Every summer my parents would leave my sister and I at home because summer camp was not a thing in my house.  At least not a thing that worth paying for.  What are we to do on those days when its too damn hot to go outside, too dangerous to use the pool without supervision?

Two words:  Daytime Television.

This is my review of Fulton Thunder God:

I remember it vividly.  A calm man in glasses attempting to bring a semblance of order and virtue to a studio audience filled with ravaging ghouls, hellbent on being entertained by a brief window in the lives of society’s outcasts.  He would ask questions.  He would get something resembling an answer.  He would take comments from the audience, who wanted to let those people know they were simply better than they were.

And I am not talking about the white supremacists, they should be condemned totally.

It began by interviewing guests that were informing family members they were gay, were transgendered, or were sleeping with their sister.  It was to the point where even Seth MacFarlane had to steal the bit.   Then they began putting supremacists of all races, colors and creeds on the same stage, often resulting in fisticuffs.  Then damn near everyone began picking fights on stage, often resulting in small bits of exposed body parts they decided to market later as home videos.  Censors be damned!  This is too hot for TV!

They then hired a bald white guy the break up the fights from time to time.  He hit the news a couple years back after a DUI charge.  I can’t blame him either; this show was just too much for American culture to be seen on anything other than daytime TV.

That’s the real lesson here.  Everything shown on that show was nothing more than the underlying rot our society decided was just a sideshow to the gilded ages we look fondly upon.  Everything we deal with today was initially exposed on this show and is now in our faces walking valiantly in celebration of their dystopian manic depression.  I ask not only to judge the art, but also the artist—yet do so fairly.

Everyone, no matter how deranged, was allowed a place to be heard on this show.  There was indeed a principled method to the madness, no matter how much of freak show appeared on the surface.  Without this man highlighting the dystopian, nearly Satanic elements to our culture so many years ago, would we be aware enough of their true nature from which to defend ourselves today?  Farewell Jerry.  Until next time, take care of yourself, and each other.

 

I would pull the white girl beer alarm but that might be an insult to white girls.  This is thick, black, pours like burned engine oil, and finished with the delightful scent of vanilla and maple syrup.  Which makes it sound like something Bed, Bath, and Beyond put together.  This is unusual in that the sum of each of its parts winds up coming up one after another rather than all at once, although ever one of those elements are inexplicably sweeter than the last.  Like it was made to be a parfait.  Perfect for the times you are home alone in the middle of the day and have only garbage TV to keep you occupied, or anytime else. Fulton Thunder God: 3.3/5 7.5% ABV