Well, she finally did it. After months of threats and heated arguments about my television viewing habits, my Agent finally muscled me into submission.
She instituted a Parental Control code on all of my favorite stations.
She says I can no longer watch MTV because shows like "My Super Sweet Sixteen" are reinforcing my selfish, egomaniacal, diva-like ways. What does she mean? I demand a hundred-thousand dollar 8th birthday party and she act like I've asked her for her first-born!
She says I can no longer watch R-rated movies or HBO series. Apparently, my beat-down of Brach in the corner of the spare bedroom was "influenced" by "The Sopranos." I can't eat some gabagool and kick Brach in the faux stugots without getting pinched? Oh my GAWD! Apparently, I live in a fascist state! I can't believe she would do that 3 days before the final season premieres. Va fa napole! That backbiting schifosa!
She says I can no longer watch "Two and a Half Men" on CBS. Not because it's foul, but because it sucks. I'm not fighting this one.
She says I can no longer watch "I Love New York," on VH-1. Yes Tiffany is one crazy bitch, but I hardly think I'm one to line up eligible men who all pledge their devotion to me. Um...okay. Moving on.
I need to break this code! I've tried all our birthdays. I've tried my measurements (purr...ooh-la-la). Nothing has worked. I won't rest until I have access to the filth I love.
It's my right.