Drake and Andy Go to the TVs week 11

It was one week ago today that my heart sagged, along with my sack, at the end of Battlestar Galactica. My Saturday morning ritual of breakfast and BSG is now what? Nothing? A memory? Did the last few months even exist? I feel cast adrift. Lonely. I avoid human contact now. Well, I would avoid it if any humans would go near me. Not even Drake will have a conversation with me that doesn’t take place online. The last time I suggested we go carousing, he told me he had to go scream at things and then document the results. What a lousy excuse. Still, he is my only lifeline to EXISTENCE. Please see what words fell out of our brains this week:

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Drake and Andy Go to the TVs week 10

Another week, another fr…waitaminute. Didn’t I write that last week? Shit. I don’t even know what time it is anymore or what day it is or where I put that jar of maggots I had been saving “just in case”. The truth is, thanks to the cold snap, my internet connection was snapped in half for about a week. For once, getting it fixed had nothing to do with Time Warner’s incompetence, but rather the ridiculous incomprehensibility of trying to negotiate a time my landlord would be home and the repair-person was available. Hence, the following conversation between Drake and myself is a relic of last week, the heady days when Dollhouse and Xavier: Renegade Angel delighted our eyes with their existence. Sadly, those days are still here. Wait. Why so sadly? Why so serial?

Read the rest of this entry »

Drake and Andy Go to the TVs week 9

“Another week, another freak!” is a saying my pappy used to exclaim, mostly because mommy had a weird uterus and used to give birth to an unholy parody of life every week or so. After a few years of this shit, my dad grew inured to the parade of mutants that would traipse out of her womb, and he gave up his aspirations to have a normal life and move out to Moon Colony Gamma. Then he shot and killed all my fucked-up brothers and sisters and hung himself. When Drake was a child, his parents showered him with presents and candy. And thus, we both retreated into the world of television to escape the horrors of our lives. And then we wrote some words about shows:

Read the rest of this entry »

Drake and Andy Go to the TVs week 8

Another week of TV, another week where I haven’t decided to check out of this hotel we call existence, the spunk-stained blanket of life covering up my frail body as I flip from one channel to the next praying for deliverance. The movie. I’m praying for the film to be on TBS or something. And then there’s Drake, implacable in his eternal sunniness, the yin to my yang, the black sperm looking thing with a white dot to my white sperm looking thing with a black dot, the murder victim to my professional killer. Let’s see what we have to see! Why not?

Read the rest of this entry »

Drake and Andy Go to the TVs week 7

Well, the hoily-days is over, as soon will be our long national nightmare. I’m talking about the break between the end of the fall season and the beginning of the winter one! What did you think I was talking about? Anyway, Drake is fresh back from getting a ton of presents for Christmas, while I mostly got batteries and napkins for my second-rate Jew Days. Miracle of Lights, my ass. Actually, I have no idea if Drake is Christian or not, but he doesn’t know Yiddish, so he ain’t no Chosen. Go back to Gaza, loser! (so that I can murder you with impunity). Hey, Television!:

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Drake and Andy Go to the TVs week 6

Well, folks, sweeps is over, and what do we have to show for it except the end of a great basic cable show (The Shield), the cancellation of a great network show (Pushing Daisies), and the cancellation of a ton of shitty, tepid slices of cat crap (too numerous to mention). But what did Drake and I decide to talk about this week mostly? Shows for old people. People way older than either of us, and I’m in my late 20s and Drake is…I have no idea. How old are you anyway, pal? Let me into your life. Please don’t keep me at a distance. Oh god, why does everyone leave me?

Read the rest of this entry »

It was one week ago today that my heart sagged, along with my sack, at the end of Battlestar Galactica. My Saturday morning ritual of breakfast and BSG is now what? Nothing? A memory? Did the last few months even exist? I feel cast adrift. Lonely. I avoid human contact now. Well, I would avoid it if any humans would go near me. Not even Drake will have a conversation with me that doesn’t take place online. The last time I suggested we go carousing, he told me he had to go scream at things and then document the results. What a lousy excuse. Still, he is my only lifeline to EXISTENCE. Please see what words fell out of our brains this week:

Read the rest of this entry »

Another week, another fr…waitaminute. Didn’t I write that last week? Shit. I don’t even know what time it is anymore or what day it is or where I put that jar of maggots I had been saving “just in case”. The truth is, thanks to the cold snap, my internet connection was snapped in half for about a week. For once, getting it fixed had nothing to do with Time Warner’s incompetence, but rather the ridiculous incomprehensibility of trying to negotiate a time my landlord would be home and the repair-person was available. Hence, the following conversation between Drake and myself is a relic of last week, the heady days when Dollhouse and Xavier: Renegade Angel delighted our eyes with their existence. Sadly, those days are still here. Wait. Why so sadly? Why so serial?

Read the rest of this entry »

“Another week, another freak!” is a saying my pappy used to exclaim, mostly because mommy had a weird uterus and used to give birth to an unholy parody of life every week or so. After a few years of this shit, my dad grew inured to the parade of mutants that would traipse out of her womb, and he gave up his aspirations to have a normal life and move out to Moon Colony Gamma. Then he shot and killed all my fucked-up brothers and sisters and hung himself. When Drake was a child, his parents showered him with presents and candy. And thus, we both retreated into the world of television to escape the horrors of our lives. And then we wrote some words about shows:

Read the rest of this entry »

Another week of TV, another week where I haven’t decided to check out of this hotel we call existence, the spunk-stained blanket of life covering up my frail body as I flip from one channel to the next praying for deliverance. The movie. I’m praying for the film to be on TBS or something. And then there’s Drake, implacable in his eternal sunniness, the yin to my yang, the black sperm looking thing with a white dot to my white sperm looking thing with a black dot, the murder victim to my professional killer. Let’s see what we have to see! Why not?

Read the rest of this entry »

Well, the hoily-days is over, as soon will be our long national nightmare. I’m talking about the break between the end of the fall season and the beginning of the winter one! What did you think I was talking about? Anyway, Drake is fresh back from getting a ton of presents for Christmas, while I mostly got batteries and napkins for my second-rate Jew Days. Miracle of Lights, my ass. Actually, I have no idea if Drake is Christian or not, but he doesn’t know Yiddish, so he ain’t no Chosen. Go back to Gaza, loser! (so that I can murder you with impunity). Hey, Television!:

Read the rest of this entry »

Well, folks, sweeps is over, and what do we have to show for it except the end of a great basic cable show (The Shield), the cancellation of a great network show (Pushing Daisies), and the cancellation of a ton of shitty, tepid slices of cat crap (too numerous to mention). But what did Drake and I decide to talk about this week mostly? Shows for old people. People way older than either of us, and I’m in my late 20s and Drake is…I have no idea. How old are you anyway, pal? Let me into your life. Please don’t keep me at a distance. Oh god, why does everyone leave me?

Read the rest of this entry »