Archive for the ‘Television’ Category

The show opens with a long shot of the New Mexico landscape. It’s late December and there’s snow on the ground and covering the distant mountains. Panning to a deserted road, we see a line of slurred footsteps retreating into the distance. Barely discernible is the soft huffing of a labored breathing. The camera stays stationary then slowly pans back to a figure hobbling away from it on the side of the road.

Zooming in from the back, it’s a man clutching his side. He’s wearing an oddly familiar hat worn slightly askew. His breath comes out in cloudy exhalations. A new long shot from the front of the man reveals blood on his shirt and jacket. An unkempt beard, bloodshot eyes, glasses, one lens now broken, and it’s Walter White. He lives.


Cue music – “White Christmas.”

Up come titles and theme music. It’s the new Breaking Bad – the Christmas Special. With special appearances by: Giancarlo Esposito, Dean Norris, and of course Bryan Cranston. Special uncredited appearance by Claire Danes reprising her role as Carrie Matheson, unhinged as usual, searching for Brody.

First scene has a miserable, little Christmas tree, leaning against a wall with a pitifully small amount of cheap ornaments on it. It’s a rundown office inhabited by one Saul Goodman. He is Jewish but he panders to just about anybody, hence the tree. There is also a menorah on a bookshelf, proof of his broad-mindedness. He is as usual on the phone trying to work some deal. The background music is once again Tommy James and the Shondell’s Crystal Blue Persuasion. Saul is not happy and is drinking heavily. He hangs up the phone and falls into an alcoholic stupor.

He’s awoken by a pounding on the door. It’s Gustavo Fring from Los Pollos. Saul thinks maybe he’s brought over a Christmas time chicken dinner until he realizes Gus is dead. He panics and looks for a way out to avoid Gus. It doesn’t matter – Gus walks in, right through the wall, with a chain of styrofoam plates over his shoulders and legs, smelling not so much of death as of left-over fried chicken. “Saul, you need to come with me. There’s not much time.”

Saul sweats. “You’re dead. You should be with all the fried chicken you ate. What are you doing here?”

Gus speaks no more, instead pointing to a vaporous hole in the wall and beckoning Saul to follow. Following, Saul is instantly transported to a Toys’R’Us store where a very young Jesse Pinkman is buying a children’s chemistry set.


“What is he doing? Is that how he started? Why?,” Saul bleats.

Gus responds, “His father was the school crossing guard who was hit by a hit and run driver that you so-called defended and lost big time. He was left with a chronic whiplash and prostate problems that Jesse is trying, with his chemistry set, to medicate its pain. You were the cause of his eventual downfall. Saul. Everything has consequences.” And with that, Gus is gone and Saul is back in his crappy, faux-roman office, sweating and cursing.

But Saul refuses to believe he had a hand in what was to follow. It was just too incredible.

He sits back in his Unclaimed Freight recliner chair, downing large amounts of Richards Wild Irish Rose. He once again falls asleep.

This scene sees Saul awakening to a very rude shaking of his shoulder by one Hank Schrader. Hank looks pissed as he usually does. We see him as he was in mid-physical therapy condition. Saul sees him as one more nightmare. “Saul, get the hell up off your fat butt! We’ve got somewhere to go.”

“Go away, you’re not real,” Saul whimpers. “You’re just a bad dream caused by a lousy empanada I had for dinner.”

“You’re right, Saul. I am a bad dream that’s about to get worse. Come with me.”

Saul resists and Hank smacks him on the back of his head. “OK, OK, I’m coming. But why me?”

“Saul… you were the root of so much trouble, I don’t even know where to begin. But here’s a start.” And with that they’re standing in the parking lot of used RV’s. “Starting to make sense yet, Saul?”


“WHAT?!” What does this have to do with anything?”

Hank grimaces, as if just the act of standing there gives him pain. “Saul, did you or did you not sell an RV to a very young Walter White?”

“Oh, c’mon! You’re gonna put that on me? How was I to know? I did that when I was in law school. I needed the money.”

