Trumped in America

I don’t normally write about politics but I’m going to break the habit by writing two posts about the subject; one far away and one a lot closer to home.

I’ll start with something that I can’t change but has had me ranting with the incredulity of it all: Donald Trump’s presidential campaign.

Before I get my soapbox out, let me just say that American politics is usually of no interest to me at all. When it appears on UK news, I tend to switch off – sometimes literally turning the television off. 

But this man has had me ranting like there is no tomorrow. At first, it was a joke and I actually chuckled at his antics and outrageous comments. I mean, how could he be serious? 

I thought it was a comedic publicity stunt, which I wouldn’t put past Donald Trump. I mean look at the guy! He has mad hair and a mad attitude.

And I complain about MY bad hair ...

He's like a walking parody of a politician, an idiot who allows his mouth to utter his thoughts without going through his mental firewall.

You can imagine his advisors saying "I don't think you should call all Mexicans rapists, Mr Trump!" only to be slapped down with such political incorrectness that you almost have to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Almost! Before you realise that he actually really believes it,

And now, after his recent wins, it’s looking likely that this eccentric nutcase will win the Republican nomination and be just a step away from the White House with only Hilary Clinton standing in his way.

How on earth has this happened?

From what I’ve read, a lot of Americans are just as incredulous as I am, but the truth is that his popularity reveals that a large percentage of Republicans actually agree with him. 

Has America gone mad?

Here are some things that this lunatic believes:

A great big wall should be built between the US and Mexico – and Mexico should pay for it.

11 million illegal immigrants should be deported, despite estimate that finding them and deporting them would cost in excess of $110 billion.

Climate change is just “bad weather”.

The US should use waterboarding as a means of interrogation.

Muslims should be tracked by law enforcement with all mosques in the US being put under surveillance.

Muslims should not be admitted into America. 

I wonder what happens to American Muslims – put under surveillance, obviously.

Even the Pope, the head  of the Roman Catholic church, has had a go at him, and we have had a debate in the UK parliament as whether he should be banned from the UK because of his xenophobic views, based on a petition that gained 570,000 signatures. 

Of course, it was never going to happen because the nutter may become president and we’re not going to enter a cold war with America, based on one idiot’s views. 

I don’t actually know whether I have faith in the American people to do the right thing. It’s the jingoism that surrounds the US elections that seems to matter rather than the important stuff. “We’re going to make America GREAT again!” is a war cry that is almost laughable. I would laugh if a British politician said it – in fact, I think most of them already have. The bottom line is that Britain is great DESPITE the arses who currently reside on the government side of the House of Commons.

And I’m sure that America is great too, despite what Trump says.

Moreover, Trump is a big fan of the right to bear arms. Yet, it seems like every day we hear about gun crime in the US with psychopaths committing mass murder. America would be much better if a would be politician promised to do something about the archaic gun laws over there.

I don’t understand why it is so important to have the right to bear arms. Any politician could make America greater by attacking important issues like this. Certainly Barack Obama did.

In the UK, guns are strictly controlled and because of this our murder rates due to firearms is tiny in comparison to the US.

The logic is there for all to see.

Worse, on the news today, I heard a report that even most Republicans don’t want Trump to be their candidate.  

So what’s going on across the pond?

I am praying that America sees sense and Trump himself is trumped! I have faith in the American people. I have visited America many times and I am certain that common sense will prevail.

Anyway, enough ranting – it’s time to end this with a bit of fun at Donald Trump’s expense. 

How about a bit of trumpeting for Trump?

Follow this link and have fun and let's hope that all of this is just a blip! 

How Dare They Cancel My Favourite Shows

I am absolutely fed up of American networks cancelling shows that I love, particularly when the season finale is either a cliffhanger or leaves hooks that lead into a continuation of the story in a new season.

How dare they!

