Make like Siamese twins and split… and then one of you die

You don’t see me.
I’m not here.
I’m supposed to be watching Family Guy, because Paco won’t talk to me tomorrow if I don’t.
See, I do this weird thing.
I buy DVDs of my favorite shows, right, but I limit my intake on them.
Couple years ago, I picked up a bootleg copy of MTV’s The State on VHS 4th generation, stolen from Sam who laid down sixty bucks on it from eBay, taped it and made a 5th generation for myself.
I watched it all in one ridiculous evening of hilarity.
When I woke up the next morning, staggering around, eyes red, wondering what on God’s green earth I did last night, I saw the tape at its end in my VCR and I realized the horrible mistake I had made.
There is no Morning After Pill for hilarity, my friends.
I blew my load on one night of funny, and all that was left was… well, watching it over and over again, until I no longer spoke in sentences that were my own, but rather, craftily manipulated references to The State that generally pissed everyone that wasn’t me and Sam off.
But since then, I’ve been wary. I’ve had both Mr Show DVDs since it came out, and I still haven’t watched all the episodes. This way, I know I have something to look forward to.
I also have this ritual that Felicia is going to have to get used to.
Everyday for lunch, I make myself a Denver Sandwich or some Hot Dogs, grab some Cheetos, and watch an episode of a completely legally downloaded TV show on my computer.
It cannot be just any TV show. It can either be Family Guy, Friends, or Dr Katz. I just can’t eat food to anything else.
Well, if you want to get technical, I can’t eat food to THEM either, because I end up spitting it all over my computer in laughter. But it’s worth it.
Plus, on keyboard cleaning day, I find enough to feed the homeless.
Anyway, there aren’t that many episodes of Family Guy, so I quickly exhausted my resources in college, when I began this ritual. We at the house in college also had a friend named Damon who liked to drop in every couple weeks, and when the conversation lulled, a quick double click on that fateful Family Guy folder livened up the party.
Yes, sometimes we clicked on my folder inconspicuously called Not Porn to see some hilarious antics in the world of Adult Cinema, but mostly it was Family Guy.
I soon became obsessed. I had seen all the episodes I legally downloaded in that one hilarity crazed day of downloading, and sought more. I found episode guides, websites, FTP links, and soon my collection was complete.
Or so I thought.
Because you see, my computer sucks, and sometimes Windows Media likes to just explode for no reason.
As such, some of the episodes would start out buggy, and I’d just abandon it and open a new one, then open the buggy one later, when my computer wasn’t so tempermental.
I tell you all this, because one episode slipped through the cracks. I thought I had seen them all, but one just kept being buggy, and it took me a year to realize I’d never seen it.
I tried to download it, but it’s a rare one, and it was banned from TV.
Episode 350, When You Wish Upon A Weinstein.
I couldn’t find it anywhere, and it wasn’t aNOTHER year later until the 3rd season DVD came out.
That day finally came, and clutching the box in my hands I could hardly believe it.
I walked through Walmart like a King among men, half wanting to stop in the television section and just whip it out and watch it right there.
But I passed by Walmart’s food court, and I got a whiff of bacon.
“I’m feeling mopey today, bacon!”
“Bacon bacon bacon, I’m making the move on YOOOOU. You’re BACON!!!!!!”
The State!
It was so easy! In twenty short minutes, the episode to which I’d looked forward for so long would be over. I’d’ve laughed at every joke. I’d never be able to hear them fresh and for the first time again! How could life possibly ever get any better after those short twenty minutes?!?!
And you guys wonder how I’m still a virgin.
So the DVD has sat in my room. Cartoon Network picked it up and has since shown the forbidden episode, but, so I hear, some stuff was still censored.
Paco, who I believe was introduced to the magic of Family Guy one day bored in my room after work, has shared many a chuckle in passing at work, just shouting out random quotes at each other.
For example, in honor of Doctor Martin Luther King Jr day, I recited a bit from the Blacky Weather Forecast (Iss gon’ RAIN!).
Now, Sixth Sense was ruined for me by an obnoxious former roommate, and I have had the habit of having things ruined for me. I seem to walk into rooms right when someone exclaims how obvious the end to the Crying Game was. I rented the Mothman Prophesies, popped in the tape, and it had been wound to the EXACT moment that the whole movie switches around to the trick ending. The list goes on and on.
Now, Paco saw the When You Wish Upon a Weinstein episode when it aired on Cartoon Network, and has been just itching to tell me about it, even threating to tell me how funny William Shatner is, a joke which I’m sure I’ll soon get and never be able to laugh at again.
I told him I’d watch it last night, but when he questioned me today (he wasn’t supposed to WORK today), I bashfully admitted I’d simply written scathing metaphors alienating readers on my website all night, and had no time to devote to truth and laughter.
Angrily, he lunged toward me with a steak knife, proclaiming he was gonna cut me so bad, I was gonna… I was gonna wish he hadn’t cut me so bad.
He’s Puerto Rican, you know, and he’s good with a blade, so I promised I’d see it tonight.
He saw through my lie, and said that, even though we’d planned to go to the All You Can Eat Buffalo Wing Buffet the next day, if I didn’t see the episode tonight, I was dead to him.
He said the next line I spoke to him had to be a line from the episode, or… you know, the blade and the cutting, and the hey hey hey.
And yet, here it is. 4 AM. I’m tired. I need to be up to mail my packages to my eBay winners. Need to mentally prepare for the smorgasboard of delciousocity at Quaker Steak and Lube, and I am in no mood MENTALLY to watch this episode.
I need to be at the top of my game. I need to be awake, all my funny pores open and receptive. I can’t be a slobby sloth wrapped in a blanket, eyes half open, waiting for dreamland, where I don’t work at Eat N Park, and I don’t live with my parents, and I’m not threatened by Vin Diesel look-alike Puerto Ricans who are my only outlet for sanity in my personal wage hell.
Well, it’s now or never.
PlayStation 2, the fate lies in your hands.
You’ve been awfully picky lately, telling me I have a Disk Read Error, when the only error is that you were manufactured by drunken hobos, and stop playing random DVDs whenever you damn well feel like it.
But sometimes you work, and if it is my time, I shall watch the elusive episode.
And Paco, I swear to God, if the end is a trick switcheroo contingent on not expecting to see William Shatner, I swear I will cut you SO BAD…

Suck me, beautiful.

I can’t write an entry right now, and I’ll tell you why. First, it’s because I have to wake up early and …