Finale Fever

As you may know, I don't have cable, and I only watch three prime-time TV shows: 24, The Office, and The Apprentice. Yeah, yeah, the plays I write may purportedly have some kind of cultural and sociopolitical significance, but, in terms of the kinds of entertainment I gravitate towards, cultural and sociopolitical significance doesn't cut the mustard, cheese, or any other culinary metaphor.

The sixth season of The Apprentice is over and done with, and the winner was some girl whose name, face, or personality I don't remember. The candidates all blended together after a while, especially since all of them seemed to TALK LOUD a lot. Donald Trump TALKS LOUD, and maybe they were subconsciously channeling him for posterity. So this girl won over the Asian guy who TALKS LOUD. I should be disappointed since I always want my Asian bruthas and sistahs to beat whitey, but his LOUD TALKING grated on my nerves more so than the others. It's probably because I don't like Asians who TALK LOUDER than I do. (And that's a difficult population to find.)

After I finish this entry, I'm going to watch the season finale of The Office. I am prepared to be shocked. Last season's finale made me guffaw, gasp, and then cry. I am expecting to do the same within the next hour, as I curl up underneath a blanket and clutch a Spider-Man 3 cup full of Diet Coke.

(By the way, my friends have always known me as a goody-two-shoes who doesn't drink, smoke, or have any vices—except for the compulsive cocksucking. But a few months ago, I started drinking soda and lots of it. I generally don't have much sugar at all, and, for some reason, I always equated soda with sugar. 'Cuz that's what soda is, basically. Sugar water. But then I suddenly one day made the connection that diet soda does not have any sugar in it at all. I guess I always knew that, but it never really clicked in my brain for some reason. No sugar, no calories, no nothing. Just chemical sweetener. So I've been religiously consuming soda, alternating between Diet Cherry Coke, Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke [when I can find it], and Cherry Coke Zero. My friends yell at me and say that I am pumping nasty chemicals into my body, to which I reply, "I'd rather be toxic than fat!")

On Monday, it's the two-hour season finale of 24. Those haters who have been complaining about the show since the beginning and nitpick every little goddamn thing can kiss my ass. If you hate it so much, stop watching! Pop in your Saved by the Bell DVD, and shut the fuck up.

—Reporting From Glendale, California

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