The Construct

I like Conan O’Brien. And what NBC is doing to him is absolutely unjust. Jay Leno gambled with his own show. Too bad for him, it crapped out on the ratings. Now he wants Conan’s time slot and looks to be getting it.

Quite honestly, I find Conan the funnier guy. And Leno’s made already so why can’t he give Conan a decent break. Anyway, Jimmy Kimmel has the best potshots to Leno’s boring ass:

I guess underneath all that shiny veneer is the real ugly face of a cutthroat business. It’s just one of those things that remind you that corporate America still will rear its ugly head when it gets the chance.

Just last night, I sort of ended my hermitage (break’s officially ending and not that I really took a serious day off work) with dinner and coffee with the peeps. Nice to see familiar faces for quite a while. As with our many meet-ups love lives. With several of us already in “stable” relationships, the single ones are always in the hot seat.

Anyway, somewhere along the many topics of conversation was one of us sharing a boy-hugs-girl moment with the following premises 1) girl likes boy and 2) boy just wants to be friends.

For some reason, my brain’s sign system seems to consist of pop culture references in the short span of . (Pretty f*cked up for a guy who’s working on critical discourse analysis for his thesis. No wonder I’m getting nowhere with it. Reading Gloria Arroyo, interpreting Gremlins. Sheesh!) Here’s how my brain pretty much worked that moment.

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“Okay, I’ll tell you. You are the worst person I know. You constantly hit on your best friend’s wife. The man pays for your food and rescued you from certain death and this is how you repay him? And to add insult to injury you defecate all over his yard. And you’re such a sponge. You pay for nothing. You always say, “I’ll get you later,” but later never comes. And what really bothers me, is you pretend you’re this deep guy who loves women for their souls when all you do is date bimbos. Yeah, I date women for their bodies but at least I’m honest about it. I don’t buy them a copy of Catcher in the Rye and then lecture them with some seventh grade interpretation of how Holden Caulfield is some profound intellectual. He wasn’t. He was a spoiled brat. And that’s why you like him so much. He’s you. God, you’re pretentious! And you delude yourself you’re some great writer even though you’re terrible. You know, I should’ve known Cheryl Teaks didn’t write me that note. She would’ve known there’s no “A” in the word, “definite.” And I think what I hate the most about you is your textbook liberal agenda. How we should “legalize pot, man.” How big business is crushing the under class. How homelessness is the biggest tragedy in America. Well what have you done to help? I work down at the soup kitchen, Brian. I never see you down there. You want to help? Grab a ladle. And by the way, driving a Prius doesn’t make you Jesus Christ. Oh wait, you don’t believe in Jesus Christ or in any religion for that matter because religion is for idiots. Well who the hell are you to talk down to anyone? You failed college twice which isn’t nearly as bad as your failure as a father. How’s that son of yours you never see? But you know what? I could forgive all of that. All of it. If you weren’t such a bore. That’s the worst of it, Brian. You’re just a big sad alcoholic bore. I’ll see you, Brian. Thanks for the f****** steak.”

-Glen Quagmire

Classic McFarlane.

Elton John’s Rocketman is definitely a classic. Shatner gave contemporary pop culture something to laugh about. I’d take Stewie over Shatner though.

“Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids.”

Just finished reading The Bro Code by “Barney Stinson” and what a fun read that was. Too bad, most of the provisions doesn’t really apply to my current lifestyle since, as far as predicaments go, I’m more of a Marshall (sans the law thing and the height) than a Ted or Barney.

But as far as the for-the-Bros articles are concerned, I think I’m a pretty good Bro. Some lapses here and there, but I do meet most of the conditions in general. I’m a pretty supportive, Bro. Too bad I think I’ll be a useless wingman.

Oh and here’s an amusing one:

It is unacceptable for two Bros to share a hotel bed without first exhausting all couch, cot, and pillows-on-floor combinations. If it’s unavoidable, they shall prevent any incidental spoonage by arm wrestling* to determine who sleeps under the covers. Once decided each Bro shall don as many lower layers as possible before silently fist bumping the other good night.

Hehehe… Reminds me of something from a little over a year ago. The image of two bros spooning will forever haunt me.