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R.I.P. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia

admin September 19, 2009


Last night after a brutal day of eight hours of radio (actual time on air: 0 minutes. I rule) followed by three hours of locksmithing (as an aside, the house I was locksmithing in sheltered a fat lad of the age of six or so that lived with his mother. He had just finished his dinner, but, within 20 minutes was pestering her for multiple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “Please Mommy, more! I’m hungry!” he protested. She gently reminded him “You just ate. If you wait a few minutes, you’ll feel full.” This wasn’t good enough for Augustus Gloop, though. augustusResize“No, Mommy! I’m hungry NOW!” And, of course, the single mother, possibly compensating for the fact that she wasn’t depraved enough in the sack to keep daddy around, relented and gave in to Li’l Jabba. The whole time I wanted to kick this tubby turd in his fat gut and scream “Kid, in about 10 years, there’s something else you’ll really, really want to be eating, and your little bitch tits with their puffly Snow Cap nipples won’t be helping you to do it.” The whole scene bothered me because it might as well have been a flashback to the Papageorgiou household circa 1987. I swear to Christ, if I ever have kids, I’m keeping those bastards Dachau thin. End aside.)

During my ride home, I was thinking about one thing: the season premiere of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” would be starting right as I walked in the door (well, two things: Always Sunny and how badly I wished I had a time machine to force First Grade Me onto a diet). For those of you not aware of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” it is an off-color comedy about four loser friends that really don’t work, achieve, love, live or do much of anything other than scheme, hate and try to fuck over anyone they can to advance their own selfish agendas. It’s spiced up with tons of (comical) racism, sexism and bigotry of all other varieties. It’s like someone ran a tape recorder in my car after an Asian woman cut me off in traffic and made a show based upon the words I screamed out. For years now, Always Sunny has been a personal delight that I would force my friends to watch over and over with me on DVD. Everyone I knew grew to adore the show, in no small part to my pathetic evangelizing, and it seemed to get better and better each season. That is, until last year.

I loved these guys...THE FIRST SEVENTEEN TIMES AROUND!
I loved these guys...THE FIRST SEVENTEEN TIMES AROUND!
Have you ever had that moment in a relationship where you realized that, for whatever reason, things had cooled off? Sure, you’re still having sex and she’s still saying it’s not that small and keeping the crying to a minimum afterward..but you can tell it’s not the same. That’s what happened with Always Sunny last season. Gone were the brilliant plot lines (a personal favorite from previous years involved the characters attempting to avoid work by abusing crack in order to get on welfare. Addiction and hijinks ensue.) The show still had its moments, but it had grown too rote and too self-referential. The bizarre characters that populated earlier seasons for one or two episodes were being shoved in our face over and over as if the writers had mined their every good idea and were now milking them for all they were worth. Of course I was still watching every episode multiple times, but let’s call a spade a spade and acknowledge that’s more a commentary on the state of my social life than the quality of the show. I had mentally moved on with my viewing life until I caught a preview for the new season of Always Sunny that featured a cat running around a hardwood surface with mittens on all four paws. Who the hell can say no to that? So, much like I would be with that girlfriend who cools off to you, goes out and bangs a new guy then calls you months later after he dumps her and says she misses you, I was willing to give Always Sunny another shot.

I’m not going to bore you with the details of the abortion I witnessed last night from 9 to 9:30 pm, but, suffice to say, I was forced to watch the season premiere of “The Office” twice just to wash the taste out of my mouth. I don’t know why I feel so personally betrayed by “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” jumping the shark, but I do. It was MY show, dammit! And now it’s mocking me, a grotesque caricature of all that it once was, like a beautiful woman whose figure goes straight to Shitsville after having her firstborn. Sure, I still have more than enough to keep me busy: “Sons of Anarchy,” “House,” college and pro football. Not to mention an old favorite I cleverly refer to as “internet pornography.” But I wanted my Sunny to be fresh and new and beautiful once more. Is that too much to ask?
Trying to remember how to be funny.
Trying to remember how to be funny.

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