The Situation is critical
Well, I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that the Situation’s performance at the Comedy Central roast of Donald Trump was the biggest disaster anywhere in the world this week. Seriously, the last time someone died at a Comedy Central roast as horribly as the Situation did was in Greg Giraldo’s hotel room. Check it out.
I don’t know what Comedy Central was thinking. They should have gotten Pauly D instead. He’s funnier than the Situation and has worse hair than Trump. Between Trump’s combover and Pauly’s blowout, the night would have been yielded an unprecedented number of hair jokes. (Hell, even if they’d gotten Snooki, the Donald could have given her some tips for her upcoming appearance at WrestleMania, having won the “Battle of the Billionaires” at WrestleMania 23.)
Probably half the reason the Situation bombed was that he simply looked so much like an unlikable douchebag. Even audience members who weren’t familiar with his villainy on Jersey Shore would have hated his smug, sunglassed face on first sight and been predisposed to boo him offstage. But worse than that, his material was weak in the extreme. Some jokes didn’t even made sense. An example of that is telling Whitney Cummings that she couldn’t be a “grenade” because she wasn’t going to blow up. Does “blow up” equal “blow the Situation”? Does Whitney badly want to be on the giving end during the act of oral sex? (I do get the “getting famous” interpretation of “blowing up”, but wouldn’t you expect anything that comes out of (or into) the Situation’s mouth to about fellatio?) And a couple of lines were merely far-fetched, punchline-free boasts about fornicating with supermodels on piles of currency. I don’t get it.
Judging by Ice-T’s reaction to the supermodel material, neither did he. As a matter of fact, my first instinct when watching the video was that an animated GIF of a disgusted Ice-T wincing at the Situation’s set was bound to become a long-running Internet meme. So here you go. It’s the new facepalm:
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Speaking of dying onstage, hate-filled prop comic Gallagher had a close call last week, suffering a heart attack and collapsing mid-melon-smash. I’m glad he’s recovered, if only because I want to see him go out like Steve Irwin, except with a shard of smashed watermelon rind piercing his heart. (What did go through Gallagher’s heart as he collapsed was a pang of regret that he’d still left so many things unsaid about gays and Muslims.)
Realistically, though, while I’d like Gallagher to be struck down by the very melons he’s made a career of smashing, I think he’s much more likely to be found dead of auto-erotic asphyxiation in his motel room, hanging by his neck from a closet rod by his own rainbow suspenders. It’d be just so sad and lonely and pathetic and perfect.
Seriously, he complained about shortness of breath and pain in his left arm earlier in the evening, yet he still went onstage? That’s just irresponsible. I mean, if he dies, who’s left to carry on his important work? Oh, right — Gallagher Too. Man, I bet Ron Gallagher’s eyes lit up when he saw that TMZ video of his brother keeling over and realized he might be right back in business.
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