RND/ To consider, once and for all, the innate existential validity of the general philosophical statement and moral sentiment “Fuck Seinfeld.”
* One of the best reasons to hate the show Seinfeld is provided by ‘Daniel’, one of its bizarre billions of silently deranged, intensely annoying fanboys. Just check out this all-time classic response to a rhetorical question about the show sucking balls:
Some people were blessed by god with a sense of humor. Sadly these answers about Seinfeld prove that these people lack one. Much like some people lack athletic ability or have no artistic talent. It’s quite sad, because people who lack a sense of humor go their entire lives without ever having a quality laugh or enjoying things that are truly funny.
Seinfeld is an incredible show with humor that is off the charts and plot lines that no other sitcom has come close to matching in the existence of television. The 4 cast members worked incredibly well together. Seinfeld + David were amazing writers that we surely will not see again in our lifetime, certainly not paired together.
You can buy just about anything in this life but you can’t buy a sense of humor.
Gee thanks, Danny boy. Keep on avoiding the medication – such comedy gold is definitely worth a quality laugh. Putz.
* Holy shitball Yahweh on a stick. Sitting through an episode of Seinfeld: like watching a corporate comedy salesmen take a slow, white, room-deoderizing crap in your eyeballs. It’s as if Cardboard and Bleach had a mutant baby and named it Neutral – or perhaps Frazier. (“Miles!”) There’s an unacknowledged violence and a poverty to the show, boiling under its sinister surface of polite, oh-so casual, spiteful cleverness. It has a smug air, which makes you want to kick the TV to death.
* Seinfeld as life with all the bumps filed off – a consequence free trip into whipepo’s zany, daily recreational hee-haw psychopathology. It wouldn’t take anything more and a single huff and puff by reality before the whole fucking synthetic house of cards toppled inward. Be honest; who wouldn’t want to see the entire cast get attacked by city wide hordes of rotten, blue-grey ash faced flesh eating undead – the cast screaming with disbelief at the comedy injustice of it all (“I mean, we were just about to go for a decaf latte and share amusing bon mots about social mores”) until their soul dead eyeballs burst from the existential bite pressure?
* Seinfeld as a ‘show about nothing’ except sociopathically myopic white privilege and polite class warfare. In which a random bunch of unpleasantly designer-neurotic, utterly self absorbed tossers stand around tastefully furnished, well lit midtown apartments spouting neuron destroying, terminally boring yada-yada bullshit. In any other truly civilized society where people appreciate the remotely meaningful and succinct, they’d get casually capped at dawn in a public square for wasting everyone’s time (as Lt. Hanna from Heat would say.)
* Jerry Seinfeld as the very image of the quietly smug millionaire prick, the ‘rule abiding rebel’ with his luxury sports car collection, $17K coffee machines and apparently self-depreciating, actually just well practiced humility – that low-key, take-it-all-in-my-stride approach to being smoothly disgusting (ie. rich-famous.) The reason such slimeball mothers always appear so sweat free, prepared and at ease is because they can fucking well afford to be. Every atom in their nakedly opportunist weasel bodies screams ‘groomed to the point of pathology’.
* Why are other rich assholes so keen to go for rides in his cars? It’s because old Jerry is one of them you dolt, cut from the same beige cloth – he isn’t a remote threat to the twisted, elite ideology which birthed them, which keeps them in the power and privilege to which they’re long accustomed. Jerry as a true mensh of the System, and his driftwood-dry bullshit hu_mor brand directly reflects an utter lack of concern about anything that isn’t utterly, cosmically irrelevant to the lives of people who aren’t like him and his world. The humor of such lizards about as violently, willfully non-political as it’s possible to be. In Jerry’s little world bubble, real problems like real sexism, innate institutional racism, ongoing anthropogenic climate change and straight up fascist cops don’t exist.. and it would seem impolite and un-chill to mention them to the dullard audience. Stop laughing at tax advantageous multi millionaires whose very existence is a joke at your expense, you poor fucking hyenas.
* Look at him, shmendrik, posing up there in his tailored suit and nice shoes combo, telling his little yokes about things which truly don’t fucking matter, before what look like a bunch of uptown yuppie shitheels who trade contaminated baby food stocks during the day and go to bullshit ‘comedy’ routines *near* the wrong side of the tracks at night, feeling edgy and pumped for the next day’s exploitation. More organic Italian breadsticks and guilt free martini’s anyone? Tossers. Gotta love the way the gentle tinkle of glasses, the polite laughter of dim schmucks and the way the soft stage lights gently and synergistically complement the sociopathically understated luxury of Jerry’s 90s CEO mullet. Smell the efficient cleanliness of his whole bleached act, where every syllable has been vetted by committee to be as Offensively Unoffensive as possible; golf course era Bob Hope comes across like Bill Guevara Hicks by comparison. It’s actually all just insane, like something out of American Psycho: “You really like this kind of comedy, Patrick?” The exact, airless middle o’ the road is the worst place to stand, Jerry. Let’s hope a Mad Max of comedy isn’t driving their armored juggernaut today.
* Talk about a one trick pony, Jez – the entire trick being that you’ve dragged out an entire career of convincing wide eyed, easily pleased morons that your not simply a macher, an oysshteler, a tuches lecker, a safely conceited little wanker so very eager to please (yourself), a pseudo-humble putz of little genuine importance, who fucking adored every single stitch of misplaced attention that wafted his way. Soft hands, Filipino-maid starched collars and front row Mets seats; Seinfeld as the desperate transparency of the rich male ego laid bare. Bullshit pseudo-jokes about food, cellphones, relationships, whatever the fuck he regularly farts on about – all from a distinctly Upper West Side perspective; this is the comedy of the gilded One Percent with more time on their bloody, manicured fingertips than any truly common sense about humanity whatsoever. Zip up baby, your class is showing.