Hank echoes a previous refrain, “Don’t even try and convince me that was a law school, Saul. DeVry doesn’t offer law. But, as you know, everything has consequences, Saul. Everything.” Hank disappears as did Gus leaving Saul alone.

Saul shudders, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He wondered if there was any of that Richards Wild Irish Rose left. There is, he’s pour it out and starts drinking it quickly. But then… and once again, he passes out.

The following scene finds Saul as he realizes he is sitting in his car, drenched and getting wetter. What the hell? He looks out the car window and it is pouring harder than he ever saw before. Hell, it’s even coming in horizontally and then Saul realizes he’s in a car wash. Specifically, Walter White’s car wash. He turns around and sees sitting next to him, covered in suds, wheel bright, carnauba wax, and Rain-x, Walter White with a rather evil, foamy grin on his face. “Hi Saul.”

“Nonononono! You’re just a dream! I thought you were dead. I know that much!”

Walter reaches out and smears some suds all over Saul’s face. “Still think this is a dream? Think I’m a dream? No, Saul. I was and still am, your worst nightmare. After all, nobody really dies in syndication.”

Saul blanches, even through the suds. “What is happening to me? Why is this happening?”

“Saul, Saul… you don’t get it, do you? You have to change. You can’t go on as before. You know too much and have been behind most of the bad crap that’s gone on for five years. We have plans for you.”

The car comes out of the car wash, damp but very clean, into a bright, sunny New Mexico morning. Walter leans over to Saul and instructs him to drive to his office.

Saul is besides himself. He looks terrified and is on the verge of crying. “What are we doing here? I’m supposed to be far away from all this.”

Walter gleefully grins at Saul. “You still don’t get it, Saul. I said we have plans for you. Let’s go in your office and it will all be clear.”


They get out of the car and walk into Saul’s office, only to find it is a large sound stage. Saul whimpers again, “What is this? Who ARE you?”

“Saul, I really thought you would have guessed it by now. I’m the Development Director from AMC. Your contract with us is in perpetuity. Welcome to your new series. Between this and syndication of the old show, we own you. Your life is now as we write it! Remember, everything has consequences.”

Walter walks off the sound stage into darkness. The Carpenter’s song “We’ve Only Just Begun” comes up, screen fades to blackness over Saul’s wails of “Why me? Why me?”

Out and titles, “Coming to AMC, 2014.”

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, and Happy Russki Novi Rok to all!

Previously: “Pops, how’d you like to be a lawyer?”

And now: Pops was so deep into debt with Tranks, he had to just stand there and ask “What now?”

“Pops, you watch any late night TV? You know the stuff, meet girls, get rich, lawyers, that stuff?” Tranks asked. Barry in the meantime had brought a gift of corn dogs over to Pops as a reminder of what they had done together in the recent past. Barry was anything if not subtle.

11802394_8461416465 Corn dogs…yum? Not really.

“Tranks, look, I don’t know anything about lawyers. And Barry, by the way, thanks for the corn dogs, Polly loves ’em.” Pops did not pick up on the subtlety that Barry was pushing.

“Pops, this little joint would be perfect for a PI lawyer to operate out of. Cheap, seedy, bad food, and it’s got a bathroom. It’s perfect.”

I have to admit it, Tranks was resourceful. Certainly not above the law, but hey, who here is? He wanted to install one of his not-quite-bright minions as a personal injury lawyer in Pops place. If I knew this was on the level, I’d vote for it. Lawyers, even the bad ones (well, how do you make that distinction?) tend to class up the place. Or would in Pops’ case. However, I’m pretty sure this guy would not have passed the bar, at least not one without alcohol sold in it.

“Look Pops, it’s a no-brainer. We’ll take only those cases in which the perp has been charged with resisting arrest. Do you know how easy it is to defend those? I’ve come up with a fool-proof defense.” Tranks claiming something was fool-proof was an oxymoronic statement, right up there with political ethics. But since I hadn’t had a good laugh that day, I was willing to listen and suspend disbelief if possible. Afterwards, possible was not the operational word, “required” was.

“OK, Tranks, this’ll be good. Let’s hear it,” I offered.

