A man, a man no different than you or I (unless you’re a woman, in which case, a man no different than you or I, except he has a penis and you don’t), is walking his dog one morning when he trips over something on the sidewalk. He looks down and is shocked to see that it looks like some sort of lamp-shaped rock. Wait. It’s actually a lamp! He brushes the dirt off it, and a genie-shaped genie, who is in no way a framing device for an article on a blog, appears out of the dust and dog poo. Without hesitating, the Genie asks, “I am granting you 10 wishes, but they all have to be about TV.” The man wonders why the Genie is talking to his dog but he answers for him…
Well, first off: take Dr. Phil off television. I could actually spend all my wishes on people who should never appear on TV again — most judges, most bros in beer commercials, most everyone on CBS — but I’ve heard Genies are the Satan of the appearing-out-of-bottles world, so I’m afraid that if I say “take them off television,” you’d ironically kill them ON a television, or something, so I’ll leave it at Dr. Phil. But I will request, for wish #2, that you remove Melissa McCarthy…wait, I’m not finished…from Mike & Molly and either put her on SNL or give her another, better show of her own. She’s absurdly talented, and one of the most famous female movie stars today, yet she’s stuck on a dreary sitcom that makes people go, “That’s still on?” at best and “DER FAT PEOPLE” at worst.
Moving on: I love the NFL, so much so that I’m willing to look like the stock photo result for “tv guy excited” while staring at ESPN for three hours before the games even start on Sunday. But a guy can only take so many Chris Berman bear farts and Keyshawn Johnson banshee screams before he’s all HOT TAKE’d out. What I’m asking you, Genie, is to limit all pre- and post-game sports coverage to four people at a desk, both male and female. No more Last Supper sh*t — I don’t know why Philip and Matthew were invited then, and Mike Ditka and Cris Carter sure as hell weren’t now. As long as we’re on sports, I’d like to use wish #4 on axing sideline reporters interviewing managers and coaches. It’s deadening to watch, and as exciting as Ron Rivera admitting “we made some adjustment during halftime” is, that time could instead be spent on literally anything else. Cleatus playing the electric guitar, Joe Buck rhapsodizing, DirecTV Genie pointing at DVRs (say, do you know her?), whatever. Actually, just end the concept of sideline reporters altogether. I’m sure someone else can tell us our RB is out “with a knee.”
I have a question: am I allowed to change the past? No? So you’re saying I can’t, for instance, get Fox to cancel The Simpsons after season 12? Damn. Well, I’m not going to waste a request on asking for The Simpsons to finally call it quits after season 25 — it doesn’t really matter anymore; it hasn’t since “Pie Man” — but I will wish for Fox to devote an entire channel to showing nothing but Simpsons episodes. The golden years, too, not just the post-HD mediocrity we’ve been chocking on for the past half-decade. OK, fine, the channel doesn’t have to JUST be The Simpsons — half of the schedule can be filled with Mystery Science Theater 3000 repeats, too. It’s criminal that one of the funniest comedies of all-time is nowhere to be found on TV anymore, but you’re a Genie — you can pay for all the expensive licensing fees. America needs more Crank Whore, and it needs it now. That reminds me: I’ve been selfish. I should be making the planet a better place, but those last two wishes were really only for me, some guy walking a dog. For my next wish, I’m going to do something good for everybody: DOWN WITH NIELSEN RATINGS. I’ll leave the BORING specifics to you, but try to think of a new system for evaluating so-called “successful” shows. In other words, revive Happy Endings, cancel Two and a Half Men. You’ll think of something.
Jeez. Only three wishes left. What to spend them on? I’m guessing moving into a sexy aparment with Gillian Jacobs and Alison Brie, a la Three’s Company, is out of the equation? Damn. Well, if I can’t get that, I’ll spend wish #8 on networks spreading the love, the love I would have given to Gillian and Alison. Sunday nights are a DVR disaster — in two months, the following shows will be competing against one another in the same three-hour block: The Simpsons, Bob’s Burgers, American Dad!, The Good Wife, Sunday Night Football, Boardwalk Empire, Homeland, Masters of Sex, Eastbound & Down, and Hello Ladies. At other times during the year, that night also plays host to Game of Thrones, The Newsroom, and Girls, among others. Considering no one watches anything live anymore, Genie, move two or three Sunday shows to Friday or Saturday. I know those are “dead days,” but, well, people used to think early May was a financial wasteland for movies, but Star Trek Into Darkness did pretty well.
For wish the ninth, I thought about asking for more dramas lead by female anti-heroes, or networks to enforce the NO LOUD COMMERCIALS law, or shorter seasons for cable dramas, or the Emmys to actually acknowledge sci-fi and animated shows, or putting all the reality and cooking shows (minus Chopped) onto a boat and sinking it in the middle of the ocean, or for Comedy Central to air those Girls Gone Wild promos from 2-4 a.m. every day, but instead, a talking dog. I want a talking dog on every show. Thank you.
Oh yeah, and Genie, one more thing: I haven’t watched Deadwood yet — yeah, yeah, I know; I think you’re a monster who doesn’t deserve to own a TV, too — but I know I’m going to love it once I eventually make my way through it, and then I’ll be as mad as everyone else who thinks the show didn’t get the finale it apparently deserves. So, for wish #10, either revive Deadwood as a miniseries on HBO or convince David Milch to write a movie. By the time he gets around to it, maybe I’ll be midway through season c*cksucker, I mean, one.
