UPN Review
posted in Word of Reason |
Now that UPN and the WB are joining forces to take over the universe, I figured I better rush this article off the backburner and put it on your plate while it’s still hot.
If there is one solitary network that consistently poops out forgettable storylines and bush-league acting more than any other network it has got to be UPN. A case could be made for the WB in light of its line up of similarly detestable programming, but every young to elderly man knows deep within his loins that there’s no escaping the virginal blooming youth of Seventh Heaven. With redundant black comedies being beaten out like hard salami at a pork factory and fearless young dramas chaffing their way out of the barren UPN womb, it is no wonder the broadcasting company holds steady as the Stephanie Tanner of the network television family.
OK. Let’s kick things off here. Shining with all the splendor of rat shit in a dungeon, rap afterthought Eve headlines UPN’s lackluster lineup with her self-titled program. I was able to stomach only one installment of the series for reasons of impending mental retardation, however in this episode, which is most likely a befitting representation of chronicles to come, Eve was in quite the pickle. Shelly meets the man of her dreams. Oh yea, the name of Eve’s character is Shelly even though the name of the program is Eve. Mind numbing. Shelly, although warned about her new boo’s womanizing ways, joins him for dinner. Things go from flirting to heavy petting to Shelly running out on a delicious dinner and an equally delicious chocolate brother. This in itself is blatant disregard for a fundamental rule of sitcoms to maintain consistency with reality, as we are all aware Eve would have ridden that shit like a luxury liner in the Perfect Storm. In what could be described as a turn of events more predictable than a vote from Trent Lott, Eve returns to confess she was dogged in a past relationship and just wants to take things slow. Needless to say, that will be the only time I entertain an evening with Eve, unless I fulfill my dream of becoming an R&B singer, and we collaborate on a duet, in which case I will take her out for iced cream with jimmies and nutty crunch.
I did a little poking around on the UPN website and discovered that six out of six situational comedies feature a primarily African American cast. Statistical abstracts show that square foot per square foot, UPN studios house more minorities than a water park on
Labor Day. I for one am flabbergasted at these findings. You too are probably wondering aloud, “Aren’t there supposed to be diversity standards that would impose a few ‘white programs’ into UPN’s televised exhibition of mediocrity?” Never fear. For those with a poor antennae signal and an appetite for insipid white drama, a precise mastery no other race can unequivocally duplicate, look no further than prime time Wednesdays on UPN.
For a few months now, my roommate Angela has made it crystal clear that Wednesday evenings are property of Veronica Mars, a prototypical teen drama where some nosy bitch meddles in other people’s affairs and somehow makes pliable characters realize they have been living their lives in accordance with evil.
Like every other Wednesday, Angela had splayed an assortment of gluttonous perishables across the coffee table. On this occasion, she must have cooked one too many cocktail weenies because she offered me a seat. I thought the gesture to be amiable, so I sat. As Angela flapped her chicken patty arms and sneered at any sight of an antagonist’s aggression toward Veronica and her band of token characters, each with a distinctive characteristic to aid Veronica in times of trouble, I sat stoic in the corner sopping up the diluted writing that is most likely scrawled out by some fat mother of four in her late thirties who’s “been through the good and the bad” and been endowed the cliché inked pen to write about it. Honest to goodness, the mental distance between Angela and I was more awkward than listening to an obese woman compare the buttocks of Brad Pitt and Russell Crowe. While I will say that Veronica Mars is sexy to the point that you could spoon-feed me her ovulation like it was all natural honey, I will also say that I could have written this review without watching the program, so I won’t do it for reasons of redundancy.
With programs like Eve and Veronica Mars, UPN is cannibalizing itself, sending a potential viewer base down the drain quicker than a model spewing up her fig bar lunch for an upcoming weigh in. Sadly, according to television ratings and viewer response, these are UPN’s top two television programs. So, my advice to all humans is to avoid contact with UPN like it’s a midget. My friend Dan Brooks once told me that midgets are cursed by the devil and you should never come in direct contact with one.
