Next week's two back-to-back hours -- fucking give thanks, Jacob -- in which at some point one team totally sabotages the other (and it's Excel! Rock on!) and there's some fucking Shania Twain. Because if there's one thing that will make me long for the days of Adam's fucking Ambiguously Gay Cirque De Roadshow, it's goddamn Shania Twain. And then, after two whole stupid hours, there will be a Final Four. Which is kind of exciting, but I should mention to Everybody Who Doesn't Have TiVo: NBC wanted me to tell you to fuck right off. Don't shoot the messenger!
But let's talk about what we've learned. While Trump would have you believe that the point is a "Creative Balance," I think it's more along the lines of five simple words: You're. Not. Fucking. Angela. Chase. Nobody's listening to your imaginary voice-over, nobody has a magic mirror that can see your entire life and history and soul and judge accordingly, nobody cares where your parents are from, nobody cares about any of your bullshit. As Buffy said, courtesy Jane Espenson, in the controversial episode "Earshot" -- stay with me, if you will, because it's good stuff, I know I'm an irritating Of course, Buffy! person but that doesn't mean I can't lay some fucking wisdom on you now and then -- "My life happens to -- on occasion -- suck beyond the telling of it. Sometimes more than I can handle. And it's not just mine: Every single person down there is ignoring your pain because they're too busy with their own. The beautiful ones, the popular ones, the guys that pick on you, everyone. If you could hear what they were feeling: the loneliness, the confusion. It looks quiet [out] there: It's not. It's deafening."
If I got that wrong here or there, it's only because I'm reciting it from memory, because it's pretty much what I've been trying to say all along. You, me, best-selling novelist guy over there, lonely photographer lady, God grant we could all hear those words once a day: We're not actors in your passion play, we're not assigned to bring you heartache, we're not actively taking part in the drama of what it's like to be you. We're dealing with our own self-obsessed bullshit, and to be honest, we want to like you, but we probably only notice you when you fuck with us. So stop fucking with us and weed your own garden first, please -- it's why we don't like you.