Episode Report Card
Demian: F | 84 USERS: D
It's The Hardy Boys' Party

So, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: The RAAAWWWR! completely falls apart to reveal a louche-looking Harry lounging on a mid-70s-vintage wingback armchair, running a fingertip around the rim of a brandy snifter so that low ringing noise those things make when you do that underscores him introducing his tuxedo-clad self to the audience. I think you should know from the outset that Harry's bowtie is not the only thing rainbow-colored about this evening, though in its defense, the bowtie is at least trying to be subtle and tasteful about the whole thing. The camera cuts over to Ed's face for an introduction of his own before shooting out to capture both of them suavely positioned on their matching plaid-upholstered monstrosities, and Ed's sporting a pair of mustard-colored Chucks with his tux, just so you know. Asshole. "If you've received this tape," Ed begins, "you must be some sort of bigwig network executive. Today is your lucky day, mister." And why, pray tell, is that, you sexist asshole? "Because the unsolicited pilot you are about to watch," Harry answers for him, "is the bold new future of 'reality TV.'" Yes, he inserted those airquotes himself. Sexist asshole douchebag. The two idiots continue with the spiel, making cracks about the strike and how the networks don't need "lazy fat-cat" writers around when geniuses like they themselves have so much to offer -- and for so cheap as well, I presume. "Our team faced horrible horrors to bring you the footage that will change your world forever!" Ed claims, now holding a blackened skull beneath his own head for whatever dimwitted cheap sexist asshole douchebag reason as Harry reaches over to a jury-rigged dimmer and drops the lights to an appropriately "spooky" level. "Strap in for the scariest hour in the history of television!" Ed continues in yet another unnecessarily close shot. "Strap in for..." "Ghostfacers!" the two hiss in something approximating unison as a rapidly beating hi-hat heralds the arrival of the show-within-the-show's opening credits.

And those credits are...vaguely amusing, I guess, in the amateurish (or, rather, amateur-esque) way they're supposed to be, but they still look a little too pricey and polished for these nitwits to pull off. Plus, the jumpy quick-cuts feature one of the characters mere seconds before that character's death later in the episode, so, you know: They're tacky dimwitted cheap sexist asshole douchebags. ANY-way, the important bit is that we get names for everybody in tonight's presentation right off the bat, so here they are, in credits order: Ed and Harry, whom we've already met; another white guy with glasses named Spruce, who peers directly into the camera's lens for his shot; an Asian girl named Maggie, who looks like she'd blow away in a stiff breeze; the sloe-eyed, Army-surplus-sporting, and doomed Corbett; a big, screaming stuffed bear's head who doesn't get a name; and, finally, Our Intrepid Heroes. "What?! The boys!? Our boys?! WHERE!?" Raoul shrieks, rousing himself from a brief Coma Of Boredom to flap his exquisitely manicured claws around in the air, and dude: Right in front of you on the TV screen. See? "I do, indeed, and oh, my!" Raoul titters. "That adorable little bow-legged one is being awfully saucy, don't you think?" I assume you refer to the heavily pixillated middle finger he's just now offering to the camera? "I do! Naughty boy!" Oh, Raoul. You're so sheltered. "I am!"

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