Film Events

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I Love Television™ reader Josh Mason writes: “Dear Wm.™ Steven Hump-Me™: Kudos, sir, for your column last week [“Weenie Dogs Are Worse,” July 27] in which you correctly identify weenie dogs as the worst animal in the universe. I, too, am incredibly phobic of this despised, deranged, and deeply stupid animal that makes me question the very existence of God. Think about it: What kind of God would create a weird, long dog with an insatiable taste for the human ankle? It's just not right, and it never will be.”
Thank you, Josh, and yes, I totally agree. If there's a God, it's little wonder he resides in heaven where his ankles are not constantly subject to senseless, vicious attacks from the most craven, ugly, maniacally unhinged animal on earth. HOWEVER! While we can all agree there should be strict laws severely limiting the ownership and movement of these creatures – I think weenie dogs should be strapped down on a gurney and forced to wear the Hannibal Lecter hockey mask from The Silence of the Lambs – let's not forget there are other filthy animals which are almost as dangerous.

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

Okay, first of all, I just want everybody to know that I'm still not mad that Seal Team 6 got to Osama bin Laden before I did. That happened nearly three months ago, and I'm totally over it… not that I was mad about it in the first place. Oh sure, I did have a super-cunning plan to take down bin Laden – one I'd been working on night and day for the past four years, which was far more clever than a bunch of bros kicking down a door and dogpiling on top of him – but, hey… whatever works, right? The important thing is that Osama bin Laden is out of our hair, and it makes no difference whatsoever whether it was a group of frat boys with a plan as subtle as a sledgehammer pounding a package of cheese 'n' crackers, or my infinitely more amazing scheme that was so detailed and profoundly artful, it would've made Al Qaeda stand up and give me the 1980s movie cafeteria “slow clap.”

OH, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS BULL-PLOP! So as you probably know, there's this super popular kiddie movie opening this week called Harry Potter and the Howling Herpes of Hogwarts or some crap like that. What-EVER, right? I'll be spending my ten dollars on something based in REALITY – most likely booze, booze, or a quickly negotiated handjob administered in the alley behind the establishment where I purchased the booze.

First, let it be stated that I don't know a single person who watches (or will admit to watching) the CBS sitcom Two and a Half Men. (For those who wish to remain fashionably ignorant, Two and a Half Men is the one that starred Duckie from Pretty in Pink and Charlie Sheen before he decided to stop being sober and start “WINNING.”) However! Apparently someone must be watching this show because it's consistently one of CBS' top rated programs – at least among the network's chief demographic, 33-44 year old mentally handicapable donkeys and incontinent nursing home residents who can't quite remember where the remote went (or how to operate it). And that's why CBS is so gung ho to send Charlie on his merry way and replace him with someone almost as annoying: mop topped, coffin-robber Ashton Kutcher.

My Fellow Americans: Every year at this time – despite my editor's heavy sighs of exasperation – I shove aside my usual nattering about television to expound on a subject you obviously don't give two donkey plops about: PATRIOTISM!! [Warning: You're about to find yourself on the business end of a stern lecture. It's best if you just sit there attentively and take it, rather than interrupting with back sass. Seriously, that behavior will just extend my lecture by at least two hours – so shut your stupid mouth, glue your eyes on me, and LISTEN.]
While probably not a shock, your “patriotism score” is at an all time LOW, therefore forcing me to give you a grade of “UNSATISFACTORY.” In comparison, my patriotism score is through the roof (as usual), which is why I'm awarding myself with a grade of “A+++++ Awesomely Excellent!” Why are your scores so low? THREE REASONS: 1) You are lazy and ungrateful. 2) You hate America, and all she stands for. 3) You didn't eat enough breakfast, and now you're suffering from low blood sugar. Wait… there's a fourth reason! YOU'VE LOST TOUCH WITH THE PATRIOT INSIDE.

GAHHH! What's that glowing orb in the sky? There are only two possible choices: It's either Apollo riding down to earth on his dazzling chariot to smite all unbelievers (in which case, we need a nubile virgin to sacrifice – STAT), or I'm suffering from yet another stroke (which would make the third this week). Wait… oh, goddammit, never mind… it's just the SUN.
UNGHHH!!!! I hate the sun! Every summer it's the same goddamn thing! For the entirety of Winter and Spring I'm perfectly content to curl up on my couch, watch TV, and lazily lick the crumbs off an empty pan of Totino pizza rolls. Then, without warning… BAM! The goddamn sun – like a thunderstorm of serrated steak knives – comes blasting out of the sky, crashing through my filthy Croatian blinds (can't afford the Venetian variety), and directly into my eyeballs. It STAB, STAB, STABBITY STABS my poor defenseless eyes until they're utterly useless for what God intended; i.e. watching multiple episodes of Disney's Gummi Bears and internet porn.