Dear Everyone,

All right, gotta give this one to you. You nagged and nagged and pushed and nudged and kvetched until I finally gave in. And yes, you were right. True Detective was awesome. Definitely one of the best things to flicker across my TV this year that doesn’t involve the Starks or Ron Swanson. Brilliantly done in every way. Engrossing, well-written, highly quotable, and nonstop thrills starring McConaughey and Harrelson at their finest. Not to mention some fantastic sets of hooters.

Mmmm, shake it, baby.

But don’t get cocky, all right? Yeah, you steered me towards True Detective. But so did literally everyone else. LITERALLY. Calm the fuck down. And yes, you’ve picked some other winners that I’ve loved. I still miss 30 Rock and wish I’d been on board with it from the start. And Battlestar Galactica? Launch the alert vipers and set condition awesome. For such introductions, I am in your debt.

I think I just launched an alert viper in my pants. With my penis. For I am aroused in a sexual manner.

But you know what else you told me to watch? Lost. Yeah, remember that? Fuck Lost. I stayed away from that turd through season after season of you ranting and raving about it. You should be ashamed. You vocal supporters of absolutely any reality television program, to include American Idol? Just kill yourself right now. Do it. There’s the window. Make like a submarine and take a dive. And there were all those years spent trying to convince me it was my fault that I don’t like Buffy or Angel. Okay, so Firefly was great. But Joss Whedon is not some magical do-no-wrong machine. Knock it off. If I wanted to watch a show that mixed overly-quippy high school melodrama acted out by people in their twenties with cheesy monster fighting I’d oh wait, I would never want to watch something like that. Ever.

“Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?”

And let’s not forget the shows you managed to get me to watch, however briefly, that didn’t live up to your infuriating hype. Homeland? Meh. The Sopranos? Never did it for me, so fuggedabout it. Breaking Bad? Yeah it was a good show and all, but not enough so to warrant the years of incessant red-faced, twitching, frothing demands for me to watch that I put up with before I finally gave in to shut you the fuck up. And The Walking Dead? Thanks ever so much for getting me invested in a show that has two episodes of nothing and three hours of Carl for every half-hour of Michonne and/or Daryl being lovable badasses. You dick.

Fuck you, fuck season 2, and fuck Carl.

So yes, you got me to watch True Detective and I’m extremely grateful. But don’t start clambering on some plasma-screened high horse (can you see Texas from up there?) because you just managed to be close enough to me to spooge the same praise for the show everyone else was blasting out directly on my face. A slow day and your parents’ HBOGo account does not a trendsetter make. I hate to be harsh (no I don’t, not even a little), but I know if I don’t scold you now you’ll just leap up all over me like a frog on ecstasy when you fall in love with another show. These things tend to repeat themselves, because, well…

Crunch.

In short, I love you, but shut the fuck up once in a while. I’ll watch my stories when I watch them. And I promise I’ll watch Justified once they put it up on Netflix. Until then, I’ll be mainlining the secret truth of the universe (it’s Lagavulin on the rocks and Mystery Science Theater 3000).

If you ask me, the light’s winning.

Love,

Paul

PS: Happy Belated Blogversary!

PPS: And why the hell haven’t YOU finished watching The Wire yet? Get cracking.

Indeed.