that concerned about- but Tell Your Doctor if you experience thoughts of suicide.

“Gosh, doctor, thoughts of suicide are why I asked for an anti-depressant in the first place. I’m starting to suspect that Abilify is just a sugar pill.”

Oh yeah? Well, would taking a sugar pill increase risk of Death and Stroke in some patients? How about fever and stiff muscles? Confusion? Uncontrollable muscle movement which “may become permanent?” High blood sugar, which may lead to Coma or Death? Dizziness upon standing? Seizures? Impaired Motor Skills? Trouble Swallowing? Did I mention DEATH? That would be some sugar pill, wouldn’t it?

“Adding Abilify has made a difference for me.” Yes, we can see that. Sometimes you almost manage to smile, though it still looks like your face would shatter if you didn’t fall back into your usual mope immediately afterwards.

We thought Abilify would help in your case. It’s hard to remember that you are depressed when you are fighting off the most horrifying list of side effects every associated with a drug which is supposed to make life more bearable. (The deep, dark secret pharmaceutical companies don’t want you to know: Life isn’t Supposed to be Much More than Bearable.)

And being followed by Glenn Beck’s chalkboard? Just a friendly reminder that you’ve been catered to long enough. Now shut up, half-smile, and walk aimlessly up and down piers with your family in between sitting in dark theaters. Because we won’t have anything more mind-altering than Abilify available until at least Labor day.

Get your free sample off the coast of Louisiana, any day now!

Oh, ,what joy! A group of fun-loving cartoon infants rolling down the road, heading for who-knows-where to do who-knows-what, rejecting Brand X gas along the way despite the fact that the needle is rapidly approaching "E." (Not only rejecting, but rejecting with rank disdain- I believe that one of the cartoon babies actually holds it's nose at the idea of filling the tank with Not-BP Gasoline.)

Finally, our animated toddlers have discovered a BP station ("Say Hey!") and can continue their odyssey knowing that their gas tank is filled with Only The Best. Off they go, into the Pale Green Yonder.

From this commercial, let a million parodies bloom. Where are these kids going? I sure hope it's not the Gulf of Mexico, where their "We love BP" song may not go over so well among the larger population of car-driving children who have already stopped singing to note the economic disaster which has washed ashore on once-pristine beaches. No smiling fish, shrimp, crabs, oysters or seagulls here! And I doubt that green would be the prominent color, either, except of course in the thought-bubbles of BP execs, who decided that a $500,000 shut-off valve was an unnecessary expense for a company that made more than $4 billion in profits last quarter.

So please, all you wonderful, computer-savvy artists out there- let's see your best efforts snarking all over this commercial, which sure seems to be trying to sell us on the idea that the way to joyful times and endless fun is gasoline courtesy of British Petroleum. (Tell it to the waterfowl, assholes.) I'll be watching YouTube in hopeful anticipation, and will embed my favorite videos right here. Don't let me down!

Another Crazy Woman and her I-Phone

"We decided we wanted a dog." I can only assume that "we" means the female narrator and her f--ing I-Phone, because my brain rebels against the idea of this woman having a relationship with another human being. Anyway, allow me to paraphrase the next line- "I wasn't willing to get off my expanding ass to go to the shelter, so I ran my finger along the screen of my Life Partner until I found a local shelter which had conveniently taken photos of every dog it had available."

Back to the actual script: "We fell in love with Bailey." Well, that's nice. Cute dog.

"We took millions of pictures." Seriously? Millions? Of a dog?

"Of course, we sent them to all our friends." You mean ex-friends. Or Facebook friends- the ones you've never met, will never meet, don't give a damn that you live and won't bat an eye when you die. The kind that don't mind being buried by photographs of your dog, or being reminded that you are really, really nuts about your I-Phone.

"And when we couldn't take him with us..." we set up a webcam and kept an eye on him with....well, what else?

"Thanks to my I-Phone, our family is now.....complete!" Yes, it is. You, your I-Phone, and a dog. I hope you are all very happy together. And I guess it's some comfort that your dog will never know that he would have had no chance of being adopted by you if you hadn't purchased an I-Phone, because God Fucking Forbid you were going to flip through some philistine phone book to find a shelter and head over to, I don't know, actually look at a real live dog instead of picking one out based on a tiny photo. Because I'm sure I'm wrong here, but it seems to me that choosing a family pet might require a little more effort than ordering a pizza or buying a pair of sneakers online.

We all know that it's only a matter of time before people are adopting children through a downloadable App, right? Are we all ready to act surprised when this happens?

The Sad Demise of the "History" Channel

I love history. When I was a kid, I'd spend hours poring over old history textbooks, looking for maps, graphs and charts and reading about Abraham Lincoln, Daniel Webster, and Andrew Jackson. I'd draw maps of imaginary battle sites and imagine that I was the general leading troops to victory. I'd give speeches like I was Henry Clay addressing the Senate. I was what you'd call a geek, I guess- still am.