“Fog, you do speak after all. I may have to hire you next. Anyway, this is the deal. Say, I decide I want to smash you in the face and I do it. And I get you good. Do you stop me? No. Why? Because I did it unexpectedly. You didn’t know what I wanted or was going to do. Same thing with the cops. Let’s say now that I’m driving a little on the fast side. Ehh, maybe a lot. Anyway, a cop comes up behind me and flashes his lights. I pull over and stop. The cop gets out and walks over. With me so far? Good. He asks the dumb question, ‘Do you know how fast you’re going?’ Well, yeah, of course I do, I was driving the damn car. Figuring he just wanted to talk I politely answered him and told him it was nice talking with him but I had to be someplace soon. And I drive off, leaving him by the side of the road. Aside from driving maybe a little too fast. I haven’t done anything wrong, right? But he gets in his car, puts on the lights, calls out for back-up and catches me further down the highway and charges me with resisting arrest.

4008096740_221b4763d0 Dramatic re-enactment.

“That’s where this whole thing works. Like me smashing you in the face, you didn’t know what I was going to do. So, how did I know what he was going to do? Did he mention he was going to arrest me? No. Could I read his mind? No again. So how the hell can he get me for resisting arrest when I didn’t know that’s what he was going to do. It’s brilliant, I tell you. I would have had to have known that’s what he was going to do in order for me to resist it. Brilliant. I thought of that myself.”

Brilliant was right. In the same way a 15 watt light bulb is brilliant. This was not going to end well.

Edible idiocy.

Posted: August 13, 2012 in Movies, People, Television
Tags: ,

“People are stupid. They have no couth. They also have criminally small vocabularies. I don’t want to talk with them any longer.” So sayeth the other Bruce. Come to think, I’m the other Bruce too. Who is writing this then? But I, the other other Bruce, digress.

So, so uncouth! (

We were traveling through middle-class, middle-of-the-road, mid-size, mid-America the other day when it dawned on Bruce that the language some use in a pejorative fashion tends to categorize the lesser thinkers among us as nothing more than poor food substitutes. And the longer he prattled on about it, the more convinced I became he might be on to something. But then again, it might have to do with the air-conditioning in our Pignasaurus doing its best impression of global warming and I was in the early stages of heat stroke and thus not in complete control of my faculties.

Now unless we or you are strolling along the African veldt, it’s highly unlikely that any of us would be mistaken for dinner. So why do some persist in putting others down by naming them as food? Unless it’s their secret intent to have us for dinner and I don’t mean over for dinner.

How about meatball: a tasty ball of indeterminate chopped meat usually accompanying spaghetti in a marinara sauce. This was a favorite name for Archie Bunker’s son-in-law Rob Reiner who now looks like a meatball. Life imitating art we suppose. Go figure.

Meatball! (

Or that man is a cold fish. Scaly with dead eyes? Smelly after a few hot days? Not really very nice unless you’re a sushi aficionado or do a mean Christopher Walken impression. Even then as a term of endearment, it falls very short of giving as a goof gift around the holidays. After a while, you too would also smell very badly.

Crackers? We like crackers with pate on them. But this is used in a couple of different ways. That guy is crackers. OK, maybe he is crazy, but you wouldn’t call him Triscuit, would you? And there is the “those crackers over there” use. Do not say this out loud near them. This is far worse. We’re not certain of the origin of this and are afraid to Google it as well. You can’t be too safe, you never know who is reading this. Nah, why worry, they’re just a bunch of dumb crackers anyway.

How about “That is a cheesy outfit.”? Or a cheesy mustache. On the mustache side, one runs the risk of looking like a seventies porn star. Cheesy indeed. Unless of course that is the desired look one is seeking in which case yes, it is definitely cheesy and we have some land in southern California we’d like to sell you. Cheesy outfits are inexcusable. They are usually found in Walmarts where most of the merchandise is Chinese. I don’t know about you, but my Levi’s better be made here…or at the very least Sri Lanka.