* Compare and contrast: the one man routines of Eric Bogosian positively dump on Seinfeld from severe heights without trying; bursting with angry laughter, desperation and pain, they display nuanced human qualities that Seinfeld only remotely imagines it features. Seinfeld’s apparently bullshit universalism, that whole “Isn’t it so very funny and strange down here on Earth, and don’t stories like ‘waiting in line at a restaurant noticing someone’s odd behavior’ or ‘having an amusing run in with a bank teller’ resonate with us all?” Do they fuck; Seinfeld as anti-existential, a willful bad faith act.
* Anyone who trots along with that ‘But gee, that’s the entire point, the show is a clever deconstruction of the sublime Absurdist minutiae which makes up all our lives’ needs to suck the tailpipe of one of Jerry Seinfeld’s motors. Or at least wake up to the fact their lips are burning. It deconstructs nothing, and may simply be pleased with its own dumb cleverness. A blind worm, Seinfeld positively writhes around in the shallow, heated spit pool of its own smartness. Talk about a bunch of pocket lint and piffle dressed up as ‘slick’, ‘hip’, ‘fresh’ and ‘contemporary’. Third stage bowel cancer is hipper. Here’s every corporate-slick, professionally dialed-in, assembly line processed-cheese Seinfeld episode ever pinched off:
Smug Tosser One: Soup? I mean, as a concept.
Smug Tosser Two: Ha yeah, Soup! About that Soup, wow.. unbelievable.
Smug Tossers One, Two and Three (pause): Soup. [They get ready to go for Soup.]
Smug Tosser Four, appearing from behind door: Anyone mention Soup?
– The crowd (of storefront dummies) goes wild.
Get sealed inside a giant rotating iron ball with spikes on the inside and fired into the nearest dying star (btw philosophically this process is called ‘the looser’.) Seinfeld as small-potatoes comedy pyrites.
* From the outset: that 90s hyper-corporatized bullshit logo, which like some violently bland restaurant chain founded by Harvard millionaires, screams “Make everyday a Seinfelds.” I hear the tossed salads with fresh organic cilantro are particularly wholesome and nutritious. Just not existentially; it’s just pap.
* That fucking awful, intensely annoying theme tune, arriving complete with its own set of corporatized adjectives; funky-fresh, oddball, daring, dynamic. What blatant lukewarm, self-congratulatory dogshit. Switch that off – this ain’t no Dave Matthews Band concert, beeyatch. And as for that bastard motherfucking slap-bass scene transition: holy shit every time it plays (and again, and again) another tiny vent of hell opens up and a Demon Of Mediocrity flies out to listlessly slap the face of the nearest simpleton. It’s the Idiot’s Audio Queue, signifying that ‘a good, safe time’ is about to start. It’s like Victor Wooten developed a particularly self aggrandizing brain tumor and couldn’t stop overrating itself and overplaying. (Drinking Game: every time the Seinfeld Slap Bass Transition plays, down another shot, turn to your right and unceremoniously rabbit punch that constantly chuckling Seinfeld fanboi in the neck, Dennis Leary style. He’ll thank you for it later when he regains the self-parodying semblance of consciousness he had before buying the entire boxed set. Imagine watching the whole thing. Whole days of quiet, low-key amusement and-or gentle bemusement. Man that’s some bullshit right there.)
* People on-net have cut together satirical Seinfeld videos without people – Seinfeld with just scenes of empty apartments, Seinfeld scenes without the laugh track. This clearly tells those with functioning levels of neural discernment that Seinfeld is merely full of it, and should immediately be discarded to the historical landfill. A hollow shell of a program without substance – despite what it states to proactively avoid potential criticism (a common tactic among pretentious assholes *sight cough*.) The syndicated daytime TV show equivalent of Garfield or Doonesbury. Deadpan: “Make me laugh, Doonesbury.” Make me fucking laugh just once, Seinfeld – when all I really want to do is reach over and crack your televisual kneecaps with a steel ruler.
* Perhaps the best way to consider such awful characters on shows such as Seinfeld: psychic leeches. Tiny birds which pick the decaying scraps of half-digested random shit from the idle plastic teeth of the reality crocodile [what?], amusing themselves endlessly with their own perceived cleverness.
* In which the racist outburst of Seinfeld actor Michael Richards at a comedy club should come as a surprise to absolutely nobody. Seinfeld’s anti-comedy and it’s list of political subjects deliberately never once mentioned as the epitome of everything safe, contained, conservative, privileged, uptight-anal, and positively Nixon-era friendly. A comedic whitewash.
* Seinfeld: the str8 wack show for warmduschers who prefer their comedy sans comedy, gently overflowing with corny quirks and neurotic quips. It’s actually just monstrous; smoothly garish and aggressively plain. Look in any decent encyclopedia under the term ‘lite‘ and there it is. Maybe right from the outset, the general philosophical standpoint “Fuck Seinfeld” stands the test of time – unlike the show. Never has the word ‘irreverent’ felt so utterly loathful, acidic. Seinfeld as undeath.
Munts.
—
// how to play big science