Emmys tomorrow night. Who cares?
Sitting around today, eating a slab of apple pan dowdy while picking my nose, ruminating: hey, isn't it time for ol' stretcheroo face Joan Rivers (at left, gag me, gag me) to stand where she stands, red-carpet wise, making fun of celebrity clothing choices?Indeed. Joan will be in full glory once again, as the Emmy Awards are tomorrow night. And I don't give a good goddamm, mostly because I've never seen any of the shows or actors nominated for anything in any category.
I don't watch TV, really. Home at the end of another rousing day and ensconced safely in the living room Barcolounger, double Absolut Citron and Fresca on the rocks clutched tightly 'twixt thumb and digits, I cruise the Trinitron's news channels. I wear out the remote, because nothing's on and everything disappoints. I generally stop my round-robin cable TV tour only to blow raspberries at and give the finger to Fox News' "great American" Sean Hannity (what a completely irritating dope; he may have won the sperm Olympics in the looks department, but my left hemmorhoid has more cranial activity than this fuckwit's actual brain).
So: after a mostly satisfying release of poisonous vitriol in the general Hannity direction, it's off to bed (always, always alone)--I kick Lump, my irritating rat terrier, off the comforter, clamber into the Craftmatic adjustable, have my way with myself, and before I know it it's 2am and I'm wide awake again. Nigel, poster child for insomnia.
Digressing again, so sorry.
Where was I? Oh yes: TV sucks the pus-oozing hose, so as far as the Emmys go I have one thing to say: buff my scrotum.
posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 10:31 PM
1 Comments:
Try warm milk.
Post a Comment
<< Home