Death, Peanuts, & Detours

If you’ve been feeling like every show on television can’t seem to get through this season without killing someone… it’s probably because that’s exactly how the fuck it is. And, gurl, it’s getting tiresome. In the past month alone (give or take a few days), I’ve had to tell the following unlucky bitches to rest in peace:

And that’s just the shows I actually watch. Not to mention #TheLexaPledge. I don’t even know Lexa (having never seen an episode of The 100), but her death has managed to spark a revolution involving writers and producers of shows I do watch. Also, Castle‘s over or something? Again, a show I’ve never watched, though I do know that actors’ contracts were being reupped for another season which became moot once news of the main character’s death started being reported and left the fans outraged and belligerent enough for the network to pull the plug all-together.

Is this not reason enough for writers to stop thinking “Who can we kill?” If not, I don’t know what the hell will be.

I took a seat and really wondered where this all started. The best I could come up with is: The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, and hashtags are to blame. These are two shows which, one could argue, are about death. I welcome any and all hate mail and trolling about how they’re both “so much more than that,” but you have to admit that they are, at least partly, about mother fuckers dying. And that shit trends like nobody’s business. You’ll usually get applauded by critics for following the beat of your own drum, but in terms of Facebook and Twitter… you get rewarded for following the beat of the loudest drum. So, of course every network executive is cramming “KILL BITCHES” down every writer’s throat. But, again… the shit is getting OLD. Life is more interesting. Not “life regarding death of a loved one.” If you think it’s something your character absolutely has to explore, I can be okay with that. Hell, I’m filling my own head with bullshit dreams of writing a series, the entirety of which orbits around someone’s death. But if your whole deal is being a pregnant virgin or a fairy tale hero or a time-traveling bad boy… killing a mother fucker just isn’t necessary. We have enough actual death to deal with. We don’t need it in our entertainment.

With all that being said, I wanna shift gears and talk about how gay Schroeder is.

Apparently, somewhere in France, some Peanuts enthusiast thought producing one bagillion 3-minute animated shorts would be a good idea. I love me some Peanuts, so I’m not mad at whoever that was. And I’m especially not mad at whoever thought adding English vocals and airing that shit in America was a good idea. It premiered last month, but with my little ol’ DVR life, I was only able to watch the first handful of shorts today.

Why it took me so long to realize, especially with the widely known relationship between Peppermint Patty and Marcie, I don’t know. But watching Lucy fawn all over Schroeder and watching him reject her for the seven trillionth time finally made it click in my head… Schroeder is gay as fuck. First, there’s him being the vehement piano player. A man of the arts. Then there’s Lucy, a woman of the mind. Bitch is already practicing psychiatry at the age of 5-ish. A doctor. Any straight man of the arts, who knows how much money a career in such is worth, would latch onto any doctor who showed him as much attention as Lucy did. Worse comes to worst, you just be sure to never play football with her. And that’s as hard as your life has to get. UNLESS… somewhere deep down in your piano playing heart, you know you could never live without some big ol’ D in your life.

Now, I must mention that I, myself, am working as an electronic book publisher by day and a pop artist by night. I also just so happen to have married a Ph.D. student. But I actually love that bitch! I met him pre-Ph.D. and wore his promise ring prior to even knowing that he applied to a Ph.D. program. So… just sayin’.

Other than all of that… If you’re not watching The Detour, you’re missing out on something amazing. I’m too drunk to get into details, but it’s co-created by Samantha Bee (who I lovingly refer to as America’s Mom, whereas John Oliver is America’s Dad) and fellow The Daily Show alum Jason Jones. And it’s the jam. Do yourself a favor and watch all of it. Right now. The end. Bye.

Leaked Pilot Party

Given that a handful of pilots have leaked early, I figured we’d have a party to celebrate! For legal reasons, though, I can neither confirm nor deny that I downloaded any such illegal files. ‘Twas a friend of a friend who recounted what their viewing experience was when watching such filthy federally frowned upon material. I relate their (definitely not my) experiences below. I’ll start with the comedies.


Is it just me… or does the sound of a laugh track instantly make you dislike a show? I’m definitely of the school of thought where laugh tracks don’t enhance anything, they just insult you as a viewer. I don’t need to be told when something’s funny. I am of sound mind, enough to know when something triggers a happy synapse in my brain. Thanks for trying to help get me there, though.

Other than the insulting noises thrown at my ears, I might dislike the show simply because I’m not the target audience: parents who want to live vicariously through the lives of other parents who no longer have to raise their kids full-time. Except… their kids end up moving back in. And therefor, there are no vicarious lives through which to live. So… who’s the target audience, exactly? Is it just parents who want to watch other parents who hate being parents? ‘Cause that’s not me either.

The Carmichael Show

Laugh track aside… I’m not entirely mad at Carmichael. You’ve got to give props to anyone who manages to pull off “sex musk” multiple times in one scene. Also, I may or may not have had the “You don’t vote? The fuck is wrong you?” conversation with someone who may or may not be my husband. So, at least I can relate to this show.

Also, David Alan Grier hanging out, wearing a Barack “Neobama” Obama t-shirt is all anyone will ever need in this life. And seeing him defend George W. Bush while wearing it and simultaneously accidentally ending an argument with premarital relation confessions… is priceless. As is a full-grown man in a blue camo Snuggie attempting make-up sex. Last, but surely not least, I have to show my appreciation for equating voting Republican with “living in sin.”

