That's because I have a dead clown in my closet...
******' s*** this is the funniest review I've ever read. Don't even ask how I stumbled upon this but here it is. It's a review on life goes on:
Corky. Charles "Corky" Thatcher. A name that trips off the tongue with all the pleasure and delight of a colonoscopy. Doesn't ring a bell, you say? He was the star - hell, the sole reason to tune in -- of the television program Life Goes On, which ran on ABC from 1989 until its premature demise in 1993. Also starring Kellie Martin as Becca, the show told the story of the plucky Martin family as they dealt with the trials and tribulations of suburban life. And being locked in the same house with a horny, troll-like retard with delusions of "mainstreaming."
"Mainstreaming." That's the polite way of saying that as a droopy-eyed, egomaniacal half-wit, he was entitled to ruin the lives of hundreds of other high school students who have enough problems on their plates without having to deal with some biological monstrosity with a chip on his shoulder. What exactly was his problem? In a nutshell, the ****** never stopped falling in love. And when these women (always tall, blonde, cheerleader typesyou know, reasonable objects of a retard's affection) failed to return his vulgar passions, he overturned tables, cried his little eyes out, and asked his parents why no one wanted to be his girlfriend. The parents, practiced in the art of diplomacy, tried to comfort the little s***, but they never uttered the only obvious answer to his painful queries: "You are only partially human, my dear. The only chance you'll ever have for sex is if you **** the family dog or hire some toothless, sore-ridden crack ***** in the last stages of AIDS. Good night, sweet prince."
Even if Corky was only marginally involved in a particular week's story, he managed to upstage everyone with his incoherent gibberish and desperate pleas for acceptance. When not on camera, we all knew what he was really doing: ******* couches, light sockets, Sunday night's leftover roast, his pillow, or his socks; anything that acted as a receptacle for his genetically inferior seed. Still, let's give ABC credit - they had the "courage" to cast a real-life retard so that absolute authenticity could be achieved. And, for a trained seal with the I.Q. of corn-infested s***, he wasn't half bad. He remembered all of his lines (pretty easy when they are always some derivation of "Why for not I can hump that purty lady?"), hit his marks, and didn't break too many pieces of furniture. He was, no doubt, the model moron.
******' s*** this is the funniest review I've ever read. Don't even ask how I stumbled upon this but here it is. It's a review on life goes on:
Corky. Charles "Corky" Thatcher. A name that trips off the tongue with all the pleasure and delight of a colonoscopy. Doesn't ring a bell, you say? He was the star - hell, the sole reason to tune in -- of the television program Life Goes On, which ran on ABC from 1989 until its premature demise in 1993. Also starring Kellie Martin as Becca, the show told the story of the plucky Martin family as they dealt with the trials and tribulations of suburban life. And being locked in the same house with a horny, troll-like retard with delusions of "mainstreaming."
"Mainstreaming." That's the polite way of saying that as a droopy-eyed, egomaniacal half-wit, he was entitled to ruin the lives of hundreds of other high school students who have enough problems on their plates without having to deal with some biological monstrosity with a chip on his shoulder. What exactly was his problem? In a nutshell, the ****** never stopped falling in love. And when these women (always tall, blonde, cheerleader typesyou know, reasonable objects of a retard's affection) failed to return his vulgar passions, he overturned tables, cried his little eyes out, and asked his parents why no one wanted to be his girlfriend. The parents, practiced in the art of diplomacy, tried to comfort the little s***, but they never uttered the only obvious answer to his painful queries: "You are only partially human, my dear. The only chance you'll ever have for sex is if you **** the family dog or hire some toothless, sore-ridden crack ***** in the last stages of AIDS. Good night, sweet prince."
Even if Corky was only marginally involved in a particular week's story, he managed to upstage everyone with his incoherent gibberish and desperate pleas for acceptance. When not on camera, we all knew what he was really doing: ******* couches, light sockets, Sunday night's leftover roast, his pillow, or his socks; anything that acted as a receptacle for his genetically inferior seed. Still, let's give ABC credit - they had the "courage" to cast a real-life retard so that absolute authenticity could be achieved. And, for a trained seal with the I.Q. of corn-infested s***, he wasn't half bad. He remembered all of his lines (pretty easy when they are always some derivation of "Why for not I can hump that purty lady?"), hit his marks, and didn't break too many pieces of furniture. He was, no doubt, the model moron.
Our belove los tiburones are still alive and kicking, there is fight left in these boys yet.