There used to be a cable channel made just for people like me. It was called The History Channel. Sure, it was overladen with World War II footage- there are only so many times I really care to see "Hitler's Generals" and "Dogfights!" and interviews with ancient vets, but I understood that the channel's archives contained several million miles of footage so what the heck? And sure, the channel's producers seemed to have a bit of an obsession with the occult- multiple "Salem Witch Trials" and "Secrets of Nostradamus" (and "Secrets of Nostradamus's SON") programs got a bit wearisome.

But something very tragic has happened to this history geek's favorite cable channel. It's simply not about "History" anymore. Check out this lineup: Axe Men, Pawn Stars, Monster Quest, Ancient Aliens: The Series, UFO Hunters, That's Impossible, Gangland, Ice Road Truckers (on the air roughly six hours a day.) I mean, what the hell? When did The History Channel decide to pick up programming ideas found in the dumpsters behind USA and TBS?

It's really depressing when your odds of finding a HISTORY program on The History Channel are only slightly better than your odds of finding a music video on MTV. I can't imagine why history geeks would want to watch the current version of The History Channel. Or non-history geeks, for that matter.

Hey, History Channel- how about getting back to showing us, you know, History? I imagine it's cheaper and safer to just copy the other lame, shoestring-budget cable offerings out there, but as one of the Axe Men opines into the camera you shoved in his face, "Life without Risks is Mediocre." So is your current lineup. Mediocre, and not History.

"Get a Garage!"

One of the most unintentionally hilarious moments of the putrid Star Wars prequels which littered the landscape throughout the turn of the century featured what I guess was supposed to be a "touching" scene between Natalie Portman and everyone's favorite overexposed adorable "droid," R2D2. If I remember correctly, the rolling trash compactor performed some pre-programmed function adequately, earning a preposterous gushing "thank you" from Portman's character- something along the lines of "we commend this R2 unit...." I can only guess that later scenes featuring Padme decorating a microwave and bestowing the Iron Cross on a toaster were cut due to time constraints. Anyway, watching a human expressing gratitude to a compilation of wires and light bulbs was funny for all the wrong reasons, and one of the few genuinely entertaining moments in the ill-advised second trilogy.

Which brings us to this commercial for Subaru. A solemn-looking guy pulls into the junkyard in a brand-new white Subaru, parking next to what clearly used to be an identical model which has been in a very bad accident. "A Subaru saved my life" our hero muses, as he looks over the mangled car, removes a journal of some sort, and then, apparently on a whim, twists the gear shift knob and takes it with him.

"I won't forget that" he concludes as he drives off with his memento. (Please note that as he's walking back toward his new car, he's putting the gear shift knob in his pocket. But then we see it sitting on the front seat next to the journal. Continuity Much, Subaru?)

Considering that he went out and bought an exact copy of the Car that Saved His Life, I'm willing to take this guy at his word- he Won't Forget That, Ever. I can see this idiot getting into bar fights with people who dare to casually insult Japanese cars. Or ask him why he's wearing a gear shift knob on a chain around his neck.

I was involved in a bad accident in my old Honda Civic DX some years back. It, too, was totaled. I suppose that one reason I wasn't badly hurt was because the car was engineered to protect the driver in the event of a crash. When I went to the junkyard to retrieve a few belongings from the trunk, it didn't even occur to me to pry off a piece of my soon-to-be-crushed car as a reminder of the day a drunken asshole slammed into me while I was waiting at a stop sign. I guess I'm just not that sentimental- in retrospect, I should have written a eulogy and taken a hubcap, at least.

What's this guy really going to do with that knob, anyway?

Is the Cure worse than the Disease?

I admit, this was a tough one. But last year, I managed to find some pretty decent snark in Lance Armstrong's "Stand Up for Cancer" commercials, so poking fun at KFC's "Pink Buckets for Breast Cancer" should be doable, shouldn't it?

I think it's very nice that for every bucked of grilled or original recipe chicken (FRIED, which has been a dirty word over at KFC for quite some time now, but damn it, I grew up with Kentucky Fried Chicken and I'm over forty so I KNOW what "KFC" stands for) the fast-food corporation which merged with Taco Bell a few years back will donate a whole fifty cents to the fight against Breast Cancer. I really do. After all, how much does a bucket of this stuff cost nowadays? $15? Heck, that means KFC is willing to donate a whopping 3% of the price of each bucket. Pretty darned impressive.

But if you really want to contribute to the cause, is purchasing (and, presumably, helping your Dear Beloved Mother consume) a bucket of greasy, artery-clogging chicken the best way to go about it? Ok, I'm willing to concede that this stuff probably doesn't actually CAUSE breast cancer, either in laboratory rats or Mommies. It's not like Ben and Jerry's joining the fight against diabetes or M&M Mars donating a nickle for every candy bar purchased to defeat gingivitis. But still....

"This is for you, Mom. I'm determined that you won't die of breast cancer. So chow down on this pile of sludge, and then we'll go out for Blizzards at Dairy Queen. Maybe tomorrow we can get you one of those Double Down sandwiches."

Or- you could skip the Heart Attack in a Pail and just cut a check. Just a thought. Because really- if Mom keels over from a stroke instead of Breast Cancer, what exactly got accomplished here?