Like it wasn't bad enough having to reset our clocks and wake up an hour earlier. Then came the WGA strike, leaving 12,000 writers with nothing to do and plenty of time to do it. A crisis for which we're all paying dearly, in our living rooms, kitchens, Subaru's, mission control spacecrafts -- wherever we watch television. Why? Because, my friends, our entertainment lineup is in trouble. Oh, yes, we got trouble, right here on TV, with a capital T and that rhymes with V and that stands for VIEWERS.
WE, the viewers, are the victims, a.k.a. the American Union of Couch Potatoes. But do we have to take this lying down? Negative. After years of absorbing all that potent EMF we're ready to unite -- at least during the commercials--and claim our power. How? First, by sitting up. Slowly, so you don't get the bends. Second, by moseying out to the kitchen for a power snack. And third, by refusing to watch television. If we stop watching, the industry will have to respond. This will force a speedy settlement and restore our scripted programs. Are you with me? Boob-tubers, unite, we're going on strike. ARE YOU WITH ME?! Anybody?
Don't think of this as a sacrifice. Think of this as the chance to free up your time for adventures you've only dreamed about, like watching your TiVo backlog, testing nacho recipes, or replacing the batteries in your remote. And I'll be here inventing some commanding slogans like this one:
What do we want?
The Daily Show!
When do we want it?
Ten PM Central!
If we just roll over and take it, the Airwave Daddies will have won. And if they win, be prepared, be very prepared for reruns, Reality, and reruns of Reality. Along with Green Acres and Sing Along with Mitch. And The Weather Channel's favorite forecasts. And more unscripted broadcasting than we ever dreamed possible like Anna Nicole Resurrected and So You Want to be a Plastic Surgeon.
And don't think TV producers won't be tempted to tap into the cache of non-union talent, even if it means subsidizing their ESL classes. Before we know it, these aspiring creatives will be churning out late-night comedy monologues faster than you can say "new media residuals":
I knock - I knock
Who is there?
José.
José who?
José, can you--
Si.
Remember, even when the dispute is settled, the writers can't sign on the dotted line until the Guild returns their pens. If we don't start waving our surfing thumbs in protest, we're in for a long winter of no content. Unless... unless we can appeal to a higher power. Sometimes it works. Ready? Here goes:
This is our most desperate prime-time hour. Help us, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're our only hope.
Did it work? Is Jon Stewart back on? No? Darn. Sorry, viewers, but this writer is fresh out of ideas. What did you expect? I'm non-union.
Read more about the strike on the Huffington Post's writers' strike page.