Where intelligence gives way to madness.
One of my favorite Sunday activities, for quite some years now, has been to throw my hungover self face first onto my couch and weather the storm with a day full of movies. Long ago I learned that I couldn’t possibly be alone in this indulgence since networks like USA, TNT, and FX dedicate Sundays almost exclusively to movies. USA and TNT are the kids of the rich parents on the block getting to open flicks like Gladiator, The Patriot, and National Treasure on Christmas. You know, high budget movies that didn’t disappoint.
FX pretty much decided that hilarious knockoff Christmas gifts were going to be just as good for their coal deserving bastards. Sure, the selections they went with had high budgets, but holy shit did those movies bomb miserably. It’s not that they are cheap or frugal, seriously off brand cereal tastes the same, FX just decided to willingly subject the world to these atrocities purely as some cruel joke.
Kids, come in here. We have a surprise for you.
Now I’ve long ago accepted this as part of my Sunday relationship with FX, because even though the lineup includes cinematic abortions like League of Extraordinary Gentleman, The Matrix Reloaded, and The Day After Tomorrow, at least you could tell they were aiming for the hungover dude demographic. It’s like they went into a room and decided that as long as everything was being blown up and a girl got caught out in the rain that it would be enough dude shit to declare the mission accomplished.
Ghost Rider it is, now break out the blow.
I can’t be too mad at them because they got it right. I don’t want to spend Sunday attempting to use brain power to try and solve any movie mysteries, I just want to see aliens blow up buildings. For all the flaws I’ve mentioned, it’s pretty perfect for a Sunday. FX is what a channel would look like if Michael Bay was allowed exclusive rights to direct all movies. It has all of the three chief components to a Michael Bay movie: gaping plot holes, poorly acted lead roles, and everything is as flammable as Alec Baldwin’s New Year’s Eve Party.
Damn it Bay, that was my breakfast.
So I found myself in my normal routine a few weeks ago and as fate would have it I drifted off for a little while at the end of a movie. When I awoke, I quickly became disoriented as to why Channing Tatum was on my screen. I quickly scrambled to my remote to check to make sure my dickhead roommate had not switched the channel to Oxygen while I was asleep.
To my horror, I was still on FX. What in the fuck was Dear John doing on FX? Why FX? Is this because I spent all last Sunday with Spike?!? Band of Brothers was on! If FX were a vengeful girlfriend, she would be the one who shaves my eyebrows in my sleep and draws dicks on my forehead before work. Low blow, vengeful girlfriend personification of FX.
He will regret the day he crossed me.
The entire foundation I had built my non-NFL Sundays on was crumbling down around me. There were no explosions or corny one liners in this. I couldn’t think straight. I started thinking the impossible, I considered being productive. I got up and threw some laundry into the washer and started cleaning the bathroom. I couldn’t shake the horror of waking up to Channing Tatum interrupting dude time in my man cave. I put another load of laundry in and went for a run to try and clear my head.
I still felt dirty about what I had seen, so I took a shower in my freshly cleaned bathroom and followed up that by grilling dinner. I was productive in every extent of the word, and what’s worse I had officially done the unthinkable on a Sunday, I had gone outside.
What the shit is that thing?
Thanks a lot FX, you ruined a perfectly good Sunday because of your bullshit programming. Get off your high horse and quit driving me to being productive you bastard.