Some people are just by nature crabby. Is this due to a childhood deprivation or a nagging infestation that is not generally discussed in polite company? Or were their parents not really interested in finding Nemo after all? This being the Two Bruces, being crabby does not ever apply no matter what affectations we are displaying at the time. We are always of good nature and gentle heart and demeanor until our lacrosse team loses. Then just leave us alone unless you want some cheap sherry thrown at you.

Oh, yum! (

We of course could go on…and on. There is pork/pig, beefy, juicy, tomato, ham, turkey. Wait, that sounds like an awfully good sandwich. Maybe on a ciabatta roll? Stone-ground mustard please. But why bother? If one feels reduced to denigrating another by calling them a food name, go ahead. Breeding will always out. And so will the uncouth.

Everywhere I look, it’s Olympic this or Olympic that. It’s all Bruce has on TV these days. I think it reminds him of his halcyon days as an alternate for the Olympic Snipe Hunting Team. One could not see a sadder face than when Bruce was told he wasn’t going to the 1986 games. Crushed is too mild a word for his disappointment. He was in the best form of his life only to be beaten by some toothless guy from the Ozarks. So sad.

Winning Snipe Hunter! (the

But this year, Bruce and I have come up with a remedy for that – one that will open up entirely new opportunities for hopeful athletes everywhere. It’s one where a number of the cable networks will be clamoring for involvement. Just the sponsorship possibilities are staggering. We are certain at this time you’re asking, “What could this incredibly marvelous thing be? And how do I get involved?”

The Over the Hill Olympics (Othympics or OTHO for short) – pure and simple. Of course some of the current events will have to be modified to accommodate the increasingly fragile participants, but hey, no pain, no gain, right?

All events measured by time will now always have the time rounded up to the nearest minute. We’re not trying to fool anyone into thinking world records will be set by this, we’re just trying to be realistic. And fair. After all, these will be everyday Othympians.

The premier section of the games will be track and field. There will be an ambulatory set of events and a set for those Othympians with walkers. All walkers must conform to specifications lest anyone hold an unfair advantage, such as NASCAR-style drafting design elements. Some events will be shortened in time and/or distance in consideration of eventual darkness, commercial breaks, and nap time. Others will allow for some assistance as in the not-so-high jump. We are trying to be considerate of the injuries that may occur and the infirmities with which the Othympians arrive.

Other games will have new measurements. Take the shot put for example. Throwing it will not be the determining factor who wins. Rather, it will be who can pick it up the fastest without hurting themselves. This will be must-see TV.

Gymnastics will be reduced to one event, but one so important, it’s impact cannot be over-looked. This will the “I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up” competition. All participants will be bodily thrown to the ground. The one who gets up the quickest without using their Life-Alert (TM) wins. This will be incredible on slo-mo instant replay as it will probably be faster than the actual competition and will provide ample commercial opportunity.

Uh-Huh. Gold! (

So, you get the idea. If you have any events you would like us to include, shoot us a comment. We’re open to any ideas.

As we mentioned, this will be ripe for commercial sponsorship and participation. All events can be co-branded by their sponsor. We’ve already compiled a partial list of these. If you have any contacts within these companies, please let us know. Anything that greases the skids will help immensely. Speaking of greasing the skids, one sure-fire sponsor would be Metamucil. Others would include but certainly not limited to: Depends, Life-Alert, One-Touch monitors, Ensure, Beltone Hearing Aids, Flomax, Dollar Stores, the large print edition of the New York Times, Phoenix Life Insurance, the Lillian Vernon catalog, Gold Bond powders, Walk-In bathtubs, Denny’s, and much, much more. The possibilities are staggering. Corporate greed knows no boundaries.

How often does an opportunity like this come along? With the increased amount of baby-boomers going on Social Security, they have more time on their hands to compete or watch on their big-screen TV’s complete with audio assistance. It’s a marketers dream. Who’s with us?

If you read the Sunday papers like I do (Bruce likes to look at the comics and the Walmart flyers – I am trying to break him of THAT habit!)), then you know the primary reason for that edition is to sell you garbage you don’t need. Get over it, there is no news on a Sunday. They print that sucker days in advance. The only thing remotely news worthy are the sports scores so you can see how much you now owe your bookie.


