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Eastbound And Down: Shit Just Got Real

Eastbound and Down, the best fucking show on television, is now four episodes deep into a six episode season. Last night’s episode was the first sequential episode to start with a stand alone scene, rather than picking up right where the previous week had left off, which does give me hope that this isn’t just an incredible mini-series but could potentially be spun out into at least a few more episodes. Maybe one more season? I am a strong supporter of the short-run project. Two seasons and out. 12 episodes and we’re done. That’s one of the reasons that the current season (minus the incredible Super Bowl episode) of the American The Office is so disappointing. We were done two years ago. Whoops, no one told them. Leave the audience wanting more, or whatever. But not THAT MUCH more. Don’t leave us wanting so much more that we want to die. Because that’s what will happen if this show ends with finality in two weeks. Crazy mass suicides all over the place. It will be like the opening scene in The Happening. We’ll all get together at Central Park to read our romance novels with our friends at 8:30 in the morning, just like we always do (because of what a normal thing that is, and just one more Signs of how that movie was so good), but this time we’ll put sewing needles in our necks.

But man oh man. Last night’s episode was so intense. The show has definitely moved well beyond the dip-spitting boner jokez into the cringe comedy of genuine human suffering. Not that there aren’t plenty of dip-spitting boner jokez to be had, but the reality of Kenny Powers fall is starting to take painful shape. It’s an exquisite portrait of abject humiliation. This show is high art. They should hang it up in a museum. I am serious.

If you guys aren’t watching this show, you really should. Go to jail, that is. You really should go to jail. You messed up. Pay the price.