With the season premiere of the resurrected CBS nuclear post-apocalyptic action/drama Jericho a mere 30 or 32 hours away, I can't help but feel a little guilty in my excitement.
The show was cancelled by the geriatrics over at the "Big Eye," presumably because they lost their target audience -- seniors ages 90 to 117 -- for an hour every week. I was devastated. I had just viewed one of the most exciting season finales in years. I actually wept as the town patriarch, played by Gerald McRaney, lay dead on the kitchen table. (Gerald McRaney has made me cry previously but that's when I accidentally watched three minutes of Major Dad in syndication.)
But within days the show was cancelled and I was devastated. I tried to watch my Welcome Back Kotter season one DVDs to cheer myself up, to no avail. Then out of nowhere, a massive online campaign was launched to deluge CBS with requests to bring the back. We would all send nuts to the network referencing the word that Jericho star Skeet Ulrich yelled at his adversary in the season finale last year when asked to surrender.
By God, this revolt had my name written all over it. I immediately went out to the nearest Costco and bought the biggest jar of nuts I could find. I was going to fix those corporate bastards for canceling my favorite show of the minute. For all I knew that poor son-of-a-bitch McRaney was still dead on a kitchen table somewhere. I would give him a proper burial.
But a funny thing happened on my way to the revolution ... I ate the nuts. Every last peanut in that 300-pound jar when straight down my traitorous, selfish gullet.
So, while I'm ecstatic about my show returning, I can't help but feel a little guilty about not contributing to the war effort but reaping the benefits. I should punish myself by not watching, but if I do that, then the terrorists, I mean network executives have won and we can't allow that, now can we.