As we mentioned earlier, it’s just to sell you stuff. Do you think all this “new” technology is making your life better? OK, altogether now, a big, emphatic NO! Of course not. It’s what keeps whatever is left of our economy moving until we can find another war. The sad part of it all is this stuff is made in China…as if we didn’t have enough issues with trade. Before long we’ll all be flying the flag of the United States of Walmart. But, it doesn’t have to be that way. Bruce and I have found a way to deal with this.

We’ve done some research and found that the new technology really isn’t any better than the old. Blu-Ray? Yeah, right – we gotcha Blu-Ray right here! That sucker’s nothing more than a DVD player with a tuning knob. And we fell for it. Not any damn longer! No! It’s just new paint on an old building. The old stuff was good and it worked, mostly.

Bruce and I are proud to announce the Grand Opening of the new F’ed Up Freddie’s Antique Tech Emporium, or just Freddie’s for those with small. impressionable children. The premise is simple and based upon the notion that “They just don’t build ’em like they used to.” And they’re right. They don’t. But, did you ever wonder what happened to all those new, unopened still boxed, never used DVD players after the Blu-Ray player came out? Bruce and I do. Through shrewd investments and an our off-shore account (Staten Island!), we’ve been buying up all this “new” merchandise and we’re now ready to pass on these incredible savings to you. It may not now be the newest technology, but hey, it works and it is new, so to speak.

Think about it. You’re not that old where you don’t want to hear some of those old scratchy 78RPM records you inherited when your great grandfather died. But the phonograph is dead. Not any more! Come on down to our Route 22 warehouse in Paramus, New Jersey and see the wide selection of RCA Victrolas. We got ’em!


Portable radios and TV’s? All makes, all colors and all styles in stock now for immediate delivery! We know there are plenty of women out there just pining for a new 8 track player to play their tapes of “Bread” again. Wait no more – we got home and car players ready for you.

Or even Neil Diamond! (

And it doesn’t stop there. Relive the sixties (not your age) with a transistor radio. How about a stereo with a record changer? Yeah, those were cool, especially when you stacked the records with “Bolero” strategically placed for the big make-out scene you had planned. Good times, good times.

But while we’re all getting older, it doesn’t mean we have to grow up. We can hold on to those symbols of our youth, our innocence, our disposal cash.

Freddie’s stock is complete with Walkman’s, phonographs, laser disc players, betamax players, VHS players, reel-to-reel tape decks(for the snobby afficianadoes), discmans, slide projectors, AM radios, B+W TV’s, digital audio tape decks, 8mm film projectors, radar ranges, box cameras, and so much more it’ll give you a headache. But our prices won’t! All of this merchandise is new!

Spock shilling for Magnavox! (

And buying from Freddie’s helps the economy. All of this stuff had been written off already, years ago. No tax deductions from retailers, just pure, sweet American profit. Let’s get this country moving again with F’ed Freddy!

Remember F’ed Up Freddie’s slogan, “It ain’t the latest, but it was the greatest!”

This message has not been approved by the Chamber of Commerce nor the National Federation of Independent Businesses. Does that surprise you?

Bruce and I have different viewpoints on food. Bruce has very catholic (which will surprise his mother very much) tastes in food while I am the quintessential picky, snobby eater. We also disagree on portion sizes. But not as you might think.

For instance, how much pink slime in your hamburger is too much? Bruce thinks that’s what it gives it its flavor. I disagree violently. Is it the amount or the actual additive that is harmful? Cosmic questions are seemingly answered by such petro-chemical giants as DuPont and other companies that revel in nature’s sense of humor – read this as deformities. Now before any of you are incensed by this seemingly unfeeling, un-PC viewpoint, we have this to say – Get a life!

The Blob – the original pink slime. (

We’re not talking deformities in the physical sense – we’re talking about the deformities of personality, the misshapen decision-making of all political participants and finally – anything on the Bravo channel. These are all the results of pink slime and its like minded molecularly related kin. Oh, yeah, there’s a lot of that crap going on and you’re eating it big time!

