TV, that giver of life, that nurturer of souls, that yawning abyss. It is at once a succubus and an angel.
It is also a big fat liar.
Here are a few of its more blatant lies:
A group of cool people do not live in the same cul de sac and get drunk and act mean to each other. [You are a liar, Cougartown.] If they did, then why aren't they in my neighborhood? Even though I don't live in a cul de sac, I still have neighbors, and I would interact with them a lot more if they were bitchy and funny and enjoyed our version of the Algonquin Round Table.
A group of hilarious people do not work at my doctor's office, healing me and occasionally singing great songs. [I'm looking at you, Scrubs, and Guy Love.] While I do love my doctor, she is nowhere near as awesome as Elliot and JD and Turk, and none of the nurses are saucy Latinas like Carla. AND WHERE IS JANITOR? Nowhere. Ketchup is for winners, Ted, and not even Ted is in my loserville physician's office, singing with his a cappella group. It's just paper gowns and blood draws. LAME.
Community college is not filled with a group of funny, snarky people. [Although this season's episodes of Community? Not even a little bit funny. So art is imitating life, it would seem.] I mean, regular college was fun . . . except I think that had more to do with alcohol consumption than people actually saying really funny things. Although pretty much anything is funny after a certain number of beers. Well, either funny or incredibly sad, depending on whether you were getting any later that night.
Am I wrong? Doesn't TV owe me the respect of at the very least making sure my life is half as entertaining as its episodes?
Has TV lied to you? Tell me. I need to know.