Raised in a Tube
©Adam Greene
If you think that an inordinate amount of material on this site seems dedicated to talking about TV shows, you’re absolutely right. I’m very pro TV. TV raised me. My dad left when I was just a small kid, leaving TV and me to fend for ourselves. It was rough going for a while. TV had to hold down two jobs; that of a video game monitor and broadcast programming terminal for most of my life. It was tough, sure, but there were good times too.
This familiarity with television has enabled me to solve the great mystery of our time. The question that has plagued my generation and those before and after it for nearly the last half century. You probably already know what I’m talking about.
“Who’s hotter? Mary Anne or Ginger?”
I know what you’re thinking. “Adam, how can you possibly have deciphered this universal conundrum? Did you come up with some new theorem or mathematical process to discover the answer?” No, my friends, I did not. I simply looked at the screen. Looked at the women, both attractive, and after intense study I found the answer.
Ginger is hotter.
Mary Anne…she’s a little hip-py.
So there you have it.
Moving on.
Why the Hell couldn’t David Banner go anywhere without getting screwed with on The Incredible Hulk? Did I miss the episode where Dave was hired as a janitor and was left to calmly mop the floor in peace? There was absolutely no place he could go or action he could take that didn’t result in his tiny ass being kicked by be-butterfly-collared 70’s TV goons. He could be the pool guy for a couple of elderly Mormons and, sure enough, one day while skimming the pool the bad guys would show up, demanding the pool skimmer. And Dave won’t just hand the damn thing over. God knows what evil scheme these guys have in mind for the skimmer he’d think, so he’d balk. Stepping back, he’d ask them to leave. This is usually the point where the thugs beat the living shit out of Dave and toss him into a pool shed or somewhere else where they can’t see him. They walk away, marveling at the fine Taiwanese craftsmanship on their new pool skimmer when here HE comes. The Hulk, crashing through the pool shed, big as life and twice as hard. The Hulk only had one move, the crook toss. As a kid you’re ready to see him grind someone’s skull into powder and serve it on a cracker but are constantly denied that pleasure. All the Hulk wants to do is throw people in that slow motion-arm flailing-maybe-my-butterfly collar will save me kind of way. Sad, really.
I mean, at least bend something for God’s sake. You’re the fucking Hulk.
How could this repeatedly happen? Why couldn’t Dave just skim a damn pool in peace? Personally, I feel that he was a little to blame. That catchphrase, “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry” is just a punk ass thing to say. Any self respecting TV thug would have to give you a beat down and shed-locking just on principle after hearing that shit. I think a better catchphrase for Dave might have been, “Don’t hit me daddy!” as he weeps and shits himself. Job didn’t have it this bad.
The real issue here is simple. The guy’s the Hulk. Why take any shit at any time? If I were the Hulk I’d go around looking for trouble. I’d go to Hell’s Angels rallies and start accusing everyone of being gay. I’d wear confederate flag t-shirts to rap concerts. I’d go on Oprah and tell her and Dr. Phil both they’re a couple of whiny pussy-assed bitches, push her friend Gayle down to the ground and rub my naked ass all over her antique white couch and the book of the month.
Man. I would be a total bad ass.
Why is Hulking out wasted on the David Banners of the world?
Like every other child born in the early to mid 70’s, my favorite show for years was The Dukes of Hazzard. For those of you too young to remember (or who went though the 1980’s in a cocaine induced paranoid nude delirium), the Dukes were a southern clan from Hazzard county Kentucky who fought an unending battle against the evil J.D. “Boss” Hogg. Hogg had at his disposal a small fortune and a group of painfully retarded cronies in local law enforcement led by Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrain. Coltrain was the disturbingly inept sheriff who quite possibly had an inappropriate relationship with his pet basset hound, Flash. Commanding the equally bumbling and obviously inbred duo of deputies, Enos and Cleetus, Coltrain was a loyal, but utterly useless pawn in Hogg’s intricate chess game with The Dukes.
