I'm gonna sit down for a minute.
I'm a bit riled up.
Okay. Have you seen the show Team Knight Rider?
Stay calm. Stay calm.
Remember the original Knight Rider? Cool dude in black with his talking black car, KITT? Maybe I wasn't raised close enough to a trailer park, but I'm just not a huge car fanatic. I prefer my TV vehicles to get the hero to the crime scene, and then just play a supporting role. Like the A-Team van. Or Magnum PI's Ferarri. In my book, even Bo and Luke Duke's General Lee was a bit of a glory hound.
So as suave as KITT was in the show, talking cars were never that neat to me. He seemed like just an upgraded version of, "the door is ajar." And how many cars still do that? It didn't take long for people to recognize that a talking car is annoying. And when KITT threw the car-door open to stop a crook running by? Lame.
Michael Knight was played by a pre-Baywatch David Hasselhoff. He didn't have the wisdom of a head lifeguard back then, but he still had great hair.
David Hasselhoff went on from Knight Rider to conquer the world with his "boobs = money" formula for mass culture domination. If you show boobs enough on a show, people will sit through whatever mindless drivel you fill the rest of the show with. You want proof? Millions and millions and millions of people will watch an hour show to see the resolution to "Oh no! Billy didn't wait a half-hour after eating before he went swimming!!!" The "Billy gets Cramps" episode becomes a good viewing choice for an evening if there's enough boobs in red swimsuits to get you through the crisis.
And the new "Team Knight Rider" uses a similar formula. Now there are women on the team. Women with boobs. And a bunch of talking cars. And motorcycles and a Suburbans, I think. I'm not really sure. I didn't really watch that closely. I was blinded by white hot rage. Why was I so upset? Because I watched it. Every time the cute blonde was on screen I was sucked into the cleavage trap for another segment.
I was ambushed from my relaxing evening channel surfing and "woke-up" an hour later with visons of talking cars clouding my brain.
I thought I was done with that. I thought I had worked through all the talking car issues with my therapist.
Now they messed me all up by bringing boobs into the mix.
Count to 10.
Maybe I'll go take a drive to clear my head.
Otter Pop Rejects
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