(AKA the destruction of America's mind)
Last night I awoke in a puddle of my own sweat (and somebody's urine), screaming at the top of my lungs until my roommate kicked my door in and punched me in the eye with a chair. I had just had a night-terror of extraordinary power. It shook me beyond what my dark soul could take. It reminded me that everything that I had experienced and had become in life was a direct result of a heinous sin that mankind had unleashed upon the world many years before: 1980s Television.
Let's face it, for the most part 80s TV sucked. Some might argue that the same could be said of 70s and 90s television, and I would argue that they fuck their sisters. Yes, every era has sucky boob-tube programming. That's true. But the fact that TV in the 1980s actually destabilized my brain and turned me into the sitcom-bashing monster that I am now is all that I care about.
After I gained my composure again I cleaned my sheets and began thinking about what my dream must have meant psychologically. In the beginning of my dream I found myself in school taking a test that I forgot to study for, when all of a sudden Alf came in and started to bite my shins. That was mildly annoying, so I pulled the dwarf out of the hairy costume and proceeded to pummel him like he was a Mexican midget wrestler named Tito El Puto-Grandisimo. But before I could put the finishing moves on him and steal his soul Balki interrupted and wanted me to show him how to get to the Drummonds place. Seems like he wanted to break into their pad in order to steal Willis' stash of nudie magazines and heroine while he screwed Kimberly doggy style. I was all for that, so we left on our journey, but got sidetracked by Nick and Mallory who were being chased by Skippy (who was trying to cut off Nick's package with some rusty hedge-clippers). I was so infuriated by the whole scene that I had Balki go on a head while I ran over Skippy with the General Lee over and over again. I was happy for a while, but I accidentally backed into Kitt while I was trying to parallel park in a small space downtown. Michael Knight threatened to sue me because all his car could say after the fender-bender was "Fuck me, Michael" in a seductive voice. The next thing I knew I was in court and Bob Saget and the Olsen twins were defending me while Tootie and Blair were the prosecution. I was sentenced to death because those annoying little twins just kept saying cute things to the jury that was filled with nothing but pissed off Captain Stubings. I had to share my jail cell with Kelly and Slater (who kept trying to grab Kelly's and then my ass), but soon Zach came and he and Kelly had a wild conjugal visit down the hall. Slater and I just listened in jealousy. But then he began to weep like an old annoying person and I was forced to smother him with a pillow. I was broken out of the slammer that night though when that monotonal robot-girl, Vicki, punched through the wall and flushed me down the toilet. Since I have a deadly fear of being eaten by saber-toothed tigers and then getting pooped into a pile of fly food, that's about the time I woke up.
That would be enough to make even a schizo Emmanuel Lewis go even crazier and kill even more innocent Greek fosterparents! All those horrible memories of wasting hours and hours of my precious childhood watching shitty TV instead of playing Atari or Nintendo... It just sends shivers down me spine. WHAT A GODDAMN WASTE!
The main problem that I have (besides the many hours a day I basically crapped away watching all those failed sitcoms) is that now, all these years later, I have a terrible time telling fact from fiction.
For example, was that me that was tempted by Natalie and her ugly friends to try pot and then cheat on my final exam in History while Mrs. Garrett was always snooping around? Or was I the one who had those vivid fantasies about the older daughter on ALF during lunch break and therefore was forced to sit at the cafeteria table for the entire recess with a sweater on my lap? See, it's all so confusing!
I still get discombobulated now, more than a decade after the last of the bad 80s sitcoms aired. Just last week I found myself feeling bad because I remembered how my mom was killed off in a car crash and I was forced to live with Sandy Duncan to fill in the void. It wasn't until I talked to both of my alive parents that night that I realized that I was only remembering that bad shitcom The Hogan Family (formerly Valerie's Family before Valerie herself jumped ship like a rat who knows that the boat's going down long before the morons at the helm).
I also pissed off my brother and sister a few months ago when I kept calling them "MacGyver" and "Punky" respectively. I should have known my mistake by the fact that my brother can't even pour gas in his car without starting a gasoline fire, let alone build a working toilet out of used bubblegum and a burnt out car battery, and my sister doesn't have a 90-inch bust.
That reminds me, why the flying fuckola did Punky Brewster have breast reduction surgery? Jeebus H. Christ?!?! She could have been the first child actor from the 80s who actually made something of her life! She could have gone on to a legitimate career in the porn industry and had a following greater than Mr. T himself! Not that Mr. T was in porn, I just meant that he has a pretty damn loyal following and he even beat up Rocky and killed his manager who also did the voice of Gollobulus in the G.I.Joe Movie (which sucked dingo balls, btw). Hell, if both Mr. T and Punky did an anal porno (after she turned 18 of course) it would probably outsell the Pamela and Tommy Lee video by several million copies! Hell, I'd direct it free of charge too! Hmmmmm, on second thought, a good three way with Punky and the Olsen twins (only when they turn 18) would probably be the greatest selling lesbo triple EVER!!! Plus Ron Jeremy could probably star as their foster dad who spanks them for being "bad girls" at the end of the movie.
Wait a second. Did I just make that movie up or did it really happen? See how bad this 80s TV affliction has me screwed up?