Friday, February 13, 2009


Hello land mass! I’m brilliant scientific mind and superhero Hank Pym. I’m pretty much crazy. But let’s divest of formalities. Call me Ant-Man. Or Giant-Man. Or Yellowjacket. Or Goliath. Or possibly Black Goliath. But ya doesn’t has to calls me Johnson! That last sentence was what I call Period-Specific Obscure Performer Reference In Order To Evoke Amused Recognition At Such Retention Humor. Many of us top comic book scientist-adventurers indulge in it. It is a rewarding pastime, the way fishing or camping must be to boring people.

Having been several superheroes, a visionary scientist of undoubted repute and reputation, and a hitter of my wife, I am just about qualified to review movies, zoetropes, television programs, novellas, and hopefully, eight-tracks. As you can plainly glean, there is much joy and youthfulness in me. Currently “The Best Of Bobby Sherman” is playing on my Stylus SonoCom (patent 2004 Henry Pym), so I don’t think I need to convince any of you of my modernity and hipness and word-to-your-mother downness with the younglings today. But enough improper slang. Onward, my ants!

Tonight I am reverse-engineering “DOLLHOUSE”, a television program produced by the 20th Century Fox Corporation and beamed into our plasma screens by US Sattelite 43676. I have been informed via the IntraNet (not an incorrect spelling, but rather a pyscho-cybernetic liquid light communication interface developed by myself and Reed Richards, but mostly it was my idea) that its genre is that of “science fiction”, although I very much doubt there will be anything in this program that I have not already invented, patented, shrunk, grown, weaponized and had stolen from me by lesser scientists.

Thus far I have only seen two advertisements for this program, and have no other preconceptions or knowledge of same. I am only a passing viewer of the television medium, preferring to get my information and entertainment from challenging God Himself with the scope of my conceptions. Thus all I am aware of with certainty about tonight’s program is that the female lead is visually appealing, and I really want to hit her.

Following are my real-time notes on the program as broadcast by US Sattelite 43676:



Program appears to be about a young lady who spends many hours engaged in toning exercise and far less hours attending to split ends. She enjoys motorcyling, crashing, and sartorially she is a winter. Her vigorous pep and salty tongue serve her well on the dance floor and in the stimulating of 20ish males who shave every third day. One male in particular seems to covet her companionship, most likely wanting to hit her.

She has just kissed said male, using a technique my word-search calls “Frenching”. Personal note: buy cheese.

She is wearing a slip on the outside.

She is changing into more comfortable garments while conveying exposition from a dental chair. A college Resident Advisor has just sent energy-waves into her cortex and expunged her recent memories, which could be much more quickly and easily accomplished with four Chocolatinis at The Cheesecake Factory. Her name is “Echo”. Extrapolation of her last name: Moscowitz. Or “Echo” again, echoing her first name. First extrapolation more plausible.

Echo walks the corridor of her home, a secret underground facility, with a blank smile on her face. Deduction: Echo/actress is staring at craft sevrices table, happy to see Mike And Ikes.

A young girl has just been kidnapped, shoving us painfully into opening credits, in which a methodone addict is repeating “La la la” while visual stimuli includes actress in bathing suit, sweatpants and assassin garb. Other actors are mentioned, but no sign of Gil Gerard.

Sixty-second commercial break is an advertisement for a new drug that maintains a four-hour erection but causes anal leakage. Another one of my ideas, stolen by Pfizer. I also invented a neutrino-based cream that stops anal leakage, but only if test subject maintains an erection for four hours. Personal note: hit wife.

Now we are in an office and an female attractive Brit is concerned. Extrapolation: she is concerned because film industry is trying to sell her as a “young Jane Seymour”.

Echo is examined by an attractive doctor/actress who is using her performance to cry out for her own series.

Echo enters a mysterious chamber and sees an Asian supermodel having a spasm. Resident Advisor tries to explain that they are not hurting her. Resident Advisor appears to have studied acting with Avery Schreiber. Investigate further.