I have just finished watching season three of The Following starring Kevin Bacon as a flawed FBI agent hunting psychopathic serial killers. I was excited because although the story of season was concluded, it left things open for an interesting season four.

“I can’t wait for that,” I said to Mrs PM who also enjoyed it.

Imagine my disgust when I discovered not ten minutes ago, that there would be no season four at all.

Rant? I think I may have redefined the word. My soapbox is struggling under the ferocious assault and the cats are watching my fury, wearing their specially made ear defenders so they can laugh at my antics.

Oh dear - he's off again!!!

 This isn’t the first time shows have been cancelled prematurely. I really hate it when a story doesn’t finish.

It’s like having a book you are reading snatched from your grasp and hurled into an incinerator and then discovering that it was the only copy. Or watching a film and discovering that it was only partly finished.

The behaviour of these faceless people infuriates me.

I can imagine a bunch of suited men in black sitting in an office and deciding whether to continue the season. Just because a few thousand less people watched it, is that truly grounds for pissing me and thousands of other people off?

It doesn’t matter whether the show is a triumph – it’s all to do with money at the end of the day – and that’s a real shame.

Don’t get me wrong; if a series finishes and ties up all of its loose ends to bring the story to a satisfactory conclusion, then I am happy. I may not be happy with the ending, but at least I have some kind of closure, something I desperately need from such a series.

One of my favourite shows ever, Babylon 5, survived for 5 seasons, despite the threat of cancellation lurking over it like an unseen nemesis. As brilliant as the show was, I feel that it seasons three and four were somewhat rushed in order to get as much of the story in as possible. The result was a triumphant season four story arc that thrilled me. It was so good that season five was commissioned and, sadly, didn’t reach the high standards of its predecessor. However, at least the writer managed to conclude the story in a satisfactory manner, leaving one happy Plastic Mancunian.

Some series have been so popular that the television company has persevered and allowed them to run to a conclusion and I’m delighted that they have. One example is Breaking Bad, which Mrs PM and I are currently ploughing our way through. Somebody bought us the DVD box set for Christmas with a recommendation that we should give it a try. We are currently close to finishing season three and are both thoroughly enjoying it, knowing that the series reaches a satisfying conclusion. I am happy that I can watch the remaining episodes in the knowledge that there will be complete closure.

I have to say, that UK TV companies generally allow a series to run its course and seldom cancel a show at the end leaving a massive cliffhanger. It has been known though. The world’s longest running science fiction series, Dr Who, was eventually terminated after 26 years in 1989 and the UK geek world was outraged. Thankfully the BBC had a change of heart, though it did take another 16 years to do it.

I just wish that the US networks, who are meant to provide entertainment, would concentrate less on being so ruthless and look at the bigger picture. There are millions of people outside of the US who love these shows.

Think about that, Fox, NBC and all of you other US networks. Next time you want to cancel a show, ask me first!

How about you, dear reader.

Have you suffered the deep frustration of having your favourite TV shows cancelled?

If so, which ones?

Deal Or No Deal?

My television set hates me and I’m not surprised. It bears the brunt of my ranting. Mrs PM is thinking of calling in a therapist for it (and asking him for a straight-jacket for me).

Certain TV programmes ignite a spark within me, a spark that becomes a flame, then a blaze, then a nuclear explosion. My normal mild-mannered demeanour is cast aside as I mutate into a cross between My Hyde and the Incredible Hulk.

One such programme is “Deal or No Deal”.

If you’ve never seen it before then pay heed because it may have a similar effect on you. You may consider yourself to be like me, a pacifist who wouldn’t harm a fly. I reckon that by the time you have finished watching “Deal or No Deal” your TV will be cowering in the corner, crying for its mummy.