The Duke clan was led by the affable Uncle Jesse. Jesse was a stern but playful man. A bootlegger in his younger days, he had passed along his driving skills and blatant disregard for society’s laws to his two young, unemployed nephews, Bo and Luke. Bo and Luke were the primary characters. The Robin Hood and Will Scarlet to Coltrain’s Nottingham, if you will. Bo was the uncommonly handsome, blonde, well built, southern good old boy with perfect teeth. Luke was the other one.
With them lived their cousin Daisy. A comely young southern gal, Daisy worked at the local titty bar, wore shorts so tiny that you could tell when she was ovulating, and had a kick ass Jeep Wrangler that made her tits flop around like water balloons on a trampoline when she drove it.
I still have no idea why she was on the show.
But I digress.
The real star of the show was a car. Not just any car, mind you, but THE car. Yes, the single most politically incorrect soulless object ever presented on modern network television. The car that not only road across covered bridges, but burned racial ones that may have never been rebuilt. The confederate flag painted across the top. The horn, blaring “Dixie”. You know what I’m talking about.
The General Lee.
Bo, the proud owner of a single yellow shirt, drove the fabled Dodge Charger while Luke road shotgun and tried to change the radio station when Bo wasn’t looking. Together they spent their young adult lives thwarting “Boss” Hogg’s evil schemes. I’m not sure what Hogg’s ultimate goal was with his schemes, but they were evil nonetheless and I’m sure warranted thwarting.
The Dukes mainly did this by jumping things in their car, screaming “YEEHAW” and fighting big- panted-be-denimed bad guys. The Dukes had their own method of fighting. Duke Fu, if you will. Each battle required meticulous planning, as Luke’s fighting style began and ended with watching Bo get his ass kicked by three or four men, then jumping from the top of a building, truck or tree onto one of the bad guys. The thing was, Luke never actually landed on anybody. His entire fighting repertoire consisted of jumping from a high place, landing next to his opponent and shoving him forward. If you’re just going to push someone, why do all the climbing? Was there no way Luke could have shoved the guy from sea level? I think it was all part of Luke’s intricate plan to kill off Bo so he could drive the car and secretly screw his cousin Daisy.
All good things must end, as they say, and the Dukes were no different. Bo and Luke, weary from their constant battle with Hogg’s unimaginable evil left Hazzard for the easier, more laid back life of Nascar race car drivers. This would be known as the “Dark Ages” of Dukes’ history, as Bo and Luke passed the Hogg fighting gauntlet to their shitwater dumbass cousins, Coy and Vance. Where Bo and Luke had a southern heroic charm about them, Coy and Vance had the reek of cheap liquor, cigarettes, and soiled Ozzy Osborne t-shirts. They personified the white trash can-you-give-me-a-ride-to-the-courthouse, that-dawg-just-come-here-to-live, why-does-your-wife-have-that-black-eye lifestyle that, really, no one wanted to see outside of their local Eyewitness News cast. I didn’t watch the Coy and Vance episodes. I knew they never stood a chance against Hogg’s unstoppable force of will. Luckily for Hazzard, and the world, really, Bo and Luke returned later that same year.
And childhood was saved for all.
Gilligan’s Island is shown virtually every hour of every day on every single station in the world. Along with Daphne from Scooby Doo, Mary Anne seems to be the first crush any young pre-sexual male seems to get. It’s when you’re older that you begin to notice Ginger. If you’ve never seen an episode, you probably don’t own a TV and are not reading this.
The Incredible Hulk is still occasionally shown on the Sci Fi Channel. It actually prompted me to come up with an official slogan of bad TV, “The Incredible Hulk Crappiness Syndrome”. It’s based entirely on what you read here. Why couldn’t Dave just show up, work and be left the hell alone? Sure, you had The Fugitive aspect with the reporter chasing him down, but he never showed up in an episode until a Hulking out and crook toss had already been perpetrated and witnessed. Sliders worked like this and was why it was unwatchable. I could probably think of 10 other genre programs that work from that same mold and they all eat ass.
The Dukes of Hazzard proudly yells various "yeehaws" and "yahoos" on CMT every single cotton-pickin' day.