White men meet with a youngish white man to discuss “The Dollhouse” project in a cynder block of exposition. Echo is a recipient of frequent personality-altering, and is considered a blank slate, devoid of soul. Having seven known personalities myself, I am failing to see the dramatic tension of this scene.

Echo sits in resident Advisor’s dental chair to show viewers her pert bosom. Reprogramming commences and is apparently mildly discomforting, akin to wearing Crest Whitening Strips.

Echo is now a smart woman with glasses. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, scientifically amplifying her intellect, as has been proved beyond all argument by all past television programs, films and commercials.

Commercial break: interrupted by local freeway chase. Chase ends suddenly when driver pulls over to order a Fourth Meal at Taco Bell. Feeling hungry, but not for tacos. Thinking about the nutritional properties of kale, and of hitting my wife.

Smart Echo uses her beauty to convince a day-player of her credibility.

She speaks Spanish. Source of this sudden bi-lingualism: her glasses.

Resident Advisor explains to Greg Morris that he is brilliant. This cannot be factual, as he is using Bluetooth.

Echo is whomever she needs to be at particular times in particular situations, like
someone who covets a Golden Globe.

A foreign stereotype threatens her over the phone. He is snarling, somehow believing she can see his face.

Echo is full of programmed exposition. Greg Morris is easily irritated.

I enjoy kale, and am getting up right now to get some.

Back. While I got kale, I heard a sad little kidnapped girl and her father. Foreigner snarls again.

Echo is distrusted by Kidnapped Girls’ Intense Father. Cannot fathom why he would not feel comfortable with a 27 year-old Maxim cover girl for a kidnap negotiator.

Rhinoplastic technology has grown in quantum measure since I last watched a television program. Believe it was “AfterMASH”. Personal note: hasn’t been a great male-female comedy team since Rosalind Cho-Jamie Farr.

Two men in a bathroom discuss how to most quickly get into Act Three.

A sniper targets Echo and Intense Father as daughter is revealed.

Echo has asthma. Feel bad about wanting to hit her now.

Shooting and escape. Echo cannot “fight a ghost”. Or her agent.

In the Dollhousemobile. Echo is anxious. Claims to have solution to episode’s problem. Resident Advisor’s plaid shirt possibly donated by wardrobe dept. from “Northern Exposure”. Give to T.A. for investigation.

Echo sits in dental chair to be wiped. Did not know this could be shown in prime time.
Wait. Wiping her memory. Got it. Kale is good for retention. Better than Gingko.

Via dental-chair-mind-wipe-deux-ex-litera, Echo claims to know where to find whomever can wrap up this story in the next seven minutes.

Commercial break: Commercial 1 - I do not know who this Malcolm is or what he is in the middle of, but apparently it is hilarious.

Commercial 2 - lead actress from “DOLLHOUSE” and lead actress from series preceeding hers look at camera as if a phallus and tell viewers to make Friday night a “Date Night” with them. Teenaged boys nation-wide feel funny and warm. My own resting heart rate has spiked, as if the actresses truly meant what they are proposing. Would refuse to take them up on their offer, however, as it would be too difficult to hit both of them, even if using Giant-man powers.

Back to program: Echo strides into final confrontation, which takes place in Griffith Park.

Resident Advisor’s haircut irrititating. Relieved that it detracts from his shirt and performance.

Thuggish men in a rotting house threaten Echo. Bald thug squishes Echo’s face in his hand. No signs of Botox but camera lens is speckled with Retin-A.

Echo: “You can’t fight a ghost.” Or AFTRA.

Echo finds little kidnapped girl.

A hotter girl than Echo enters, shoots Thugs. Echo is grateful but will most certainly try to get her fired during show’s run.

Echo and other young gym-sand-blasted women shower. Taking seven-minute break.

Okay, back. At The Dollhousecave, Echo climbs into a descended Sealy-Posturepedic and flashes-back to a character-justifying monologue. Her younger self says she wants “to do everything”. I want to use Dr. Doom’s time machine and get this hour back. Fade out.

Next Friday’s episode is full of mud and archery. Personal note: ask Hakeye to guest-review.

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