In Britain, the premise of the game is very simple; 21 contestants each have a sealed box containing a sticky label in the lid that depicts a sum of money, ranging from a penny to £250,000. One lucky contestant is selected and he then has to eliminate boxes guarded by the remaining contestants, pausing at various stages while “the banker” offers a sum of money based on the boxes left and values eliminated so far. The contestant can choose to accept the banker’s offer (“Deal”) or carry on (“No Deal”) potentially losing or gaining money as a result. If the contestant refuses the deals all the way through then effectively he gets what’s in his own box, which could be as much as £250,000 or as little as one penny.

Basically it is just a guessing game with a little bit of risk and a little bit of drama.

Incredibly this dreadful programme is shown in several countries. In Britain it is fronted by Noel Edmonds, who has somehow managed to resurrect his career because of it. From the very offset, Noel has somehow turned the show into an advert for the power of positive thinking. What is going on? This is the man who brought us Mr Blobby!!!

The chosen contestant appears with all sorts of lucky charms and, in some cases, sad tales that somehow wrench at the heart strings of those viewers susceptible to that kind of nonsense.

First and foremost, it is just a guessing game and, at best, a test of how brave or how risk averse the chosen contestant actually is.

Whenever the contestant picks a box, he is led to believe (by an unknown force) that he can somehow influence the contents of the box; if he is positive then the lower values will be eliminated. Of course, the values in the boxes are predetermined and he has no way of influencing the outcome of his selection at all. Sure he can have a “hunch” but that’s about the best he can hope for. If he is lucky then he will eliminate the low values. In reality, the odds are probably against him anyway.

However, what particularly irritates me is the “feel good” factor. The contestant convinces himself that a benign power is on his side; the remaining contestants with the boxes are also convinced that they too can help the chosen contestant achieve his goal of winning an incredible amount of money. All this is fuelled by Noel.

We hear things like:

CONTESTANT: I have a good feeling about box number 5; go on Ryan, open the box for me. 5 is my lucky number and I feel really sure it is a low number.

NOEL: I hope it is a low number. Positive thinking aids positivity. Ryan, can you open the box?

RYAN (Box Number 5): I’ll do my best.

What does Ryan mean: “I’ll do my best”? What the hell can he do? He can’t do anything but open the bloody box. Other things that Ryan might say are:

“I am WILLING this to be a low number for you mate.”

“This is a low number. I FEEL it in my water.”

Inevitably, when the box containing £250,000 is eliminated, Ryan will say something absurd like:

“I’m so sorry! I’ve let you down. How can you ever forgive me?”

The contestant will reply:

“It’s OK Ryan. I forgive you!”

AARRGGHHH!!! Am I the only person on the planet annoyed by this? Ryan couldn’t influence the contents of the box unless he was an alien with paranormal powers or just a bloody cheat! And if he WERE a cheat, if he had any sense he would wait until it was HIS turn to become the chosen contestant before putting his devious little plan into action.

STREWTH!!

Anyway, after eliminating a few boxes, the contestant then has to wait for the Banker to offer him a deal based on the remaining box values. The Banker is not seen and resides in an office off screen. We do not get to hear what he has to say because he calls Noel on the phone and speaks to him alone.

The Banker makes his offer based on a formula which is high enough to tempt the hapless contestant to accept the deal, but low enough to tempt the greedy bugger to continue in the hope that he completely blows it. To add to this, the Banker usually adds a couple of mild insults to relieve the tension (after all, we all like a bit of banter, don’t we?).

The Banker is the only sane person on the show, choosing to openly ridicule the contestant and shatter his greedy illusions. I’m sure he also gets to insult Noel Edmonds, which in my opinion would qualify it as a serious contender for the best job ever.

As you might have guessed I would LOVE to be the banker on the show.

Picture the scene:

NOEL: You still have a few boxes left, including the £250,000 and the penny. How do you feel?

CONTESTANT: I feel brilliant. I feel POSITIVE!! I really feel that I can do well. I FEEL it in my water.

TELEPHONE: RING RING

NOEL (feigning surprise): Guess what? It’s the Banker.

