Jamestown: Part 4
Last time we checked in with America's newest media darlings, they were discussing Chris Hanson while crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Now they turn their (vapid, vacant) minds to time travel.
Enjoy. Or, if you're my father, don't.
I've seen no comments so far, so if your dad mentions this, we haven't shared notes or anything:
"I wish that I was in Back To the Future, so I could go back to before I watched this and tell my past self that his time would be better spent trolling ebay." Or something along those lines.
In the sound department, "Where is this fucking colony?" comes out in my brain as, "What is this fucking biscolity?"
drjosh
Not so long ago I was driving somewhere with my wife— the destination isn't important—when I realized that we no longer seemed to really listen to each other. After 33 years of marriage, we've slipped into our solitary shells and don't really hear what the other is saying anymore. When we speak it is more often monolog than dialog. This realization saddened me. I recalled when we were young and all that I wanted in the world was in her eyes and my heart was heavy. Then I saw another scintillating episode of this exercise in ennui and I realize how lucky I am to at least have a memory of a conversation with another human being. The two dramatis personae of this turgid nightmare have in their brief years already reached a level of verbal non-communication not seen since man's forefathers first crawled from the primordial ooze. They remind me of two dogs in the pound, yapping away, begging to be gassed. Does anyone remember Andy Kaufmann? For those of you too young to remember, he a was performance artist in the 70s who loved to provoke his audience by doing pointless, unfunny, boring things until they go up and left. I think he wrote the screenplay for this fiasco. Since it lacks plot, storyline, or characters, I eventually began to look for hidden messages. I noticed the driver is wearing a soccer jersey and sunglasses and spouting some sophmoric philosophic drivel about time being a series of moments; you know, the kind of deep thought most of us got passed when we turned nine. My interpretation: He's begging for kick in the balls yet he is blind to his fate. The female lead opted to remain off camera so we wouldn't miss a second of this belly flop into depths of profound thought. I imagine she was staring blanky at the passing landscape trying to find Waldo. Or maybe she was ready to pose the next puzzler for our young Satre, something like: If a tree falls in the forest and there's nobody there does it make a sound? Or: If Brittany and Paris had been born twins, who'd get Justin and who'd end up with Kevin? Maybe they'll cover that in the next episode; a better idea would be to cover the lens. They may, however, have come up with the most brilliant marketing idea of this new century: The Pay-Not-To-View event. Whatever the price, sign me up.
Thank god you are wearing your seatbelt!
When you finally get to Jamestown, do NOT drink the kool-aid. DO NOT drink the kool-aid.
Sadly, I fear that Mrs. Madge's Jonestown/Jamestown reference will be lost on a lot of people, but it is nevertheless brilliant.
I always wanted to be a McInerny.