Last night I awoke in a puddle of my own sweat (and somebody's urine), screaming at the top of my lungs until my roommate kicked my door in and punched me in the eye with a chair. I had just had a night-terror of extraordinary power. It shook me beyond what my dark soul could take. It reminded me that everything that I had experienced and had become in life was a direct result of a heinous sin that mankind had unleashed upon the world many years before: 1980s Television.

Let's face it, for the most part 80s TV sucked. Some might argue that the same could be said of 70s and 90s television, and I would argue that they fuck their sisters. Yes, every era has sucky boob-tube programming. That's true. But the fact that TV in the 1980s actually destabilized my brain and turned me into the sitcom-bashing monster that I am now is all that I care about.

80s TV wasn't just bad for me though. It affected the actors who portrayed the roles of our least favorite wacky neighbors even more. Here you can see the fall out from Charles in Charge. Ironically, the sad state of affairs that led most of these talentless fuckers to choose suicide as their only way out was funnier than all of the Charles in Charge episodes put together. Though to be fair, having a flesh eating termite burrow into your ass and eat your sphincter from the inside out would be funnier than even the funniest episode of Charles in Charge (the funniest episode being the one where Buddy tried to convince Charles that Gwendolyn Pierce came back to town to kill him with a modified short-burst Russian Uzi)

What scared me even more than my nightmares is knowing that sometimes the actors/actresses that star in these evil sitcoms actually go on to productive careers. Sure, Tom Hanks ruled in Bachelor Party, but that still does not excuse him from shaving his legs and pretending he was a woman for a cheap apartment filled with nothing but hot chicks who like to get naked in front of him all the time and... Wait, I just proved myself wrong right there. Fuck it, I'd dress in drag for a helluva lot less than that.

After I gained my composure again I cleaned my sheets and began thinking about what my dream must have meant psychologically. In the beginning of my dream I found myself in school taking a test that I forgot to study for, when all of a sudden Alf came in and started to bite my shins. That was mildly annoying, so I pulled the dwarf out of the hairy costume and proceeded to pummel him like he was a Mexican midget wrestler named Tito El Puto-Grandisimo. But before I could put the finishing moves on him and steal his soul Balki interrupted and wanted me to show him how to get to the Drummonds place. Seems like he wanted to break into their pad in order to steal Willis' stash of nudie magazines and heroine while he screwed Kimberly doggy style. I was all for that, so we left on our journey, but got sidetracked by Nick and Mallory who were being chased by Skippy (who was trying to cut off Nick's package with some rusty hedge-clippers). I was so infuriated by the whole scene that I had Balki go on a head while I ran over Skippy with the General Lee over and over again. I was happy for a while, but I accidentally backed into Kitt while I was trying to parallel park in a small space downtown. Michael Knight threatened to sue me because all his car could say after the fender-bender was "Fuck me, Michael" in a seductive voice. The next thing I knew I was in court and Bob Saget and the Olsen twins were defending me while Tootie and Blair were the prosecution. I was sentenced to death because those annoying little twins just kept saying cute things to the jury that was filled with nothing but pissed off Captain Stubings. I had to share my jail cell with Kelly and Slater (who kept trying to grab Kelly's and then my ass), but soon Zach came and he and Kelly had a wild conjugal visit down the hall. Slater and I just listened in jealousy. But then he began to weep like an old annoying person and I was forced to smother him with a pillow. I was broken out of the slammer that night though when that monotonal robot-girl, Vicki, punched through the wall and flushed me down the toilet. Since I have a deadly fear of being eaten by saber-toothed tigers and then getting pooped into a pile of fly food, that's about the time I woke up.

That would be enough to make even a schizo Emmanuel Lewis go even crazier and kill even more innocent Greek fosterparents! All those horrible memories of wasting hours and hours of my precious childhood watching shitty TV instead of playing Atari or Nintendo... It just sends shivers down me spine. WHAT A GODDAMN WASTE!

The main problem that I have (besides the many hours a day I basically crapped away watching all those failed sitcoms) is that now, all these years later, I have a terrible time telling fact from fiction.

Here we can see Natalie in her natural habitat. That would be pissing off people while trying to eat them. Goddammit! Why did they have to put that annoying fat fattie in The Facts of Life?! Why couldn't they have just made it The Tootie Show or something? And what the fuck was up with Cloris Leachman? I mean, they just got rid of one old ugly bitty and they replaced her with an older, uglier one! Why couldn't they have used Farrah Fawcett or Lynda Carter? Both of them were out of jobs by then, and if one of Charlie's Angels or even Wonder Woman couldn't keep those girls in line than I don't know who could!... Plus Farrah and Diane would have given me MUCH better dreams!

For example, was that me that was tempted by Natalie and her ugly friends to try pot and then cheat on my final exam in History while Mrs. Garrett was always snooping around? Or was I the one who had those vivid fantasies about the older daughter on ALF during lunch break and therefore was forced to sit at the cafeteria table for the entire recess with a sweater on my lap? See, it's all so confusing!

I still get discombobulated now, more than a decade after the last of the bad 80s sitcoms aired. Just last week I found myself feeling bad because I remembered how my mom was killed off in a car crash and I was forced to live with Sandy Duncan to fill in the void. It wasn't until I talked to both of my alive parents that night that I realized that I was only remembering that bad shitcom The Hogan Family (formerly Valerie's Family before Valerie herself jumped ship like a rat who knows that the boat's going down long before the morons at the helm).

I also pissed off my brother and sister a few months ago when I kept calling them "MacGyver" and "Punky" respectively. I should have known my mistake by the fact that my brother can't even pour gas in his car without starting a gasoline fire, let alone build a working toilet out of used bubblegum and a burnt out car battery, and my sister doesn't have a 90-inch bust.

That reminds me, why the flying fuckola did Punky Brewster have breast reduction surgery? Jeebus H. Christ?!?! She could have been the first child actor from the 80s who actually made something of her life! She could have gone on to a legitimate career in the porn industry and had a following greater than Mr. T himself! Not that Mr. T was in porn, I just meant that he has a pretty damn loyal following and he even beat up Rocky and killed his manager who also did the voice of Gollobulus in the G.I.Joe Movie (which sucked dingo balls, btw). Hell, if both Mr. T and Punky did an anal porno (after she turned 18 of course) it would probably outsell the Pamela and Tommy Lee video by several million copies! Hell, I'd direct it free of charge too! Hmmmmm, on second thought, a good three way with Punky and the Olsen twins (only when they turn 18) would probably be the greatest selling lesbo triple EVER!!! Plus Ron Jeremy could probably star as their foster dad who spanks them for being "bad girls" at the end of the movie.

Wait a second. Did I just make that movie up or did it really happen? See how bad this 80s TV affliction has me screwed up?

Here we can see what Punky Brewster would look like today if she didn't have that insane breast reduction operation. She would most likely have Denise Richard's rack in a bikini top on her petite frame. Can't you just imagine Mr. T gobbling those puppies up like a hungry mountain lion!... When she turned 18 of course.

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