Thursday, April 7, 2011

Buddy the Vag Portion Splayer: Inna Final ANALysis

In which I wrap up my entire Buffandra Does Cunnydale experience in one post because someone elected me pope of this dump and made my opinions SOOOoooOOO special!

Well, I really did do it, didn't I? The whole fucking Buffy televisional cannon in under 5 months. Oh, right, except for the 5 seasons of Angelo, the pussy vampire with the heart of gold. Well fuck him, he doesn't count. He's a massive skid mark anyways.

But inna final analysis, was it all worth it? To be bluntz, no, not really. I mean, I enjoy writing and jagging of on this blog, but the tv show was never close to worth the hype. Despite being a pretty big nerd, I never quite understood the obsessive fanboy stuff. I don't want to write the whole phenomenon off as a bunch of social mitfits who need to stop watching vampire shows and go get laid (except for the ladies, why not have a drink and relax, baby?), but maybe just start with watching OTHER, BETTER shows, you know?

But whatever, some people think Night at the Roxbury is a shitty movie (though usually they are communists and country music fanatics) so to each their own.

So one of the reasons I wanted to watch the entire series was the shorthand the show developed over the years that has permeated other arenas of pop culture, like "The Big Bad" and other dumb shit that I ignored. But that argument turned out to be shit. They weren't new ideas, they were just relatively uncommon ideas that a spastic fanclub assigned painfully corny names too. Like the Scooby Squad. Motherfuck the Scooby Squad.

The other reasons I was lead to believe made Buffy worth getting into was the rapier's wit of Whedon's trademark quip-o-rama dialogue and the impressive monster manual of demonology. Both of those also turned out to be over rated. Not altogether worthless, but not worth, fuck, how many hours of watching? 144 episodes at 75% of an hour a show, so 108 hours? Fuck my urethra that a lot of fucking tv. Good thing I have no life.

Despite all the gripes (too numerous and tedious to recount now - HOWEVER I will point out that the constant reference to Willow's witchcraft as wicca was fucking infuriating. INFURIATING.), I was often genuinely entertained by Joss Whedon's most substantial oeuvre to date. It's originality and ambition is reason enough to thankful for it's existence. And it's influence on mainstream programming and it's continual push towards increasing integration of speculative fiction should not be discounted. It's probably too much to say there'd be no Lost if it weren't for Buffy, but Lost is also absurdly over rated, why fucking quibble?

Going forward, there are a bitch load of comics, including 40 issues of SEASON 8, that I already looked up on wikipedia and will be otherwise ignoring (SPOILER ALERT, Willow s demagitized, Angel turns bad, a-fucking-gain, and Giles gets killed like a fratlord on a can of beast light), AND there is going to be another series of comics called SEASON 9, that I will likewise ignore, save the occasional update on wikipedia that the legion of Whedonites will no doubt be promptly posting. Otherwise I'm 99% sure this is the end of my tango with the sharp nostriled vampire slaughterer and her clutch of dorkwad companions. So, anyway, shit, is this wrapping sounding really boring or is it just me? Probably me I need to stop. Which is fine, because I need a fucking haircut anyway.

So long fucking Buffy, I'll see you in my erotic dreams. Au revoir Eliza Dukshu, I'll see you when I start watching the second season of Dollhouse eventually, but in the meantime also in my erotic dreams. Alas, farting is such sweet sorrow. THTHTHTHPPPPPPLLLLTTLTLTLT!

No comments:

Post a Comment