Much television is anodyne, unimaginative and without redeeming characters or plots. Even those which are imaginative and intelligently put together are often morally dubious. Take Ally McBeal for one. This is an imaginatively made TV series which celebrates and indulges the lunacies and inadequacies of a thirty-something lawyer, when if the world were even the slightest bit sane, Ally would be ritually humiliated every week before being put into the army to sort herself out and the series would be renamed “Thing”.
It is for this reason that we celebrate those who identify ‘inappropriately’ – those who don’t think that Carol and Doug were always right and that actually Kerry should have slapped them around with her cane until they were a bloody pulp for being so self-importantly dramatic all the while (‘Oh my tortured romance’) rather than just getting on with the bloody job – those who wish Gunther would pull out an Uzi and pump hot metal death into those parasites who clog up his coffee bar – those who pine for the day when Mulder and Scully pop off for a shag, leaving the Lone Gunmen … Oh hang on a minute …
It is for this reason that I recommend you ignore Meg’s appeal to not go and do the Bridget Jones quiz. Because it has declared me The Anti Bridget – and cutting past the bullshit description [“You’re nothing like Bridget, but you’re very much like her bossy, happily engaged, real-estate-shopping officemate Perpetua – perpetually organized, perpetually on top of things, perpetually a pain in the arse.”] – I have declared myself Arch Nemesis of Jones The Hag. Schlurp your chianti while you still can, woman. We’re here to bitch-slap you from the face of the planet…