Last night was a little different for me. I left the hidden door that doubles as a book shelf to my vault at the Hey Stupid HQ open so the hookers could get some (more or less) fresh air and set my ferrets out to run amok between the broken pieces of computers, video game systems, empty beer containers, and soiled women’s undergarments. They’ve got a thing for stealing panties and making a nest out of them. Truth be told, I’ve been trying to train them to steal and destroy E-Rokk’s RPG figurines. The big brown one that I call Mothra is getting to be the main pawn in my diabolical plan, but he resided to scaring the shit out of one rather petite hooker by nestling himself in her knee high vinyl boot. You should have heard her let loose in some language that may have been Cantonese when she went to put the fucker on and found a 6 lb. rat like thing scurrying up her bruised leg. Classic.
See, last night was the second airing of the revamped American Gladiators, and the American Gladiators is a big deal in the Hey Stupid camp. A very big deal. So big in fact, that I turned all 8 of my cellular devices off, affixed a drinking tube to my kegorator, and pulled my air mattress underneath my ceiling mounted television so I could lay there in a drunken stupor and give it my undivided attention. I missed the previous night’s episode due to my dealings with certain LA big-wigs and Hollywood degenerates over the holiday weeks having left me severely dehydrated and nursing a bottle of cheap vodka in the Hey Stupid men’s room. When I finally managed to raise myself to a more or less erect position and lurch back to my vault around six in the evening, I was filled with a vitality and passionate thirst for Schlitz in anticipation for the nights showing. E-Rokk promised me that it was going to be a great episode, “…even better than last nights, man…” were his exact words, and E-Rokk has never lied to me that I know of; so I was more than wet in the panty region with excitement.
Cue camera twelve, bring the house lights up, 3-2-1, and bring on the action.
The first 10 minutes of the show were a blur of bliss and one massive orgasm, as The Hulk brought all the little Hulkamaniacs the world over together in a sports extravaganza that would rival anything that ever happened in the Roman Coliseum. It was, in a word A-Fucking-Mazing. Not only was it better than the original show, with its far superior lighting and camera work, it was so fan-fucking-tastic that you can hardly compare the two.
Sure it has the same events, and is under the same title, and has all the same attributes and a similar format as the original, but it was revamped in such a way that it was made fresh and new, and not just another rehashed version of a marvelous early 90s television series. The new uniforms kept with the post modern apocalyptic gladiator theme, while the physiques of the contestants went away from over muscled roid freaks and ventured into more of an athletic/body builder vein. The characters were just that, characters, as opposed to a bunch of meat heads pulled out of the dingy corners of Gold’s Gym VIP room and given different names but the same roll to act out. This wasn’t well oiled men and women on testosterone supplements beating the shit out of unsuspecting commoners on national TV. This was a spectacular display of agility, sportsmanship, character acting, acrobatics, strength, and the sheer determination to win from both the Gladiators and the contestants.
Make no mistakes about it, the classic AG was a sight to behold, and will forever reverberate through the halls of television greatness with a thundering voice of supremacy over all. But the new AG is something more. It’s something different. It’s modern in a world where everything is just a played out rerun starring different actors with newer wardrobes. It’s fascinating in a world where we’ve seen it all before. It has Hulk mother fucking Hogan as a God damned announcer, while other sport shows have spindly armed ninnies in suits as commentators. It has the daughter of one of the greatest athletes of all times, while other sport shows resort to string-bikini clad anorexic crack head ring girls.
The new AG is ushering in the new area of sports television. It is setting the example of what happens when you take supreme athleticism, combine it with the amazing possibilities of computer generated graphics, mix it up in an arena with mind crushing lighting, capture it all with exciting camera angles and the newest and most high tech filming devices in the capable hands of people who know how to really freak you out with their creativity, and produce it all with a flair and style that proves outrageous and expensive marketing campaigns aren’t necessary when you’ve got what we’ve got with the new AG.
A new age of American sports television is upon us. Within the last two nights the lid was blown off a rather large can of mind blowing amazingness. Nothing will ever be the same and anything that makes an attempt to remain the same will be dwarfed by and cower in the shadow of gloriousness that is new American Gladiators