THE BANKER (aka The Plastic Mancunian): OK you bearded buffoon. Tell that pillock that this is just a stupid guessing game and that he stands no bloody chance of getting his greedy mitts on the £250,000. Tell him he is almost as ugly as you are and that positive thinking is a way of life that helps people to make the best of what remains of their existence. It is not some stupid made up thing that somehow influences the contents of those bloody boxes. I’ll offer the idiot £5000 and tell him he can be thankful for that. By the way, Noel, did I tell you that you are a bearded buffoon?

NOEL: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! He’s such a mischievous imp. He says he wants to see you go home and that your luck has run out.

THE BANKER (aka The Plastic Mancunian): No I didn’t you weird beard. Tell the man the truth you and stop trying to raise his hopes. It’s a bloody guessing game. Tell him to take the five grand and be thankful. By the way, did I tell you that you are a bearded buffoon?

CONTESTANT: HA HA HA. My luck hasn’t run out. I feel positive. This whole place is filling me with a positive sense of certainty. I WILL win that £250,000. You can tell the Banker ... NO DEAL!!!

NOEL: Well done. He won’t be happy with that!

THE BANKER (aka The Plastic Mancunian): STREWTH! Never mind, weird beard. At least it pays my wages – oh and you exorbitant fee too. By the way, did I tell you that you are a bearded buffoon?

Noel has in fact leapt onto the positivity in the show and actually written a book called “Positively Happy: Cosmic Ways To Change Your Life”. Clearly something has worked for him.

In America, the show is very similar to the show in Britain but the contestants are absolutely bonkers. Gone is the positivity; it has been replaced by the razzamatazz that exists in American TV shows. If you were to take your average British contestant and pop him with so many happy pills that he rattled when he walked, you would have the contestant that I saw on the show during my recent visit to Boston. This was TV that was so incredible that I simply couldn’t take my eyes off it.

The contestant was dressed in an orange shirt that was so bright, I had to wear a pair of sunglasses to shield my eyes from the glare. His confidence was surpassed only by his arrogance; this man was the best of the best of the best of the best (in his world only of course). His hairstyle was incredible, a mullet that had been permed somehow. I like mullets but that hairstyle would have sent me to the hairdressers screaming “Cut it off! CUT IT OFF!!!!”

And, guess what? The guy was a HAIRDRESSER!!!!

The boxes in the British version were replaced by suitcases but the game was almost identical. There were one or two differences though.

First, there were two glamorous assistants who had two purposes, as far as I could see:

to take the suitcases off the remaining contestants when they had revealed their contents and also to let us all know, out there in TV land, how we should feel. Whenever a suitcase revealed a low value, the assistants would laugh and jump up and down clapping their hands. When it was a high value, they would look sad and pout mournfully. Whenever the orange contestant cracked a wild and unfunny joke they would laugh and whoop as if they had just heard the funniest joke in the history of mankind.

In addition to the empathic assistants, we had an audience that had been overdosed with Red Bull and Coca Cola; they were whooping, clapping and screaming continually, so much so that I could barely hear the presenter when he tried to speak. They were in a state of constant frenzy, which fuelled the orange contestant even more.

I was expecting the TV to explode.

In a similar way to the British contestants, the guardians of the suitcases were saying things like:
“I will MAKE SURE that this is a LOW value!”

One guy said:

“If this is a low number I want a FREE HAIRCUT!”

The orange contestant shouted:

“WHOO!!!! You got it, man!”

The guy must have known it had a high number otherwise he would never have taken a chance with his hair.

We actually saw the Banker in silhouette in the American version and he managed to ridicule the orange contestant. He must have read my mind because he remarked on the guy’s haircut being dreadful despite the fact he was a hairdresser.

Now, you may think that I consider the American version to be worse, but to be honest, it has one thing that makes it slightly better than the British version – the host is NOT Noel Edmonds. In the show I saw, he remained calm and tried his best to contain the arrogant craziness of the orange contestant, carefully explaining to him that he had to think about what he was doing rather than riding on a wave of frenzied enthusiasm.

