Jill (wanderingrogue) wrote,

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WanderingRogue: Watching Cavemen so you don't have to.

I knew that Cavemen TV show would be bad, but I never thought it could be that bad. That was painful. I mean like hemorrhoid painful. The kind of painful where all you can do is lie there and long for the sweet, merciful embrace of death. It's the kind of pain that could rouse Terri Schiavo out of her persistent vegetative state, stagger to her feet, and limp around looking for a gun*.

To give you an idea of how bad it was, Dirty Jobs was featuring an episode in which Mike Rowe was helping exterminators clear out a massive insect infestation at a church. I found that less uncomfortable to watch.

The hell of it was, I actually liked the Geico cavemen in the commercials. I thought the commercials were amusing (I'm both easily amused and distracted). But even I knew that such a thinly running premise wasn't going to work in prime time. In fact, I think the only people who weren't aware of that fact were the people who put that piece of unmitigated excrement on the air.

Now I have to go nip off and shoot myself, because I just wrote a goddamned journal entry about fucking Cavemen.

Trust me, if you ever feel the need to watch Cavemen, do yourself a favor and just go and snort meth out of the ass crack of Tom Cruise instead. At least that way, when you wake up with blood shot eyes, a parched throat, a sore anus, and L. Ron Hubbard's phone number carved into your forehead, you can get unsteadily to your feet, go to your mirror, look into your own DNA-encrusted face, and say in a loud, steady voice: "Well, I didn't watch Cavemen last night! Now, off to find a cup of coffee and a moist wash cloth." And you could walk away with a jaunty spring in your step.

*What? Too soon? I guarantee she's beyond caring.**

**I'm writing this while in the final stages of almost terminal exhaustion, so if I cross the line, please feel free to use on me the riding crop and cat 'o nine tails hung within easy reach next to the door for your convenience.
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