my childhood has a terminal disease. its called hollywood. symptoms started a few years back when that tird was dropped called “the dukes of hazzard.”
in my childhood it was comprised of john schneider and tom wopat and waylon jennings. when you have that sample in a petri dish and add this “hollywood,” my childhood version dies an agonizing death at the hands of jessica simpson. on mute, this satisfies my late childhood (you know what i mean), but when she speaks, the symptoms kick in.
and although “transformers” looks like it is going to be good, its not the vision from my childhood. its not the wonderful high pitched music that took me to commercial. its not the dinobots, the constructo-cons, the insecto-cons, and i don’t know if bumblebee the VW bug is in it. i loved the cartoon even though my tremor frustrated me with the toys.
don’t even get me started on the garfield movies. steaming tirds, hollywood.
and now. now the straw that puts my childhood in a hospice. they are going to make a live action version of “underdog.” this is a crime against humanity. he obviously won’t be the photographer dog that protects ms. polly pureheart (also a dog) from evil-doers. underdog was my first coloring book that i remember. first one that i remember coloring inside the lines on. i want to thank you hollywood for fucking up yet another wonderful thing from my childhood…