TV Recap! Trump Trumpy Trumpety Trumpery

Welcome back, dear TV Recap! observers! And I mean welcome back to me! It’s been a long time since I’ve managed to get off the couch and plug my laptop back in to write another TV Recap column. I have to admit, I’ve been depressed ever since the election—the shock of that night immediately disrupted my diurnal rhythms and unbalanced my chakra(s) (I’m not sure how many I have now). However, with the help of an incense tray, a blow-torch, and some Chinese-made glow sticks, I’ve managed to restore my usual 3 am to 12 pm sleeping pattern and, on occasion, pleasurably massage my chakra(s). Needless to say, I don’t believe Belvina should have been elected Treasurer of our Steak & Hams Co-op.

Of course, I’m also shocked by what’s happened to television since the last time I turned the volume down a little bit to write about what I’m watching. First, with everything on Netflix, I can’t figure out how to watch any TV. Do you have to turn off your second TV for it to work? If you have any advice, please email me at Second, all the superhero series seem to have decided to become nothing but crossovers, which means that the Flash and Supergirl now have very ill-fitting costumes.

Worst of all, it appears that all the comedy & variety shows have given up original writing to simply replay excerpts of our new President ad nauseam (“to the vomit of the sea”). Samantha Bee doesn’t even appear on her own show anymore—she only provides voiceover that sounds like angry, tiny Morgan Freeman. John Stewart cared so little that he had facial surgery to make himself more handsome/biracial. I can’t even watch John Oliver, because I don’t understand his weird Irish-Brazilian accent. Thank goodness for Jimmy Fallon, though.

At least Fallon hasn’t changed.

Now, I understand the media’s predicament. When my first pony blog wasn’t going well, owing to an annoying toxic coal spill dominating the local news, I made a deal with the North Carolina GOP to change it into an organ for Russian-written fake pony news. It didn’t make quite the impact I hoped it would, but it did prevent me from ever leaving the country again, as well as putting me on the short-list for Secretary of Agriculture.

And it’s hard to blame the media when Trump makes so many weird faces. It’s the secret of his success, in fact. If he looked handsome or had normal hair or less of that bubble thing underneath frog chins, his strange behavior would have long ago doomed him to the motivational speaking circuit. Now, of course, he’s got everyone paying attention to his every word, and even people who aren’t paying attention to his every word are paying attention to his every other word, because that’s the number of his words that make any sense. So I understand that the media has little choice here—if I had enjoyed this media environment with my second pony blog, you better believe I would have photoshopped his face onto ponies A LOT.

Much more expressive than a pony.

Unfortunately, all this coverage of Trump has ruined life for the majority of us who prefer to be willfully ignorant. What am I supposed to do when Lady Gaga doesn’t offend people by being political at a non-political sporting event? Be outraged? How am I supposed to react when Shep Smith’s jaw skitters in disbelief across the glass floor of Fox News? Laugh heartily? How can I enjoy the Oscars when, the day before, Trump deports my cleaning lady? Stand up? There is a huge amount of trash in front of my TV!

The key, I’m finding, is binge-watching. I didn’t realize this was a thing until recently, when I tried to google a name for my habit of eating three or four jars of pickled tuna-spam (my winter hobby) by scooping them up with vienna sausages and, when that fails and makes artful stains on my bosom, edible utensils. Disappointed that binge-watching is now commonly accepted to mean watching a bunch of episodes or even an entire season or series all at once, and then dying because you’ve been sitting for thirty-three hours straight, I stood up very, very slowly to get feeling back in my toes. Afterwards, I picked out several series I’ve been meaning to get to, such as Carl Sagan’s mid-80s Cosmos, Disney’s ABC’s Muppet’s Marvel Studios’ ESPN’s The Bachelor, and The Breaking Dead. Having accidentally started Netflix on both of my full-size living room TVs (please still do email me how I can get it on my living room TVs of 42’’ and smaller), I was soon lost in a wonderful world where there was absolutely no mention of Trump, no Sean Spicer self-parodies, and no Russians asking me to gaslight a prominent pony blogs association executive.

I loved him in The Heat with Sandra Bullock.

However, I confess to being bewildered at the end of this chain of events—so much so that I’ve decided that I cannot ignore politics any longer. Instead, I am going to be more active in seeking out information that confirms my existing biases, which are that they’re all crooked, so who cares? That way, I can go back to the thing I love the most—watching TV and trolling Belvina with pictures of what could be Jesus on my shirt.

Until next time, dear TV Recap!ers! I may finally have a write-up of the Olympics I can share with you.

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