I liked him.

In fact, I was thinking of applying for the position of Banker on the US show; my only problem is that people may guess who I am from my silhouette:

Do you think I should apply?

American TV Commercials

I’ve just returned from a very pleasant trip to the United States and, I tell you something, I’m glad I didn’t fall ill over there. If I had succumbed to an illness that required drugs of some kind I am certain that I would have perished as a result of a horrific treatment related side effect.

Mrs PM and I arrived in Boston around ten days ago and, whilst unpacking, I switched on the TV and started to flick through the channels, searching for something to watch as a background activity. It took a while because every single channel had a TV commercial on it – I was beginning to think that Americans had given up on the idea of watching TV programmes in favour of an endless loop of adverts.

Of course, we have commercials in the UK but in the US, they have millions of the things. I was drawn away from the necessity of packing and sucked into the world of advertising American style. Mrs PM seemed immune and unpacked, making sure that her clothes were impeccably hung up or popped into drawers. I simply watched the TV like a hypnotised idiot.

Here are a couple of commercials that grabbed my attention:

First, a very scary man, with a beard that made him look incredibly sinister, tried to convince me that I could use his services to make sure that the IRS (Internal Revenue Service) would not overtax me. I couldn’t drag my eyes from his beard; it was so perfectly coiffured in perfect harmony with his hair, that for a second I thought I was watching a talking doll. The expression on his face never changed and neither did the tone of his voice. Was he a robot? He certainly scared me into thinking that I should engage his services (otherwise I would have to pay the taxman millions of dollars) – and I’m not even a resident. But he was scary looking and I mean SCARY, so scary in fact that I later had a jet-lagged induced nightmare about him, picturing him as an immigration officer, accusing me of not paying my taxes.

Next came a dreadful advert for fast food with camera close-ups of seafood drowned in a weird looking sauce, all available for the cool price of $1.99, including a bucket of coke (and I mean a huge bucket). There were kids involved and parents smiling as they bit into this horrible looking gunk, with a catchphrase that made me cringe, a catchphrase that somehow stuck in my mind, causing me to suggest trying it for dinner later. Thankfully, Mrs PM hadn’t seen the advert so she replied “WHAT? ARE YOU MENTAL????”

Other products and services were being advertised with a phone number being drilled into the viewer’s skull by being repeated endlessly throughout the commercial:

Call 1-800-BUYJUNK. That’s 1-800-BUYJUNK. By the way, did I tell you that you need to call 1-800-BUYJUNK? If I didn’t then don’t forget to call 1-800-BUYJUNK. That’s 1-800-BUYJUNK. Have you called 1-800-BUYJUNK yet? Why not? Why haven’t you called 1-800-BUYJUNK? Are you insane? This is a once in a lifetime chance for you to call 1-800-BUYJUNK.

However, there was an advert that genuinely terrified me.

As you may know, I have suffered from hypochondria in the past (read about it here). Imagine my shock at seeing a US advert for a drug that could cause more harm than good. For non-American readers, let me explain and give you a detailed description of the commercial. I won’t use the real name of the drug – instead I’ll make on up; for the sake of the description, let’s call this wonder drug Phawxx.

Picture the scene. A smiling middle-aged woman is sitting on a sofa, looking at old photographs. Then she starts to describe, in painful detail, the dreadful medical condition she has and how Phawxx has saved her life.

“Phawxx has helped me live my life again,” she says. She is accompanied by music that, quite frankly, is so melodramatic that it either makes you want to sit there saying “AWWWWW” or (in my case) makes me feel like throwing up.

“Since I discovered Phawxx,” she continues, “I now have a reason to live. Suffering from Dragwart Syndrome is so debilitating it has made me question my very existence.”

“Dragwart Syndrome?” I ask myself. “What in blue blazes is Dragwart Syndrome? Is it some exotic disease I can catch in America? What the hell will happen to me if I catch that?”

