![]() Nothing better for the Biography Channel to show on Veterans Day. “The Story of Pro Wrestling,” “Finding Hulk Hogan,” the biographies of Drew Barrymore, Robert Duvall, Dustin Hoffman and Clint Eastwood, “Gene Simmons Family Jewels,” “Celebrity Ghost Stories,” the biographies of serial murderers Ottis Toole and David Berkowitz, “Gangtsa Girls” and “Women n Prison.” Here was its lineup for this past Friday, Veterans Day: One of the many channels on which America’s cultural and intellectual free-fall can be observed at almost any time is the Biography Channel. Kimmel’s show is loaded with Woos!Īnyway, his Halloween gag made for loud, sustained and real-deal laughter - and a nice change. “Woo!” generally is hollered to acknowledge that you get something that isn’t particularly funny, or if you’re from Cleveland and there’s an onstage reference to Cleveland. And such “comedy” doesn’t produce genuine laughter, it manufactures “Woos!,” the modern, cheap, audience substitute for laughter. Well, they’re not jokes as much as they are winky and dirty. Maybe I’m reaching here, but the laughter part is significant because one of the common elements that make Kimmel’s show difficult to suffer is that it’s infested with dirty, winky jokes. And, sorry to say, it was funny, the kind of funny that produces genuine laughs from both the live studio and home audiences. Kimmel asked parents to tell kids, on the morning after Halloween, that they ate all their trick-or-treat candy, and video the kids’ responses. Taking Candy From Babies: ABC’s “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” show, last week, pulled a slightly cruel but thoroughly hilarious prank. The upper right reads “28 Days of Amazing Outfits,” at the cover’s bottom appears “138 Insider Tricks, Picks & Steals.” It’s the October 2011 issue of “InStyle.” There’s a woman with pink hair on the cover. I just picked up the first women’s magazine from a pile in our house. They all seemed mighty proud that there was a list inside. ![]() ![]() At magazine racks, I’d check the covers of women’s magazines. Suddenly, I began to eye the women’s magazines that were around. At the time, I was the only male in a four-person household. Rooney wondered aloud why women’s magazines always promo lists on their covers, then questioned how the numbers were reached, “Why 23, and not 24?” he’d whine. “14 Tips to Improve Your Love Life,” “The 17 Steps To Younger-Looking Skin,” the “21 Ways to A New You.” He selected one at a time, held it toward the camera and noted that each cover had, as part of its come-on, a list. ![]() Years ago, one of Rooney’s “60 Minutes” closing essays had him seated at his desk, a month’s worth of women’s magazines spread in front of him. There had to be some Rooney comic influence in more than we know or realize. ?” essays about routine absurdities were too popular, too sensible and too amusing not to have spilled from CBS News to network entertainment sensibilities. Rooney, although not widely identified as a performer or comedian, was among the first on TV to perform slice-of-life comedy bits, the kind later enjoyed on so many shows, including “Seinfeld,” “The Office” and “Friends.” Of all the salutes to Andy Rooney, over the past week, I didn’t hear or read one that credited Rooney with his influence on a certain art form: Comedy.
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