Wm.™ Steven Humphrey

Greetings new Christian conservative readers! I welcome you to I Love Television™—the only TV column that believes in the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ while actively despising Hispanic illegal immigrants. [Confidential to regular readers: Not really! My bosses noticed that my approval ratings have dipped… coincidentally when this newspaper started running my column. So now I’m courting the “Christian conservatives” in a desperate, cynical attempt to boost my numbers and keep my job. Hey, it worked for Republicans, right? Shhhhh! Mums the word.]
Let’s talk about television… right after this quick word of prayer. “Oh sweet glorious Jesus! Thank you for smiting the world’s wicked-doers, which includes, but is not limited to: Hell-bound atheists, liquor enthusiasts, internet porn sites, rap music, President Obama, the previously mentioned Hispanic immigrants, and sexy gay people with six-pack abs and tight butts that look like two French bulldogs fighting in a sack. In Chik-fil-A we pray… Amen.”

I’m feeling a bit insecure right now. As regular readers of I Love Television™ know, I’ve made a career out of sexual and occasionally violent shenanigans. I’m not bragging, but if you can’t remember the last time you instigated a drug and alcohol-fueled orgy involving a stolen police van, 27 drag queens, a case of Hormel Chili, and the graduating class of a Catholic Girls School—then I guess I am bragging. That being said… I’VE BEEN ONE-UPPED!
Here I was smugly thinking to myself that I’m the most grotesque, morally contaminated deviant to ever sell kittens into slavery—and along comes a comedy series that’s so deranged, so violent, and so steeped in debauchery that even its own network is ashamed of it! Say hello to Bullet in the Face (debuting this Thursday, Aug 16 on IFC at 10 pm), which was originally intended to run over six consecutive weeks.

I haven’t researched this at all, but to my knowledge there are “four horsemen of the apocalypse,” whom the Bible claims are scheduled to appear just before the end of the world—and they are as follows:  HORSEMAN #1: Bloomin’ Onions at Outback Steakhouse. (OH! I forgot to mention these “horsemen” aren’t necessarily “men on horses”—they can be metaphors, too. In this case, a bloomin’ onion.) A bloomin’ onion is a large onion cut to resemble a flower and then battered and deep-fried. Obviously this is an unnatural evil abomination that deserves to reside on the Outback Steakhouse menu, and has done so since 1988. (OH! Forgot to mention these “horsemen” don’t have to arrive at once.) HORSEMAN #2: Siri.

Look, I have nothing against Shark Week. This annual weeklong tribute to those finny, ass-chomping murderers of the deep is as anticipated in the Humpy household as Christmas, Easter, and all those other made-up holidays. HOWEVER! The Discovery Channel could devote the occasional week to a far more frightening animal—the weenie dog. DON’T YOU DARE LAUGH AT MY PHOBIA!! The weenie dog is, statistically speaking, far more dangerous, and here’s my three-pronged proof:
Proof One! Unless you’re that dick Aquaman, how much time do you spend in the ocean? 20 minutes a year tops? Comparatively, how many times a year do you pass a weenie dog? Maybe 125? Therefore your ankle’s chances of being mauled by a weenie dog are 125 times greater than an attack from a shark. (Note: The previous statistic was pulled directly from my ass, but it’s nonetheless scientifically sound.)

UGGGHHNNNHH!!! It’s time for the Olympics again?? IT’S ONLY BEEN FOUR YEARS!! Groooooan, the Olympics are, like, the worst… thing… ever! And yes, I’m including: 1) George Zimmerman, 2) rancid cotton candy, 3) mysterious anal pains, 4) nose pimples, 5) visiting relatives, 6) empty pens that are returned to the pen cup, even though I’ve told that person a thousand times not to do so, 7) celery, 8) Holocostco—terrible name for a discount store, 9) weenie dogs, and 10) leukemia. Okay… fine… putting an empty pen back in the pen cup is worse than the Olympics. BUT I’M STANDING BEHIND THE REST!

Craigslist does not have a “ninja wanted” section. DID YOU KNOW THIS? Now, maybe they don’t have this problem in Japan—I don’t know, I haven’t checked Japan’s Craigslist, which I assume is called Takumislist or something—but my point is that thousands of ninja are currently unemployed because we, as a nation, aren’t putting these highly skilled laborers to work!
As most employers should know, ninja have a number of remarkable skill sets, such as a) wicked freaky martial arts moves, b) awesome weapons such as swords and grappling hooks and c) oh, just the power of “invisibility.” EVER HEARD OF IT? And if you’re an employer who can’t somehow make good use of these talents? Then maybe you should pass on the management of your business to someone who isn’t an IDIOT.

You want ME to calm down?!? Well, I want YOU to calm down!! Look. I know I’ve been a little stressed out lately—but you’d be too, if you were starting your own at-home pharmaceutical business. (Did you seriously think that writing this stupid TV column pays my bills? HA!! Amateur pharmaceuticology pays my bills!) Anyway, while being an entrepreneur can make one tense, I’ve come up with a product that will not only make me kazillions of dollars, but will also cure my low-grade nervous psychosis—and it’s called, “A Touch of Valium.”

Surprise! I’m hung over again. Luckily, I have a surefire three-pronged cure that fixes my hangover every time: 1) Pork belly. And lots of it. 2) Rough sex. And lots of it. And 3) six hours splayed upon the couch in my underpants watching Veronica Mars reruns.
Naturally pounds of pork belly and rough sex can be procured at any grocery store. HOWEVER! If one is looking for old episodes of Veronica Mars,  I suggest the SOAPnet channel, which features old-timey eps of All My Children, General Hospital, and daily doses of Veronica (M-F 5 & 6 pm, Sat 1-3 pm, Sun 10 am-noon).

Hoooo-RAH! The greatest holiday of the year—Fourth of July—is right around the corner, and I’m happier than a dingo with a fat Australian baby in his mouth. I love Fourth of July because it contains all my favorite things: Explosives, binge eating, binge drinking, and binge porking. And it has absolutely nothing to do with that holiday hog, Jesus. The Fourth of July is all about KICKING ASS—whether it’s kicking the asses of those dandy British fops during the Revolutionary War or kicking the ass of Ronny Schlamicker, who very unwisely tried to baloney-block me with Shirley Roundtree at Camp Wannawee’s July 4th Big Bang Extravaganza of 1983! (Note to Ronny: All is forgiven, and you should drop by for dinner—that is if you’re no longer eating from a tube.)

Have I mentioned I have a lot of readers in prison? It makes sense if you think about it: I watch tons of TV, they watch tons of TV… I make wine in my toilet, they make wine in their toilet… BUT! What’s interesting is that the incarcerated readership of I Love Television™ is almost exclusively female. And I’m still trying to figure out why. I assume it’s because male prisoners find me threatening. They are threatened by a) my tats—even though I drew those tears on with a Bic pen, and b) my sexuality. It’s just too much for them. Male prison is already a hotbed of pent up sexual frustration, and I can easily imagine a horny riot breaking out after reading one of my columns. But lady prisoners love me!