So, as far as the multi-camera comedy pilots: Carmichael, 1 vs. Crowded, 0.

Now for the dramz!


Yes. Yes, yes, yes. It completely fills the current action and intrigue voids of network television in equal measure, as well as the even more important “women who can physically kick the shit out of your ass” void. I genuinely want to know why this naked, tattoo-suited woman randomly ended up in the middle of Times Square, in a bag, with amnesia. We can all agree how absolutely ridiculous that plot sounds, yes? And yet… I want more. That’s how good it is. There isn’t as much buzz for this show as there is for, let’s say, the absolute horseshit that is Lucifer (we’ll get to that soon enough), but there needs to be.

I can’t say enough good things about it, but if I’m being completely honest: they could flesh out the male counter-part character a bit more. And they could make it less procedural. If it’s going to turn into “Let’s watch how our tattooed mystery woman can help solve the case of the week, while spending a few minutes before the end of the episode on finding out who the fuck she is…” I’ll become much less interested.

Also, who could possibly be mad at a Johnny Whitworth cameo? Mr. “I don’t feel I need to explain my art to you, Warren” himself. All growed up, bright eyed and bushy faced.


I fully understand supernatural shows, as well as the need for them. Hell, I prefer supernatural shows most of the time. I get shows that say “Fuck God” with a wink and a smile. I get shows that build an entirely new mythology to live off of because it’s fucking fun to do so. I can even get behind writing a story based on an already established story and altering it to fit a different medium.

What I don’t get is “the good guy is a bad guy, but we like him because him and his penis are just so dapper.” And “the good girl really is a good girl, but her and her breasts have a rough exterior that is so very rough, but we like her because our dapper good bad guy is so intrigued by her.”

Good bad penis + Good good breasts = Plot? No, thank you.

The only reason I feel guilty about hating Lucifer is because Tom Ellis once made me very happy. He isn’t doing the same, though, with this show and he didn’t do it with his previous show, either. He plays his characters as written, so this isn’t me bashing his acting ability. It’s me bashing whoever wrote the king of all evil, the Devil himself, as Drop Dead Fred in a black suit. (Though, I’ll bet you a quarter the network made them do it.)

There is one scene worth watching which Rachael Harris steals. Wait for that to hit YouTube and don’t bother trying to watch any other part of the show.

Minority Report

I thought I’d have more good things to say about this one. It has its moments, but it distracts with all the clichĂ©d “future” mistakes. I don’t know who thinks “The more obnoxious you can make the Google Glasses screens of the future, the better.” Also, BeyoncĂ©’s a real good time, but “Partition” is not gonna be the background music of future crime scenes. We really didn’t need you to reassure us of the black woman’s “blackness” by playing that song.

Ugh, and those fucking kids with the flying selfie machine. I can’t with them.

Forcing the young precog to say “bitch” was funny, though. Good work on that one, writers.

I don’t know, man. There’s just this general sense of them trying way too hard. “We used to have this thing called ‘Tinder.’ It’s how I met your father.” Insert Liz Lemon eye roll here.

It’s not a terrible plot. The roles aren’t terribly acted. And if they wanted to make it clear that it’s set in the future: congrats, guys. It’s obvious. I’ll keep watching in the hopes that it’ll stop being ridiculously in the future.


Dean Cain and Helen Slater as Supergirl’s adopted parents? Cute.

Supergirl” as told through a “The Devil Wears Prada” lens? Lame.

You know what else is lame? Jimmy Olsen insisting on being called “James.” Why, in a show about the most powerful woman in the universe, is she adorkable while the male sidekick is a Man with a capital “M?”

And let’s talk about the face I was forced to make when this line was uttered: “How is the world supposed to take her seriously when she can’t even come up with a suit?” Because even when a woman carries a fucking airplane to safety, what matters is her outfit.

More fun dialogue to feel good about: “And what do you think is so bad about ‘girl?’ I’m a girl. And your boss. And powerful. And rich and hot and smart. So, if you perceive ‘Supergirl’ as anything less than excellent, isn’t the real problem… you?”

…NO! Fuck. No. Good job planting a scene to preemptively respond to the people you know are gonna be bothered by your bullshit, but it doesn’t quite do the trick. When you’ve got a hella strong alien who saves bitches while having a penis, you call him Superman and no one blinks. When you’ve got a hella strong alien who saves bitches while having a vagina and all you can think to do is compare her to Superman and intentionally refer to her as less than him simply because you’re forced to use female pronouns… the real problem is you. Sorry ’bout it. It’s not her, it’s not her ovaries, and it’s not her desire to be referred to as a woman. It’s just you.

Then, on top of everything else, there’s Supergirl herself taking the blame for a psychotic alien trying to murder a bunch of people. Could the blame rest nicely on his shoulders because he’s a psycho? Oh, no. Not when there’s a girl around to, ya’know, exist and generally be female and therefor cause men to want to murder.

I really wanted to like this show. But I just, in all good conscience, cannot.

So, as far as dramas go: Blindspot for the win, Minority Report for a distant second, Supergirl firmly in last place, with Lucifer not even qualifying.

Until next leak, kiddies. Peace and love.