To the casual observer, "American Dad" might appear an exact fucking replica of "Family Guy." To the less informed, it might seem odd that Fox, the dirtiest little whore of the network lineup, apt to lift its skirts at the vaguest whiff of gold, would not only revive the once-canceled "Family Guy," but also add a second show by McFarlane about a poorly drawn man and his family of miscreants. In fact, it is strange indeed that Fox should do so, but I'll try touching the moon before working on a whore's thinking.

In truth, gentle cocksuckers, "American Dad" seems to thwart the original intention of Rupert Murdoch's enterprise, being as it is a parody of the conservative, ball-busting, post-9/11 type of family. Dad works for the CIA, the modern-day equivalent of the Pinkertons, and there's plenty of ripe, low-hanging fruit to harvest in this land, from color-coded threat-level charts to government officials of various stripes to patriotic chest thumping. Furthermore, while I find the wisecracking British infant of "Family Guy" nearly intolerable, his counterpart in "American Dad," a slightly fey alien, is far more supportable and, dare I say, at times quite amusing.

Overall, though, the laughter isn't quite sufficient to warrant indefinite fucking viewing. Ah, but just as there are those who love their liquor, so too are there those who love their Seth McFarlane! Since I do tend to be prickly when in the wrong, I'll resign myself to witness a few more showings of this ludicrous offering before I set forth my judgment. I don't pretend to know the future, and a man's got to work a few dogs to know how the world wags its tail.

Terrorist cocksuckers and the like
And when the world wags its tail and then squats and grunts out a big messy pile, who's there to clean it up? A gentleman who answers to the name of Jack Bauer, that's who! After working on his deployments and flanking maneuvers for several days, Jack risked his hide to put the screws to one of those terrorist cocksuckers, and then set out in search of the head honcho cocksucker, all on his own fucking volition, in total fucking violation of due process and checks and balances and every other fucking policy or standard on which this great land of ours teeters precariously. Did he get a word of thanks from those cocksuckers in the Oval Office? Hell fucking no, he did not. Instead they arrested him mid-flanking-maneuver, then cried like girls when the terrorist cocksuckers absconded with the privileged information on the government's deadly armaments.

Even his erstwhile semi-regular fuck Audrey had nothing but unadorned recriminations to hand to poor Jack on his return, so full of concern was she for her half-dead ex-husband. Gratuitous, hurtful, unnecessary! Now, it's true that Jack should learn to show interest in a girl without murdering another person, but he still should've put the woman in her place, telling her, "Sayin' questions in that tone and pointin' your finger at me will get you told to fuck yourself!" Instead, he maintained his composure, as gentlemen so often do. Still, I'm thinking the little miss better lose that scoldy voice before Jack starts pickling his prick in the cunt brine of another!

Lord, why does Jack's misery please you so? What Godly use is his protracted suffering to you? What conceivable Godly use? What conceivable Godly use was the screaming of all those, like Edgar's mother, slain by nuclear fallout and the like? Did you need to hear their death agonies to know your omnipotence?

Alas, the pressing and urgent demands of God are so often met with silence: The callous winds continue to blow, the callous clouds drift by, undaunted, the callous grass shimmers in the sunlight, unmoved.

And then God answers in a thundering voice: "I was building suspense, cocksuckers!"

As far as "24" (Mondays at 9 p.m. EDT on Fox) is concerned, our moment permits interest in one question only: Will we of America be more than targets for ass fucking? Thus, at the end of last week's performance, when the call was made to former President Palmer to step in and save that jittery, second-guessing cocksucker in the Oval Office from screwing things up but good a second time, what with the terrorist cocksuckers having decamped with the warheads and the future of the free world in the hands of Chloe, for fuck's sake, the pig-eyed cocksucker might've chosen his words carefully and whispered to the former president, "To not grab ankle is to declare yourself interested. What's your posture, Palmer?"

But even if Palmer gets tangled in bureaucratic tape, as often occurs with bureaucrats of any stripe, we've always got Jack, whose steely gaze tells us, "I may have fucked my life up flatter than hammered shit, but I stand here before you today beholden to no human cocksucker!"

Which is a big relief, seeing as how the terrorist cocksuckers are well on their way to blowing some godforsaken city to smithereens. God rest the souls of those poor citizens ... and pussy's half price for the next 15 minutes!

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