A tipster has sent along the script for the first episode of Colin Cowherd's "relationship" sitcom, which is being developed for CBS and which is roughly The Honeymooners meets Frasier meets the really insightful parts of Bedtime for Bonzo. Here are some highlights.
Bill Martin and Mike Schiff have written and produced a number of shows, among them 3rd Rock from the Sun, a perfectly harmless sitcom that did not involve unfunny shit-peddling morons, unless you count French Stewart.
Meet our protagonist, Fictionalized Unfunny Shit-Peddling Moron. Alongside him are his apparently Beadleish co-host, Casey, and a Broadly Written Sitcom Male.
Nick Herd talks about sports ...
... but sometimes Nick Herd also talks about life.
Between the boobsy ex, the sex-mad Fake Beadle, and the Relatably Attractive Sitcom Wife (Megan), the show takes a nuanced view of femininity.
Also: boobs. If the pilot is any indications, boobs will be a leitmotif on the show in much the same way that sucking chest wounds were on M*A*S*H*.
You see, Nick mines his life for material. But what happens when—oh just fucking kill me.
Nick and Fake Beadle are told to sex things up, which of course means ...
... boobs ...
... and dick ...
... and boobs ...
... and boobs ....
... and ass ...
... and ass ...
A bustling Coffee Bean on Santa Monica Boulevard. A barista coaxes loud whirring noises from a machine. Two men are huddled around a laptop. They are accomplished TV writers. They've written for the great ones. Lithgow. Carrey. Wayans. They are writing at this very moment, in fact. "That was gold!" one of them types. "Just the sort of smutty shenanigans the show needs." He looks to the other one, who nods grimly, sets down a foamy drink, and positions the laptop so it faces him. He begins to type. "She picked up the ass ball and ran with it," he writes. He looks to his partner, who nods grimly and claps the laptop shut. The two rise to their feet, go out into the sun-dappled day, and shoot each other in the heads. A machine whirs in the distance. Fin.
Nick is supposed to go to Eli Manning's benefit for something or other. Relatably Attractive Sitcom Wife, who will accompany him, is looking for a dress. Nick, on the phone with her, suggests he take Fake Beadle instead, as this is a work function. Relatably Attractive Sitcom Wife has a Humorous Meltdown.
Thus the theme of the show is established.
And it is: Unaccountably beloved, professionally competent male dipshit has banal problems with women.
Relatably Attractive Sitcom Wife bonds with the boobsy ex, which means ...
Off the couple goes to the Eli Manning benefit for something or other.
Humorous, Thematically Apposite Sitcom Patter ensues.
The two join Fake Beadle and Broadly Written Sitcom Male in a limo. Boobs.
Phil Simms appears elsewhere on CBS, by the way. As embedded marketing goes, this differs from a strategically placed box of brand-name cereal only in that a strategically placed box of brand-name cereal has less cardboard.
But what's this? Nick has realized, over Broadly Written Sitcom Male's objections, that he has let the professional subsume the personal and—oh fuck it. Boobs.
And so our friends — Fake Beadle, Broadly Written Sitcom Male, Relatably Attractive Sitcom Wife, and Fictionalized Unfunny Shit-Peddling Moron — repair to a Chinese restaurant, which means ...
The end, in so many ways.