TV Review: Ma's Road House

When I saw Ma from TruTV's "Ma's Road House" on "The Soup", I was, to loosely quote Biz Markie, very enthused. Here was Ma, trash-talkin', cantankerous old lady who reminded me of my own dearly departed grandmother, perhaps best known for her habit of dropping cigarette ashes on the carpet and grinding them in with her slipper, claiming it somehow "conditioned" the rug. Observe "Ma" in action:

"Happy wedding day." Gold, pure gold!

Eagerly, I programmed the DVR and awaited more of Ma's eloquence and grace, certain that hours of amusement awaited.

WRONG. This show sucks. I'm aware that at this stage in the game, all reality shows are fake: but I like my reality shows to disguise that fact with a little more panache than "Ma's Road House" does. Which is to say, not at all. The episode I saw featured some stupid story line about the health inspector showing up to shut down said Road House for various violations including but not limited to Ma smoking in the kitchen and bikini clad waitresses swimming with STDs serving food, or something. It ended with the "health inspector" (read: boom operator for the show) getting drunk at a Road House sponsored Bikini and Prison Tattoo contest and then forgiving the violations after a day of wild debauchery. RIGHT. Basically, the producers were like, "How can we cram as many fake boobs and dudes with ZZ Top beards as possible into 22 minutes?"

In between, the gospel according to Ma is showcased. Turns out what's funny in 5 seconds on "The Soup" becomes painful to watch any longer than that. By the end of it, I felt like reporting Ma to Child Protective Services for being a wad to both her son and granddaughter - except that the former is like 50 and the latter, 20, so CPS doesn't want any of that mess. But basically, instead of being endearingly frank, Ma's just an abusive a-hole. How she made it this long without getting shanked, I don't know. I kind of felt like doing it myself, by the end of the episode.

I've learned my lesson here. From now on, the only "Road House" I'll be frequenting is on Spike TV and is run by The Swayze with a little help from Sam Elliott and his mustache, along with that blind dude who plays the guitar behind chicken wire.

Nothin' But Their Jeans.

People need to stop doing stupid stuff to their kids in the name of fashion. Your kid does not exist as your opportunity to show the world how cool you think you are, OK?

Case in point - the skinny jeans for toddlers phenom that someone recently clued me in to. Where do I even start with this? First of all, what? This whole "jeggings" (jeans + leggings = jeggings) thing has been done. Except in the late '80s and early '90s, they were acid washed and called "stretch jeans" and if they were formal, they included zippers and little denim bows at the ankle. They took awhile to pull on, and were the preferred costume of those who aspired to be groupies for Britny Fox. But at no time were they made in size 2T, as they are today.

What is the point of putting your kid in these, other than to announce to the world that you're a tool who likes to torture toddlers? These things are a pain in the rear to put on a full-sized human, so forget about wrestling with a kid with limited motor skills and who is sporting an apple bottom courtesy of Huggies. I'm glad your vegan baby has a slim physique, but we don't need to see it swaddled in spandex.

Newsflash: your kid is a kid, not a short adult. So dress the kid as a kid, why don't you? Your baby does not dig the Arcade Fire, so stop trying to hook up the baby jeggings ("bajegs"?) with your hipster onesie. It's annoying. There's plenty of time for your child to WANT to wear dumb clothes and have a stupid haircut - he doesn't need you giving him a mohawk at age 2. DO YOU HEAR ME, GWEN STEFANI?

Let the freakin' kid be a kid. She's going to be judged as being cool or uncool by her looks soon enough: why accelerate the process?