Writers Go On Strike, My Dreams Of Living Seven Years Longer Crushed
Well, screw my dreams of extending my life through mindless laughter and jovial cheer, people with better comedic timing and an uncanny sense of wit are selfishly keeping the funny to themselves.
Seriously, I appreciate and respect the idea of similarly trained individuals banning together for a common good: their paycheck. Without this loosely banded group of people, they would have to suffer under the tyrannical oppression of "The Man." And no one wants "The Man" keeping them down.
So I am in solidarity with the writer's guild, or whatever these people are officially called. They deserve pay increases, health insurance, paid vacations, protection from sexual discrimination — all that work-related jazz. But enough is enough already. Can't the evil executives at the networks and film production companies just give these crazy, angry, and oh so funny people what they want, so I can get back to my very sparse viewing habits?
Apparently, one of the things they (The Writers Guild of America) want (and pardon my ignorance, but I was born with it so EXCUUUUSE ME) is a share in the profit of the increasingly popular downloadable medium taking the world by storm. I can now take my favorite TV show (hmm...not sure what that is, but hypothetically speaking we'll say 24) and download it on my ipod and watch it over and over again at my leisure.
The idea is that like TV show which go into syndication, or songs that get played over and over on the radio, there's someone keeping track and the creators are supposed to get paid each time that show/song is enjoyed. The concept that people might be downloading your handcrafted jokes and watching it more than once, sharing it with their friends, or sending it to their Grammy, very much pisses these writer types off, and the studio execs can't seem to come up with a solution.
So now, because all these smarty pants people who put the fun in funny are riled up, I can't watch SNL. Granted, SNL manages to squeeze in an inordinate number of re-runs anyway, I would still like a glimmer of hope that I might be lucky enough to catch a new show every once in a while.
So on that note all you striking writers, Merry Farkling Thanksgiving to you, oh hoarders of the punchlines. Do us all a favor, keep it real solemn at this year's feast, we wouldn't want anyone chortling without dropping you a dime or anything. Greedy bastards!
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