Wm.™ Steven Humphrey

As I’ve surely mentioned, there’s only one sure cure for a raging hangover, and that’s 1) a meal comprised of over 93 percent pork fat, 2) an 83 ounce jug of Coca-Cola—of which 27 ounces are rum, 3) boisterous sex, and 4) an entire afternoon of watching multiple episodes of either Veronica Mars, classic Melrose Place, or Joss Whedon’s Firefly. IMPORTANT: Do not attempt to rise from the couch for anything other than boisterous sex. (The empty Coke cup is there for you to pee in.)
OH! Speaking of Firefly, did you know it celebrated its 10th anniversary this fall? That’s right—10 years… which means you’re OLD. You’re older than Oldy McOlderson, the oldest old-timer at the Decrepit Octogenarian Geriatric Old Person’s Home for the Terminally OLD… which went out of business 50 years ago. That means you’re forgetful, and you need a quick reminder about this awesome show!

Guys! This coming Tuesday, November 6, is election night (watch it on all major networks, 7 pm)… AND WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT A FEW THINGS.
Thing One: A significant number of you have already informed me you will NOT be having sex with me that night. This is a problem. On election night in 2008, many of you were so ecstatic about Barack Obama becoming president, you formed a long, but orderly line to have sex with me. But now that we’re four years in, and President Obama hasn’t exactly turned out to be as awesome as many of you had hoped, you’re no longer squealing about the prospects of another Obama term, and both your enthusiasm and horniness are muted. However…

UGHHNHH! Why is everybody always trying to manipulate me? Just 10 minutes ago, my editor tells me I need to write gooder. Psssht! I’ve been writing this column for over 15 years, and my writing has only improvend. (Or at least it had not been more worsenening.)
Listen, people! I will not be manipulated! Not by my boss, not by you, and certainly not by ex-Mrs. Wm.™ Steven Humphrey #2 who keeps trying to convince me I’m the father of her three children with scientist-approved DNA tests and sworn testimony from Maury Povich. OH! And speaking of TV, I won’t be manipulated by that, either! Here are three good examples of TV that won’t be manipulating me this week:

Guys! I hope you packed an extra pair of tighty-whiteys (I know I always do), because this week’s TV schedule is jam packed with shows designed to scare the poop into them! Which actually is pretty annoying. I mean, it’s fun to be scared—but if you’re like me and suffer from HTBD (Hair-Trigger Bowel Disorder), then a random startle can quickly turn into a VERY messy situation.
Example! The other day I was in Costco marveling at a 37 lb. can of boiled baby carrots, when some stupid dingaling accidentally dropped a 75 lb. box of “dandy monocles” right behind me. Naturally I assumed it was the vengeful ghost of Osama bin Laden crashing a stolen B-12 Bomber filled with syphilis into the “gigantic bags of frozen chicken wings” aisle (because why wouldn’t he, right?), and a second later… PFFFTTBBTTHHFFF! My HTBD went off, and I’m standing there with a dookie ball the size of Jay Leno’s head in my pants. Which in Costco isn’t that unusual—but still! My underpants have better things to do with its time than to be assaulted in such an unseemly manner!

Here are the top five superhero dicks in ascending order of dickishness:
#5) Batman—Total… dick. First, he calls himself the “world’s greatest detective.” Umm… Encyclopedia Brown is the world’s greatest detective, dick! Batman may be the world’s greatest “brooder,” though. Look, I’m sorry his parents died and all, but a) I’m pretty sure that doesn’t give him license to become a vigilante sociopath who skulks around at night beating people up, and b) HE’S RICH. Things cannot be that bad! Turn that bat-frown upside down, Grumpy Gus!

For some weird reason, I’ve never been invited to moderate a presidential debate. The first of three debates between President Obama and “Golden Mittens” Romney is scheduled for this coming Wednesday (6 pm PST/9 pm ET, all major networks), and if I were asked to moderate, I’m purrrr-etty sure I’d have a lot to offer! The way I see it, I’d bring up important subjects that are rarely discussed in the realm of political debate. SUCH AS:

Guys! The Emmy Awards are this week (ABC, Sun Sept 23, 8 pm)! But who has the time, am I right? I am one busy super cool horny dude, which is why I don’t watch the Emmys—I just predict the Emmys and thereafter accept my predictions as FACT. For example, the winners of this year’s Emmy Awards are as follows: Mad Men, Girls, American Horror Story, Louis C.K., Tina Fey, Bryan Cranston, Giancarlo Esposito, Benedict Cumberbatch, Betty White, and the guy who makes the drippy skin sores for The Walking Dead. Done, done, and DONE.
HOWEVER! The question still remains about who will win the 2013 Emmy Awards! Luckily for you, I can make similar insanely random predictions for next year’s ceremony, that are close to 100 percent accurate.

“Oh, boo-hoo-hoo,” I hear you cry. “Oh, boo-hoo-hoo, I’m scared of the coming apocalypse, and therefore I’m a big tubby crybaby with a diaper full of bottom-squirts because I am such a scaredy-cat crybaby chicken bawk-bawk!” YOU DISGUST ME. I am not the least bit scared of the coming apocalypse, for two reasons: 1) I have mad survival skillz, and 2) I’m not a scaredy-cat crybaby chicken bawk-bawk-BAAAAAWWWK!
But if you’re not scared? Then you obviously haven’t seen the commercial for Revolution—the new NBC show from J.J. Abrams (Lost) and Eric Kripke (Supernatural) that debuts this coming Monday (Sept 17, 10 pm). Revolution begins by depicting a modern, device-heavy world much like our own, when suddenly… KLUNK! Hey! Some stupid jerk shut off all the electricity in the entire world! And now? Nothing works.

If there’s one thing these Republican and Democratic conventions have taught me, it’s this: Feigned excitement always trumps the truth! Both parties have been crowing for their candidates like a team of cheerleaders hopped up on crystal meth—with little regard for facts, or the knowledge that most of us decided who we were voting for on November 5, 2008.
However! That being said, “enthusiasm” counts for a lot—especially in the sack. While I prefer the sexual wiles and experience of older lovers, it’s fun to occasionally to hop on the bone train with someone in their early 20s (who tend to treat coitus with the same aggressive enthusiasm as an Olympic gymnast working a pommel horse).

Guys! So here’s the deal (in regards to what’s on TV this week):
THURSDAY—The last day of the Republican National Convention. SNOOOOORRRRE!
SUNDAY—Breaking Bad’s mini-season finale. YAAAYYYYY!
TUESDAY—The first day of the Democratic National Convention. SNOOOOORRRRE!
And that’s it. WAIT! One more…
TUESDAY—That TLC reality show about conjoined twins. YAAAYYYYY! SNOOOOORRRRE! Ew.
And that’s it, for real. See, next week the new fall TV season starts in earnest, which will be super exciting, and you’re gonna have to hook up seven DVRs just to record it all. But this week is as barren as Jennifer Aniston’s baby-making bits. So if you ask me, this could be the perfect time for a… SELF-INDUCED COMA!