Happy New Year!

This was going to be my yearly rant about how Dick Clark seems to be getting younger and how every TV personality says the exact same things on every New Years Celebration: “It’s really cold out here, but people are still enjoying themselves; These people got here hours ago and haven’t been able to go to the bathroom; You can’t really understand this unless you’ve been here; There is confetti everywhere; Thank you Popular Music Star for the mouthing the words to that song that none of us can or care to hear!”

But I’m not going to do that - and it’s not because I’m turning over a new leaf or made some sort of unachievable New Year’s Resolution such as “This year I will not repeat any bad jokes, stop drinking vodka for breakfast and learn how not to fart.” Besides, I’ve already broken two of those and this is a bit more important.

No, instead, this is about the sad state of affairs of our American Royalty. Here I’m speaking of our entertainers and media personalities. Last nights shows were absolutely horrible. It’s no wonder every year we tune into Dick Clark repeating the same things about different generic performers playing to recorded music and stumbling around on a makeshift stage in a drunken stupor. We do it because Dick Clark made it somehow the best thing on. This was finally evident last night when someone had to revive Dick Clark from immanent death so that he could phone into the studio in an attempt to make at least one of the New Years Celebration’s tolerable. And that too failed, proving that our state of our current entertainment has hit an all time low.

Now I know what you are saying, “Brian, you’re just getting old. The kids dig this hip music and swing to the sounds of Maria Carrey wailing like a banshee with her hand caught in a car door or rhythmless Mary J. Blige making both Ryan Seacrest and Carson Daily look cool.” And there is where I think you are an idiot. Last night programming was absolutely terrible. Even people who had been drunk and passed out for hours suddenly found momentary consciousness to flip between all of the channels in a desperate attempt to find something, anything, that wouldn’t make them want to choke on their own vomit and die. Last night was inexcusable and I place the blame squarely on the head of Science. That’s right, Science is to blame. If Science had done its job correctly, they would have found a way to keep Dick Clark frozen in a catatonic state only to be awoken on New Years Eve in order to give the world some semblance of hope. But no. Instead Science has let Dick Clark die and doomed us all to generations more of painful, excruciating, suicide-inducing New Years crap. And because of it, I just broke my third resolution.