Pink slime is only the most recent discovery of food companies using really weird stuff, not natural by any stretch of the imagination to make things more palatable. Sounds sort of like a politician changing his views to reach and convince more unsuspecting people he will make their taxes lower and their teeth whiter. Ain’t gonna happen! But that doesn’t stop them from trying, oh nooo! Doesn’t the name Con-Agra sort of give it away?

But, we digress. What else are these neighborly companies graciously providing us in our increasingly dubious food supply? How’s this for a starter? Angelica. Awww, sounds really nice and harmless, doesn’t it? (Sort of like Sister Mary Angelica, the kind of sister who slapped your knuckles silly for mouthing off in class.) But then you learn a certain species of this is similar in appearance to poisonous hemlock. You know the stuff, the kind Socrates took to leave this mortal coil. We don’t know about you, but we do not under any circumstance trust these companies to pick the right Angelica. Pick the wrong one and you’ll be singing with the angels. Call it the Tony Soprano weed. That’s more accurate.

  Wrong and gratuitous Angelica. (

Right angelica, maybe. (

Or here’s something with a rather truthful name – false flax oil. This is found in Russia, suspect already, right? – and is considered viable as a vegetable oil or fuel. Either way, you’re going to get gas whether you like it not. Just stay downwind of us, please.

However, our investigations have revealed the seedy side of this and we’re blowing the whistle now. Variegated dreck is one you probably haven’t hear of yet until now. VD as it’s known in the trade is used for making all those tasteless, multi-colored gummy bears. Think it’s harmless? Not on your life. What do you think happens to your old, worn tires? Yep, gummy bears. Good one, huh? At least make sure you get the stuff made with radial ply tires – it lasts longer.

Been to a county fair or carnival lately? If so, it’s probably a safe bet (we really shouldn’t say safe on this one) that you had cotton candy. Cotton? Oh yeah, and we’ve got some seaside property in New Mexico you’re gonna love. That “cotton candy” is made courtesy of Libbey Owens Ford. Yeah, that’s right the makers of the stuff with the Pink Panther as its spokesperson. It’s fiberglass! And you’re eating it and so are your chiildren. Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from social services on this one, buddy, but at least you’ll be warm!

So next time you open that big yaw of yours, think about what you’re putting into it. Pink slime is not even the half of it.

It used to be that TV was free. For you young ‘uns out there, this is fact, just like Clinton saying he never inhaled! But with what we’re about to discuss with you, inhaling is probably a good idea. No, it’ll probably be necessary. And if you have any left, well, give us a call.

We started out by saying TV used to free (with the exception of advertising which in some cases was better than the show) and it wasn’t that long ago. Admittedly, most of it was crap. The occasional MASH, House, yeah those was good. And it was free!

Now you have to pay to see the kind of variety the world of TV has to offer. It’s not free and it’s unbelievably terrible. Right, you got to pay for this crap!

It’s no longer Letterman VS. Leno. ( 

Nah, we’re talking about the heavyweight division of pure, unadulterated, steaming, festering crap. Most of this stuff is on cable channels like Bravo, TLC, OWN, Discovery, and Hallmark. Depending on your predilections, and we know you have them as you’re reading this crap, you run the risk of getting any number of television induced diseases. The end result of all them is the same – sitting, drooling, and mumbling at your TV while the nurse ups your meds.

Each one of these channel is in a submersible race to see who can hit bottom first and the hardest. And though Bruce and I have differing opinions, not often, we are in total agreement that neither of us can determine which of the following is the worst of this sorry lot.

For fairness, we are going to leave for another judgement day, any shows pertaining to New Jersey. Up against that, the other shows wouldn’t stand a chance, capisce? We will also exempt for this post any of the myriad Housewives shows. They alone are the biggest affront to females in recent years with the exception of Clarence Thomas.

So where does that leave us? If we were any smart, we would get ourselves to the mental dental chair and have these shows taken out immediately. But then we wouldn’t have anything to write about, so here goes.