If you think that an inordinate amount of material on this site seems dedicated to talking about TV shows, you’re absolutely right. I’m very pro TV. TV raised me. My dad left when I was just a small kid, leaving TV and me to fend for ourselves. It was rough going for a while. TV had to hold down two jobs; that of a video game monitor and broadcast programming terminal for most of my life. It was tough, sure, but there were good times too.
This familiarity with television has enabled me to solve the great mystery of our time. The question that has plagued my generation and those before and after it for nearly the last half century. You probably already know what I’m talking about.
“Who’s hotter? Mary Anne or Ginger?”
I know what you’re thinking. “Adam, how can you possibly have deciphered this universal conundrum? Did you come up with some new theorem or mathematical process to discover the answer?” No, my friends, I did not. I simply looked at the screen. Looked at the women, both attractive, and after intense study I found the answer.
Ginger is hotter.
Mary Anne…she’s a little hip-py.
So there you have it.
Moving on.
Why the Hell couldn’t David Banner go anywhere without getting screwed with on The Incredible Hulk? Did I miss the episode where Dave was hired as a janitor and was left to calmly mop the floor in peace? There was absolutely no place he could go or action he could take that didn’t result in his tiny ass being kicked by be-butterfly-collared 70’s TV goons. He could be the pool guy for a couple of elderly Mormons and, sure enough, one day while skimming the pool the bad guys would show up, demanding the pool skimmer. And Dave won’t just hand the damn thing over. God knows what evil scheme these guys have in mind for the skimmer he’d think, so he’d balk. Stepping back, he’d ask them to leave. This is usually the point where the thugs beat the living shit out of Dave and toss him into a pool shed or somewhere else where they can’t see him. They walk away, marveling at the fine Taiwanese craftsmanship on their new pool skimmer when here HE comes. The Hulk, crashing through the pool shed, big as life and twice as hard. The Hulk only had one move, the crook toss. As a kid you’re ready to see him grind someone’s skull into powder and serve it on a cracker but are constantly denied that pleasure. All the Hulk wants to do is throw people in that slow motion-arm flailing-maybe-my-butterfly collar will save me kind of way. Sad, really.
I mean, at least bend something for God’s sake. You’re the fucking Hulk.
How could this repeatedly happen? Why couldn’t Dave just skim a damn pool in peace? Personally, I feel that he was a little to blame. That catchphrase, “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry” is just a punk ass thing to say. Any self respecting TV thug would have to give you a beat down and shed-locking just on principle after hearing that shit. I think a better catchphrase for Dave might have been, “Don’t hit me daddy!” as he weeps and shits himself. Job didn’t have it this bad.
The real issue here is simple. The guy’s the Hulk. Why take any shit at any time? If I were the Hulk I’d go around looking for trouble. I’d go to Hell’s Angels rallies and start accusing everyone of being gay. I’d wear confederate flag t-shirts to rap concerts. I’d go on Oprah and tell her and Dr. Phil both they’re a couple of whiny pussy-assed bitches, push her friend Gayle down to the ground and rub my naked ass all over her antique white couch and the book of the month.
Man. I would be a total bad ass.
Why is Hulking out wasted on the David Banners of the world?
Like every other child born in the early to mid 70’s, my favorite show for years was The Dukes of Hazzard. For those of you too young to remember (or who went though the 1980’s in a cocaine induced paranoid nude delirium), the Dukes were a southern clan from Hazzard county Kentucky who fought an unending battle against the evil J.D. “Boss” Hogg. Hogg had at his disposal a small fortune and a group of painfully retarded cronies in local law enforcement led by Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrain. Coltrain was the disturbingly inept sheriff who quite possibly had an inappropriate relationship with his pet basset hound, Flash. Commanding the equally bumbling and obviously inbred duo of deputies, Enos and Cleetus, Coltrain was a loyal, but utterly useless pawn in Hogg’s intricate chess game with The Dukes.
