Hello. My favorite show in the whole wide world is on. Again. Another re-run. I love re-runs. I’m being facetious of course when I say that it’s my favorite. And right now I’m close, very close, to gaining the ultimate satisfaction trip after I rip the TV out of the fucking wall and throw it through somebody’s car window.
It will be like that scene from Office Space when they beat up the fax machine with baseball bats in a field, only this scene will feature an Adidas shoe, and maybe a rock, and a TV, and I just want to see Ray Barone’s digital face behind a piece of shattered glass for once. Do they make TV screens out of glass? Or plastic? I don’t care.
Whatever they use, it better sound cool when I break it.
There’s no way people watch shittiness of this magnitude. This…show…should be aired on TV’s in terrorist detention camp cells. You know what? Speaking of, I’d rather get waterboarded with chocolate milk than have to sit here and listen to this whiny d-bag and his bitchy wife argue about sex.
Wait, did I see this episode? The one where Ray and what’s-her-face are arguing about sex?
Bitchy Wife: No Ray. Not tonight. I’m tired.
Raymond: But you’re always tired!
Bitchy Wife: Oh stop whining, Ray.
Raymond: But there was that one time when I did that favor. For you! Remember that favor?
Bitchy Wife: Ray, putting the toilet seat down isn’t a favor.
Raymond: Yeah, yeaaaahh. Remember that time? When I did that? I did that for yooou. Yeah, see?
Somebody should bring that show back long enough to fire the writers.
You have 40 seconds to live, Toshiba.