I make a note of the name “Dragwart Syndrome” in my notebook, promising to look it up on the internet at the next available opportunity. I also start to plan to buy Phawxx – just in case.

She then goes into great detail about how the wonder drug, Phawxx, has made a difference. We see her in a sun filled garden laughing contentedly with her children; we see her lying in the arms of her devoted husband, both smiling adoringly and staring into each others eyes as if they are love struck teenagers. And the dreadful music plays on.

And then the warnings start. The commercial has lasted around six seconds until this point; the remaining twenty four seconds are devoted to the side effects of Phawxx. A voice over appears and then spends the remaining time warning you what can happen when Phawxx goes bad.

Always consult your doctor before using Phawxx. Possible side effects include: pregnancy, blindness, headaches, vomiting, diarrhoea, stomach cramps, deafness, hair loss and loss of toes. If your skin starts to turn crimson, stop using Phawxx. If your breathing becomes shallow or you fall asleep while walking, stop using Phawxx. In extreme cases, Phawxx can cause Dragwart Syndrome-related death. In some cases, you may grow an extra eye in the middle of your forehead. In others, your left leg and right arm may both wither and drop off unexpectedly. Do not take Phawxx if you have blonde hair, are Chinese, wear purple spectacles or own a cat. If you are male, Phawxx may turn you into a woman. Do not give Phawxx to children under the age of forty. Do not take Phawxx if you are receiving any other treatment for Dragwart Syndrome as the two treatments will combine and turn you into a fish. Ask you doctor about Phawxx.

And all the time, the voiceover man is telling us the ways in which Phawxx can mutate human beings, the nice woman is sitting in her comfy chair, smiling like an angel and laughing with her family. And the dreadful music plays on.

Of course, for any fellow hypochondriacs out there, Dragwart Syndrome is in fact a figment of my imagination (at least I hope it is).

I could go on all day about adverts on American TV but I will leave you with a complaint.

In the UK, on commercial channels, we are warned that adverts are about to come on. Let’s take the sitcom “Friends” as an example of how adverts are shown in the US and the UK.

In the UK a typical episode of Friends, a man will introduce the show and one set of commercials will appear about halfway through the show. A couple of commercials are also broadcast before and after the show.

In the US a typical episode of Friends will be split into about three hundred parts with commercials appearing every few seconds. Adverts will appear between the opening credits and the first part of the show, numerous times during the show and then just before the last scene and the end credits. For a foreigner like me it is impossible to know where the show starts and the adverts end. Even when Joey and Chandler are chatting, there are banners at the bottom of the screen advertising the next show to be ruined by adverts. Incredibly, just before the show ends, you get “close captioning for Friends was brought to you by Phawxx, the wonder drug for Dragwart Syndrome”.

Annoyingly, I was actually watching a sitcom I had never seen before and stupidly left the room and completely missed the final quirky scene.

“That was the best bit of the show,” said Mrs PM.

“Bollocks!” I said.

To be honest, I hate TV commercials as a rule. British commercials are awful but American ones are far worse on the whole. In Britain we at least inject some humour into them to make them a little bit interesting whereas humour is largely omitted from US adverts – either that or they simply aren’t funny.

If it were up to me, I would remove all TV adverts. The BBC is a commercial-free zone and it is small wonder that on the whole more viewers watch it than the other 3000 channels we get over here. The only things the BBC advertises are other BBC shows. That’s good enough for me.

I can do without “Just For Men” and “Phawxx the wonder drug” thank you very much, for my sanity at least.

This post was brought to you by The Plastic Mancunian. Warning - Do not read The Plastic Mancunian after consuming Phawxx as it may turn you into a baboon. Phawxx was brought to you by the weird and sordid imagination of The Plastic Mancunian and should not be taken ever - particularly if you suffer from Dragwart Syndrome.