I Will Destroy You Wilmer Valderrama

Cut it out, you. That is by far the worst concept for a show I have ever seen. I would rather watch season 1 Simpsons episodes than a bunch of chumps off the street spouting ill prepared yo' mama jokes while you shout "OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

In other TV news, Futurama might be coming back (speculation? I'll take it!) and it appears that Mr. T is getting his own talk show. "My show ain't no Dr. Phil, with people sitting around crying," he said. "You're a fool - that's what's wrong with you." Holy crap, I can't wait.

Lastly, there has been a weird rumor going around that "The King" is unbearably creepy, and while it is true that the very concept of waking up to that grinning maniac standing outside your window--or, God help you, in your bed--is enough to drive an otherwise sane man to go on a killing spree, I nevertheless contest that The King is freaking awesome, my personal savior, and the greatest thing to happen to television advertising since The Noid.

This was a lovely and relaxing weekend, starting with some hardcore movie watching--hardcore meaning plentiful--continuing with weekly Hacienda, onto a night of the best pool I've ever shot in my life--I still lost--and culminating in a Sunday of perfect weather, golf, and BBQing. At the BBQ everything was going along smoothly and then suddenly and without warning Ball and I started bickering, in front of God and everyone, about how long we'd been out of saran wrap--his contention was that we've only been out for two weeks, mine that we've been out for several months. Mother of God, we're a middle aged married couple. Seppuku.

Also! Click. Vote. Laugh until you pop.

Three day work week, I'm halfway through. Enjoy your hump day tomorrow, losers! I'll be enjoying mine.