My name is Podcasting’s Rich Sigfrit. And I would like to thank you for… um. Huh. You see, you’ve provided so much entertainment over the years, I feel as if I should say thanks. But the problem is, every time I think of something I love and want to give thanks for, you take it away. Whether you blame a strike, non-marketability, or some other reason that, of course isn’t “your” fault, you take it away. You lash out and kill with a lack of concern that betrays your seeming hatred for quality. You refuse to take credit when one of your network children does the dirty deed (FOX, stay on that couch and don’t speak until I’m through) because you want to be loved. But Hollywood, your glory days are done. You see, the internet has taken you down. You once shone in the sunlight. You used to twinkle in the spotlight. But thanks to sites like TMZ (and I say “thanks” very loosely), your dirty underbelly has been shown. Your stars, which would once glitter all night, and sometimes even into the daylight, now are nothing more than shooting stars, burning out in a second’s time. Now we have to deal with bouts of insanity since your dependents earn more money than a 100 of us Morlocks earn in a lifetime. They stand around and humble-brag that playing pretend for a living is “hard,” or standing still for 3 hours and making a pouty face to receive the market value of my house is too mentally draining. Or Andy Dick.
“What happened to you, Hollywood?” I should ask. But right now, I’m too busy looking through my pockets to find the number for my mortgage broker (I may want to catch a matinee). I know it’s around here somewhere. I set it right next to the rat’s ass I was planning on giving, but sadly, I can’t find that either.
You may be wondering why I’m bringing this all up now. Well, I just heard that Community was shelved. This, to me, was the last straw. I was angry when you put Firefly into mothballs, annoyed after Remington Steele was stolen from us, pissed off when Brisco County Jr rode off into the sunset, and dismayed when the Tick went to fight that harsh mistress, retirement, with nary a kiss of syndication in sight. Never mind shows like the Unusuals, Pushing Daisies, Wonderfalls, etc. But with the putting-to-pasture (we all know what an unscheduled hiatus means) of Community, you’ve stricken one of the few (I can’t really think of any others at this moment) smart, quirky, unique, genius shows off the schedule. Now I realize that you, Hollywood, have become exactly what you produce: an immature, drug-crazed whore that cares not for those that care about you. You have become the Lindsey Lohan, the Chris Farley, and whichever of the Olsen twins was the immature, drug-crazed whore (lets just say both). You take the dreams of actors and comedians and writers and musicians and viewers, cut them with a razor, and snort them off the mirror that you are too ashamed to look at. You wipe your powdered face, smile, enjoy the magic that is contained in those dreams, and then move on to your next fix.
I fear for the state of three things in this world, this world I will leave to my children and my children’s children. The state of the Government, the state of education, and the state of our entertainment. The government will always be cyclical. A Republican fixes some things, breaks others. Then a Democrat fixes those things and breaks others. Education will be pursued by those who truly desire it. But entertainment, which has so much meaning to us, seems to have no meaning left to give.
Hollywood, from the most bottomest of my heart, I beg of you. Go do what you need to. And I hope to wake to a better world, where when I look at the front page of IMDB, I see that you’ve been found in a closet, hanged, and with Andy Dicks’ asphyxiated body still dangling from your naughty bits. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure they are minutes away from greenlighting Twilight the Television show to replace Psych, The Walking Dead, Happy Endings and 30 Rock. Which means my metaphorical sniper rifle is cocked, locked, and ready to rock, and that bell tower is playing my song.