I Like to Watch

June 11, 2006 | Deadwood like me
Welcome, tender cocksuckers and the like, to this weekly fucking missive, concocted by the foul and narrow mind of an ink-stained wretch who dreams up rambling reports for finks, loafers and sad, sallow fucks, so that they might stay abreast of the latest televised entertainments, whilst perhaps saving themselves the time and concerted fucking effort of attending to such base and poorly conceived amusements themselves. That's right, my jaw is set with impatience and disgust so yours need not be!

If you require resupply and respite, you stopped at the right fucking place. However, if you're here to stir up trouble or whine about my disregard for some of the precious entertainments you happen to fancy, maybe you don't value keeping your fucking guts inside your belly enough. I won't stand for those who trumpet my intentions or herd me like a steer or question my cleanin' up a little yella for my goddamn efforts. I've acted on your commission all along, keeping my eyes on whatever frivolous fucking tripe I figured you might relish whilst you pursued your preferred activities, and I'm mighty grateful for your fucking attentions. But I beg you to remember, them that butt into other people's business and make the business of others their own are meddling no-good cocksuckers. I can see to my job the way I'm goddamned able, and that's all I can goddamned do. The gist is, fuck yourself.

Dead in the water
If I'm feeling less than my full fucking self, you can blame the cocksuckers at HBO for recent actions so egregious, they'd give any reasonable man or woman cause to take up arms against them.

For those who've been hunkering down in some hidey hole for the past month or so, let me present the most recent fucking developments. It seems that, despite the continued assertions by "Deadwood" creator David Milch that he envisioned a tale told in four parts (the third part begins at 9 p.m. Sunday night on HBO), despite the fact that said show could be currently described as the finest, most notable feather in those big-city HBO cocksuckers' hats, despite the general fucking lack of quality televised entertainments, "Big Love" aside, coming down the pike from HBO since "Six Feet Under" left the air and "The Sopranos" slowed to a crawl, those society people from New York City, who live with their heads up their asses anyway, decided not to renew "Deadwood" for a fourth fucking season. Gratuitous, hurtful, unnecessary! Lamentable, injurious, downright unthinkable! Shame the fuck on you!

It strains credulity. And then, on Monday, the latest news came off the wires that HBO and Milch have reached an agreement to replace the fourth season of "Deadwood" with two two-hour movies instead. As pleased as some may be that the show won't unceremoniously disappear after what looks to be a very promising third season, I personally am not having any of it. I'd punch those cocksuckers in the balls before I'd cup 'em for comfort, them that would pickle their pricks in the cunt-brine of frivolities like "Entourage," or moderately intriguing yet disturbingly costly excesses like "Rome," concocted with half the wit and genius that Mr. Milch might bring to the project, armed with half a pint of whiskey in his belly. You do recall that Milch originally intended to pen a tale of ancient Rome, but since the cocksuckers at HBO already had such a tale in the works, our good man refocused his efforts on the old West, much to our benefit. Ironically, HBO's often lethargic "Rome" has emptied the coffers at $85 million for one damn season like some high-priced piece of pussy with an opium habit and, no longer strong in gold, those half-witted rats at HBO turned around and gave "Deadwood" short shrift.

Next page: Are you content to grab ankle while those big-city cocksuckers have their way with you?