My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding – (    Are you kidding us? In one recent episode, the poor groom wasn’t going to get to first base on his wedding night! Most of us have to wait years after the marriage before that happens! (Also tied with My Big Fat Obnoxious Boyfriend) Thanks a lot Nia Peeples for this great idea!

Ice Road Truckers – This is the winter version of driving your dune buggy on sand. C’mon now!

American Pickers – In any other era, this would be called petty larceny. As it stands now, it’s just a hair short of looting.

Toddlers and Tiaras – ( This is possibly the worst portrayal of child abuse around. These parents should be caned and/or flogged as their children are going to needs years of therapy.

Pawn Stars – You know that old “antique” lawnmower in the back yard, IT”S NOT WORTH ANYTHING! Get a job!

Deadliest Catch – That would be Kate of Jon and Kate Plus 8.

Jon and Kate Plus 8 – Actually they made more news with their breakup. No one was sad.

The Crocodile Hunter – In which the hunter got hunted. Yeah, boo yourself.

Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire? My Dad? My Mother? – Everyone and no one!

The Bachelorette/The Bachelor – Why don’t we just introduce these two losers and be done with it?

Fear Factor – Dumpster diving for dollars. Yum.

Dog the Bounty Hunter –  ( We’re not going to say anything because that dude’s scary!

Steven Seagal: Lawman – Yeah, Elvis wanted to be a cop too.

The Swan – In which an ugly duckling gets made over into an…ugly duckling but with better clothes and hair.

Wife Swap/Trading Spouses – It’s just like Nordstrum’s – they’ll take anything back. (Can you believe two people came up with the same wonderful idea? Talk about creative.)

Flavor of Love – An indescribable…well, just indescribable.

The Amazing Race – A prime example that people will do anything, risk life and limb (and sometimes do), for a small payoff. Wise up…it doesn’t look that good on your resume!

Any and all of the “Talent” shows – The Gong Show meets Ed Sullivan meets Don Imus.

Any show with “America’s….” – It isn’t at all!

The Matchmaker – We need to introduce her to the Bachelorete,  the Bachelor, My Dad, Your Mom,  your turtle, and the Millionaire. We’re sure they’ll all be very happy together.

Mob Wives –  ( We sort feel about this one the same as Dog the Bounty Hunter. These broads scare the living crap out of us.

That’s only scratching the surface. Watch too many of these and you’ll have itches where you won’t be able to scratch them in public. Don’t say we didn’t warn you! So that’s what it’s come to folks, we are going to hell in a hand basket. Wait, I like that, it’s a good idea. Maybe Mark Cuban will pick it up.

Oh, there’s a little more bad news – the English have many more of these and they’re coming our way. Payback for 1776 we guess.

While we openly admit our preternatural dislike of our first names, we find that most people really like Bruces, as well they should. Go to any astrological chart, dig deep enough and you’ll find the traits that garner the most respect are those associated with a Bruce. You scoff? Possibly, but not for much longer.

The world is undoubtedly a far better place because of Bruce. Not just any Bruce, but all Bruces with the exception of those who might call themselves Brucie Ray, Joe Bob Bruce, John Wayne Brucie, – you know the kind: missing some teeth, dreadful tattoos, and bound to be arrested for some heinous crime against humanity. No, that hardly ever happens with a Bruce.

Bruces are known throughout history for their valor, intelligence, uncommon good looks, impeccable taste in all things cultural and spiritual, kindness, generosity, peacefulness, compassion, and (you can ask any Bruce’s wife about this) their virility. It’s true!

Think about all the Bruces you know or are familiar with. Throughout history and culture, there is usually a Bruce leading the vanguard of the next wave of positive change. You scoff again? Read on doubter!

Here are some of the Bruces that come immediately to mind with just a soupcon of their achievements following. You of course can add your own as you most certainly will.

Bruce Springsteen – just for making New Jersey cool qualifies him for free drinks at the local bar.

Bruce Lee – showed us that Bruces are as tough as the next guy. Maybe even tougher! If you don’t believe this, were he still alive, he’d kick your butt! Get with the program, dude!

Bruce Willis – the uber Bruce, ’nuff said.

