June 11, 2009; Let's see what's on

The white squirrel in the tree outside my place...I wonder if it's an omen

One of the upsides of living with the Mooks is that at the end of the day they settle down to watch TV and I get to cuddle.

But to every upside there is a downside and with these two it's a lot of the crap they watch and which, of course, I have to glance at between naps.

They watch a lot of news—in French, in English, Canadian, British and American—and it seems, from all the shit coming down on the world, that the Mooks—as a species—are finally paying the piper. What does get tedious is that there is so much goddam news about Obama. Now look, if I could trust this guy I would like him. But you can't trust him and, no!, it's not because he's the anti-Christ, it's because he's a Democrat and you know what happens when a Dem is a leader...all the mini-Dems who want to be the next president keep getting in the way and fucking up. Watch. You'll see.

Of the things the Mooks watch which are halfway-decent there's this great cop show called Southland. I know Mook A watches it to see if Ben Mackenzie is going to take his shirt off, but I like it for the fucked-up dog who used to be a drug sniffer. Hi-larious.

But here's the thing...if it was just the news and such, I could sleep through most of it. But Mook A likes his musicals. After opera there is no more retarded form of Mook expression than musicals. When it's good, it's shit but when it's bad, it's shit on toast. I was submitted to Phantom of the Opera the other night which the Mook had gotten at the library. Even free it was no deal. A more redolent, mushy piece of feces was never seen floating in the canals of Venice.

It was so tedious I found myself rewriting the lyrics.

The Phaaaaaaaaaaantom of the opera

Is heeeeeeeeere

Inside your ass.

or

Angel of music

Sit on my face

You'll see it's a

Giggle

Angel of music

Sit on my face

Do it and then

Wiggle.

It helped pass the time between the murders in the fucking thing. I'm pretty sure the Mook only watched it because he kept hoping the Phantom would take off his shirt instead of his mask. I kept watching cause I wanted to see the soprano get her throat slit so that all that fucking trilling would finally stop.

I don't know what it is about queers and musicals and opera. Mook A can sing a vast repertory of show tunes and arias but somehow always comes back to one: I Feel Pretty. 

Gayer than that and you die.