Jeremy Eaton

I am not a fickle man. Once I give my allegiance to something, that something will almost always retain my allegiance. For example, I hate Nazis. I promise to keep hating Nazis, even though there are only about 27 of them left. [For those who are about to send me blistering, invective-filled emails—I know there are more than 27 Nazis left. There are at least 30.] I also hate TV Guide, dirty hippies, nerds, recurring STDs, Star Wars characters on cornflakes boxes, the Beatles, filthy belly buttons, and seasons 4–11 of M*A*S*H (i.e., any episode including that mustachioed cretin Mike "Blowjob Hunnicut" Farrell). These things never have to worry whether or not I will ever stop hating them, because I—as previously mentioned—am not a fickle man.

However! There are nonetheless rare occasions when even my immense lack of fickleness can be tested. For example, let's say that the surviving Beatles were to buy back all their incredibly overrated albums and toss them into an incinerator. While this act wouldn't erase the years of damage inflicted upon my eardrums by their endlessly repetitive limey horseshit pop tunes... it might make me somewhat less inclined to vomit whenever I think of them.

But there's a flipside as well. What about my most beloved TV shows that continually try my patience? Such as Alias? Ever since that first episode when Jennifer Garner marched around in her underpants kicking crooks in the nutsacks, I swore my eternal allegiance. But... C'MON! How much am I supposed to take? Every season the show gets progressively worse, with looping unconnected plot lines, boring new characters, and now, a pregnant female lead that's traded in her bustier for granny panties.

Even my fave teen drama, The O.C., seems to be losing its sheen. Ryan barely gets into any fights, Marissa's alcoholism disappeared like a common cold, and Summer hasn't whipped off her top in two seasons! What the FAWK?! Why do they think I watch this show??!

But this year's biggest disappointment is the new season of Lost. After last year's slam-bang premiere featuring invisible monsters, Lord of the Flies–style politics, and angry tropical polar bears, the second season has been dragging ass like a paraplegic donkey. While a few secrets were revealed—mostly via the hilarious "orientation film" that partially explained the island's botched scientific experiments—Lost is starting to smack of the Twin Peaks curse: a mystery that the writers are either incapable, or have no intention, of resolving.

And while the character flashbacks of last year—which revealed how each castaway made it to the island—were illuminating enough, now these same flashbacks are simply repetitious and are taking time away from more important scenes... like Evangeline Lilly skinny-dipping in the lagoon. Agreed, new cast member Michelle Rodriguez looks slammin' in those tight jeans—but C'MON! What happened to the invisible monsters and tropical polar bears? If they're anything like me, they've been bored poopless by the first three episodes of Lost, and have gone into hibernation.

So don't tempt me Alias, O.C., and Lost! I am not a fickle man—but I am vengeful. Just ask those Beatle-lovin' Nazi hippies! (Or Mike Farrell, if he's available.)