The Duke clan was led by the affable Uncle Jesse. Jesse was a stern but playful man. A bootlegger in his younger days, he had passed along his driving skills and blatant disregard for society’s laws to his two young, unemployed nephews, Bo and Luke. Bo and Luke were the primary characters. The Robin Hood and Will Scarlet to Coltrain’s Nottingham, if you will. Bo was the uncommonly handsome, blonde, well built, southern good old boy with perfect teeth. Luke was the other one.
With them lived their cousin Daisy. A comely young southern gal, Daisy worked at the local titty bar, wore shorts so tiny that you could tell when she was ovulating, and had a kick ass Jeep Wrangler that made her tits flop around like water balloons on a trampoline when she drove it.
I still have no idea why she was on the show.
But I digress.
The real star of the show was a car. Not just any car, mind you, but THE car. Yes, the single most politically incorrect soulless object ever presented on modern network television. The car that not only road across covered bridges, but burned racial ones that may have never been rebuilt. The confederate flag painted across the top. The horn, blaring “Dixie”. You know what I’m talking about.
The General Lee.
Bo, the proud owner of a single yellow shirt, drove the fabled Dodge Charger while Luke road shotgun and tried to change the radio station when Bo wasn’t looking. Together they spent their young adult lives thwarting “Boss” Hogg’s evil schemes. I’m not sure what Hogg’s ultimate goal was with his schemes, but they were evil nonetheless and I’m sure warranted thwarting.
The Dukes mainly did this by jumping things in their car, screaming “YEEHAW” and fighting big- panted-be-denimed bad guys. The Dukes had their own method of fighting. Duke Fu, if you will. Each battle required meticulous planning, as Luke’s fighting style began and ended with watching Bo get his ass kicked by three or four men, then jumping from the top of a building, truck or tree onto one of the bad guys. The thing was, Luke never actually landed on anybody. His entire fighting repertoire consisted of jumping from a high place, landing next to his opponent and shoving him forward. If you’re just going to push someone, why do all the climbing? Was there no way Luke could have shoved the guy from sea level? I think it was all part of Luke’s intricate plan to kill off Bo so he could drive the car and secretly screw his cousin Daisy.
All good things must end, as they say, and the Dukes were no different. Bo and Luke, weary from their constant battle with Hogg’s unimaginable evil left Hazzard for the easier, more laid back life of Nascar race car drivers. This would be known as the “Dark Ages” of Dukes’ history, as Bo and Luke passed the Hogg fighting gauntlet to their shitwater dumbass cousins, Coy and Vance. Where Bo and Luke had a southern heroic charm about them, Coy and Vance had the reek of cheap liquor, cigarettes, and soiled Ozzy Osborne t-shirts. They personified the white trash can-you-give-me-a-ride-to-the-courthouse, that-dawg-just-come-here-to-live, why-does-your-wife-have-that-black-eye lifestyle that, really, no one wanted to see outside of their local Eyewitness News cast. I didn’t watch the Coy and Vance episodes. I knew they never stood a chance against Hogg’s unstoppable force of will. Luckily for Hazzard, and the world, really, Bo and Luke returned later that same year.
And childhood was saved for all.
Gilligan’s Island is shown virtually every hour of every day on every single station in the world. Along with Daphne from Scooby Doo, Mary Anne seems to be the first crush any young pre-sexual male seems to get. It’s when you’re older that you begin to notice Ginger. If you’ve never seen an episode, you probably don’t own a TV and are not reading this.
The Incredible Hulk is still occasionally shown on the Sci Fi Channel. It actually prompted me to come up with an official slogan of bad TV, “The Incredible Hulk Crappiness Syndrome”. It’s based entirely on what you read here. Why couldn’t Dave just show up, work and be left the hell alone? Sure, you had The Fugitive aspect with the reporter chasing him down, but he never showed up in an episode until a Hulking out and crook toss had already been perpetrated and witnessed. Sliders worked like this and was why it was unwatchable. I could probably think of 10 other genre programs that work from that same mold and they all eat ass.
The Dukes of Hazzard proudly yells various "yeehaws" and "yahoos" on CMT every single cotton-pickin' day.
posted by AdamGreene @ 1:19 PM
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