Hold on to your butts, kids! Here comes another installment of...The Underpants Tablecloth-Caped Avenger!
Disguised as my nebbish alter ego, Johan Awesome, I patrolled an enclave of Kensington. Ol’ Black Betty, the Six-Speed Bicycle of Wonder and Truth, jolted with nerves. I quieted her, petting her handlebars and murmuring, “Shhh... Easy, girl, easy. I know we’re in strange territory, but they need us here. Shhh.”
Suddenly! Hark! From a mansion lot, a woman cried out for help!
A rose bush had snagged her khaki shorts, obviously an evil rosebush bent on eating her from the middle and working its way outward, as though she were a delicious cream-filled donut.
“I’ll save you, Madam!”
Ol’ Black Betty bucked, dug in her rear tire, and rocketed us up the driveway of doom. At the top of the drive, Black Betty fearlessly pitched me over her handlebars and I landed directly in the gaping mouth of the beast.
“Take that! Hiii-ya!” My karate chop hand made quick work of the snag.
Blushing, the rescued damsel gushed at my heroism and sacrifice: “What are you doing, weirdo?”
“T’was nothing, ma’am. You see, as the Underpants Tablecloth...” But, wait. I wasn’t in costume. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I was just getting on my normal, not-super-powered, everyday bicycle and leaving.”
“Good. My husband, Mayor Jerry Sanders, would not appreciate this intrusion.”
So that was it! She was a brainwashed captive of my arch nemesis. Without further endangering our very lives, I mounted Ol’ Black Betty, the Bicycle of Fantasticness and Honor, and sped from the scene.
Yes, dear reader, I worried about her safety, trapped in that mansion of terror, but I planned to return later in my Underpants and Tablecloth of Glory to break her from her spell and marry her and possibly “do it” on the mayor’s lawn.
That night, Blackie and I circled the Mayor of Idiocy and Evil’s street, waiting to strike, seeking opportunity to liberate the maiden from her bonds. Inside, the woman sat with her tormentor in front of the TV, watching America’s Biggest Moron. I sensed restlessness.
Ol’ Black Betty and I circled, plotting our daring incursion.
Just then, a police cruiser rolled up and the capable officer politely took over the mop-up job.
“Get out of here, retard. We told you to leave the mayor alone. And put some pants on.”
“Ha ha!” I whipped my hand in the air as Blackie reared up. “Triumph! Triumph!”
WHAT I WILL AND WON'T WATCH THIS WEEK
Thursday, May 8
The Price is Right
CBS 10:00 a.m.
Somewhere in New Delhi there’s an Indian Bob Barker. He hosted the knockoff Who Will Make This Price the Right One? for 40 years and got replaced by a failed comedian. He reclines, snacking on the finest Indian fare of dirt and face cream, and he mutters to himself, “That tubby s.o.b. wouldn’t know the right price if Ganesh himself handed it out.”
ABC 8:00 p.m.
This poor girl will be typecast as Ugly Betty her whole life. When she’s 35, she’ll stand outside of a 99 Cent store and take her glasses off and say, “See, I’m really pretty. It was all a clever ruse.” The shop owner will give her a jelly flip-flop from the lost-and-found box if she puts her glasses on and goes home. Holding her flip-flop high, she’ll shout, “I’m a swan! A SWAN!”
Friday, May 9
Man of the House (2005)
FOX 8:00 p.m.
Tommy Lee Jones plays a Texas Ranger protecting a house of cheerleaders with Cedric the Entertainer? What the...? Are you joking? I’ve never heard of this, and thank my lucky stars and garters I haven’t. As Tommy Lee Jones accepts his Lifetime Achievement Oscar, the crowd will glance knowingly to each other and nod as if to say, “We all remember that punch bowl of rubber dog turds, but don’t say it. Nobody say it.”
Now on PBS
PBS 8:30 p.m.
Way to compete, PBS. They’ve given up, but I don’t blame them. You could call this Monkey Ninjas in Fringed Evel Knievel Jackets on Motorcycles, AFIRE, and Punching Old Ladies in the Face and I still wouldn’t watch. I’d know it was PBS trickery and really a special on retired UC Berkeley literature professors who build matchstick ships in bottles.
Saturday, May 10
ABC 9:00 p.m.
USA channel is playing Raiders of the Lost Ark and this is what ABC offers: Snow Dogs. Hero to the special-needs community, Cuba Gooding Jr., and “Thong Song” artiste and diacritical-mark-abuser, Sisqó, team up to race sleds across Alaska. Hmm... Raiders of the Lost Ark or Snow Dogs? Raiders? Snow Dogs? Just as the way I choose the exact wrong line at the grocery store, I’ll probably end up watching Snow Dogs.
Sunday, May 11
Jon and Kate Plus 8
TLC 9:00 p.m.
Damn, this show is hilarious. The woman who treated her birth canal as if it were a clown car continually harangues her imprisoned husband. “Isn’t it special, honey? Isn’t it special that we have 9,000 gaping mouths to feed? It’s truly a miracle.” Meanwhile he stares into the camera, points to his coffee and mouths, “Cyanide. Please. Anyone. Cyanide.”
FOX News 9:00 p.m.
In high school, Ollie’s America slapped the books from the hands of Hannity’s America. Hannity’s America adjusted its glasses and yelled, “Thanks a lot. My retainer’s in that Trapper Keeper. If it’s broke, your mom’s gonna pay for it.” And Ollie’s America said, “Your mom paid for it last night.”
Monday, May 12
Best Damn 2006 Hooter’s Pageant
FOX Sports 9:00 p.m.
At a party of all the other TV shows, this one tries to cartwheel and keeps landing on the beanbag chair and yelling, “Oh, I used to be able to do it. I’m so drunk right now, though. I am wasted. And I do mean wasted. I’m looking in your direction, Alec Baldwin. I’m so wasted. Pay attention to me, Alec Baldwin!”
Tuesday, May 13
Women’s Murder Club
ABC 10:00 p.m.
The first rule of Women’s Murder Club is that you do not eat the cucumber sandwiches. Cindy got food poisoning from the cucumber sandwiches at Women’s Murder Club. The caterer keeps bringing them, and we tell her, “Consuela, stop bringing the cucumber sandwiches to Women’s Murder Club,” but she no habla ingles. The second rule of Women’s Murder Club...
Wednesday, May 14
Trick My Truck: Ultimate Tailgating Edition
CMT 10:00 p.m.
At the CMT Annual Spelling Bee, every year the first and last word is “mayonnaise.” Hundreds of contestants. Six years running. It’s a stumper, boy. A stumper.