Robert the Bruce – Bruce as a pronoun. What could be better? Read your Scottish history, this ain’t school!

Bruce Vilanch – this might be a reach, but he has helped a lot of people in Hollywood so that counts.

Bruce Boxleitner – showed us that in all Bruces, as well as some other men, aging well is a natural. With the exception of the previous mentioned Bruce. we don’t know what happened.

Bruce Campbell – the most famous unknown B-movie actor who shows us that anonymity is its own strength. In keeping with his anonymity, there will be no picture here.

Bruce – the shark in the first “Jaws”movie –  message here: you just don’t mess around with a Bruce.

Bruce Wayne – the Bruce with the most issues including a penchant for latex clothing, but he’s a do-gooder at heart.

Bruce Dern – just on principle. He’s the father of actress Laura Dern, but for the life of us we can’t figure who is more famous.

Lenny Bruce – Made it semi-OK to say F*** almost all the time.

Bruce Hornsby – pianist and sometime Grateful Dead member. That alone qualifies him for the name Bruce.

Bruce McGill – as D-Day from “Animal House”

So reader whose name unfortunately is not Bruce, this is only a partial list. But we hope it gives you a start on the road to new respect for those named Bruce. We do so much for you, all we ask is that you don’t ever call us Brucie. That will make us mad and you don’t want to see us get mad.

Kevin Spacey? How the hell did he get in here? Secretly wants to be a Bruce too.

The State of New Jersey.

What is it about New Jersey that commands such ridicule? Is it the mob life as depicted in The Sopranos or the lesser and incredibly appalling Mob Wives that fuels the national ridicule? Is it the peculiar cuisine defying description? How about its accent? Yes it’s all that but largely it’s New Jersey! Currently, television with it’s Jersey preoccupation is starting to resemble a Jersey mall with all the options that entails. In no particular order, there is the late, lamented Sopranos; Jerseylicious, Cake Boss, Jersey Shore; Glam Fairy; The Real Housewives of New Jersey; Boardwalk Empire; House; Jersey Couture; and really, many more.

It’s there, in the dark, hanging on only by it’s fingertips to the side of New York for dear life, hoping for some glamor and fame to rub off. It’s girls named Dawn, with outrageously teased hair and large jewelry driving around in their Camaros looking for the latest from Hot Topic or whatever else is being hawked at the one of the countless malls in New Jersey. It’s wife-beater shirts being considered appropriate attire for most anywhere, especially the mall.

The State Car of New Jersey.

You have to understand: as soccer is the largest sport in the world, shopping is its equivalent in New Jersey. And as in any sport, there are different levels of proficiency and ability. There are amateurs and there are pros. The amateurs have only a couple of credit cards and none of them are of the gold/platinum/sapphire/unobtainium variety. No, those are for professionals only. (Do not try these shopping stunts at home. You WILL hurt yourself!)

Pros also have charge cards from all the individual stores they stalk. A hugely fat, bulging card wallet is a sure-fire sign of experience, success, (and impending credit default, but that’s for another entry). Shopping in New Jersey reaches Olympic dimensions and should probably have its own event in the summer games. Winter games though might be better because they would involve Christmas and its myriad sales. We’ll bring this up before the committee.

One of the Olympic size shopping stadiums in NJ.

So what do Jerseyans buy? Anything from Pier One for starters, but that’s probably a tie between them and IKEA; all discount electronic and/or appliance stores on major highways with large signs in the windows; and finally anything from a store in Paramus with a “Going Out Of Business” sign on it; don’t laugh, that accounts for at least 25% of all retail businesses in NJ. Incidentally, “Going Out Of Business” is also a major sport in NJ.

What do Jerseyans sound like? It’s a nasal wannabee NYC dialect that sounds like the speaker is chewing gum whether or not they are. Just watch an episode of “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” and you’ll get the idea. You”ll also get a preview of how Jerseyans decorate their homes. It’s like the visual equivalent of a nasal dialect that sounds like the speaker…. well, you get the idea.

New Jersey has so much to offer and so much to write about. Trust us to keep you in the loop for all things Jersey.