The Michael Ian Blacklash

I’m not proficient at performing Google searches, so you’ll have to excuse my ignorance if somebody else has already been elected official torchbearer of the Michael Ian Black (née Michael Schwartz) backlash club. As far as I can tell (that is, without doing a single web search for “Michael Ian Black sucks” or “Michael Ian Black backlash”), I’m the first to attempt this. Let me tell you…it feels pretty good. I haven’t even begun typing anything substantial yet, just this flowery introduction, and it feels really, really good. I’m talking blowjob-from-a-girl good.

I remember Mr. Black when he was a young pup on MTV’s The State. Sure, I was only 11 or 12 years old at the time, but my adoration of that show knew no bounds. I have fond memories of Capt. Monterey Jack lecturing kids on tying their shoes, or turning out the lights when you’re the last one to leave the room. I also remember the sketch where his character has never considered wearing pants before, and he learns about pants to the tune of The Breeders’ “Cannonball”. That one was funny. I would watch the show with my sister. One time, we were at Blockbuster Video, and they had a VHS called MTV’s The State: Skits and Stickers in their dollar bin. The two of us purchased the tape, and for a short while it was like we were in heaven. We would stare at our small television screen like zombies, and count the seconds until the faint sound of analog tape passing by the rotating video head drum on our VHS player was drowned out by the sweet sounds of The State. We did not blink during viewings of that tape. Like I said, we were like zombies. Except for when we laughed, which was often. Then we were like schoolchildren. And then my sister turned into a bitch and started hiding the tape from me somewhere in her bedroom, which was “off limits” because she often closed the door to her room. Then she got into Northwestern University and took the tape with her, the cunt. She wound up leaving the tape at our aunt and uncle’s house in Wilmette, Illinois. Fucking whore. I loved that tape. I love what was on it. I loved…Michael Ian Black (not as much as Thomas Lennon, but that’s not what matters now).

Viva Variety aired while we were in high school, and our family would gather ’round the television set and record every episode for future profiteering on eBay. Those were also on a VHS tape my sister hid from me and consequently lost during her college years, the dirty piece of rape-bait. Viva Variety renewed in us a sense of hope that we’d lost when The State disappeared from television. When Viva as we liked to call it (to ourselves, mostly) stopped airing in 1999…I don’t even want to talk about what happened next. It was awful, foul stuff. I started doing homework, I made friends and started smoking pot, and I got more pussy. I’m not proud of those days.

1999-2001 was like a really short dark ages. I got into college. During my first year of school, I happened upon Stella. I discovered that Michael Ian Black, Michael Showalter and David Wain had been performing comedy in New York City as a trio as early as 1997. What the fuck? I grew up in New Jersey and I didn’t know that? Jesus Christ of Chapped Assholes, how come I didn’t know that?I felt like how one must feel upon coming to the realization that life sucks and true happiness can never be experienced because there’s always another vagina calling you asking if you want to go get dinner that weekend, or you have to wake up at noon and work the afternoon shift at the store where you’ve been hired as a clerk at ten dollars an hour. I felt like I was already in my mid-twenties and I was barely 18 years old.

The first Stella sketch I saw was called “Turkey Hunting” and it blew my mind. I sat in my room during that first year of college completely oblivious to everything around me. After that, I transferred schools, dumped my girlfriend, and estranged myself from most of my friends. With my life back in order, I started teaching new friends at my new school about Stella. We went to see them perform. Then in 2005 they made Stella into a TV series. The first episode was, without hyperbole, the worst thing I’d ever seen on television. I decided not to watch any other episodes. I unintentionally watched a few scenes from a few other episodes, and they were equally bad. I was so embarrassed I did that thing people do when they suddenly want to shun the thing they’re well-known for loving.

Meanwhile, The State cast members were showing up in lots of weird places. Perhaps none more depressing than those uber-pop culture shows on VH1 where talking heads talk about pop culture from different decades they may or may not have lived through? My cum dumpster of a sister used to love those shows. I couldn’t stand them. No self-respecting comedian would subject themselves to such a shameful, disgraceful role, I thought. I actually caught a sliver of “I Love The ’90s” the other night (really? already? isn’t it a little early for the ’90s nostalgia thing to take hold?), and guess who was there: Michael Ian Black. That’s what got me thinking…Jesus, what won’t this prostitute do for money.

Michael Ian Black is ubiquitous with television. Finding Michael Ian Black on TV is like finding an African with the AIDS virus. He’s got Sierra Mist commercials. He’s got Ed reruns. He been on Tom Goes To The Mayor, Reno 911, Celebrity Poker Showdown, and something called Reaper (I never saw it). He’s got Wet Hot American Summer screenings on Comedy Central. He’s got…other commercials, and all those stupid VH1 nostalgia shows. Apparently he’s now hosting a new reality show called Reality Bites Back, which looks terrible. He wrote a book of essays. He’s a blogger. Slow down, guy. You’re coming to the point where you won’t be able to participate in I Love The ’00s, because you’ll also be every piece of pop culture footage they use.

Which brings me to my point: Michael Ian Black is tarnishing his legacy. He’s more overworked than the Indigo Girls fan’s vibrator. I don’t want to see his face every time I turn on my computer or my television, so I’m officially starting the Michael Ian Blacklash. You can join the club if you want. You don’t have to think he’s unfunny (he’s a funny guy with a silly shtick), you just have to admit he’s everywhere and it’s preventing other funny people (specifically me) from making any money. Here are some ways you can spread word about the Michael Ian Blacklash, in a style eerily reminiscient (as in I copied it and changed a couple words) of Michael Ian Black’s essay about David Sedaris from his book My Custom Van: And 50 Other Mind-Blowing Essays That Will Blow Your Mind All Over Your Face. I’ll give the guy one thing, his book as a very Michael Ian Black title.

- You’re at a frat party and a guy in a baseball hat burps loudly and crushes a beer can on his forehead. You walk over to him and say, “I haven’t seen such emotional depth since Michael Ian Black’s “love scene” in Wet Hot American Summer.” Then stare at the guy for an uncomfortable amount of time, wink at him, and ask him if he wants to hit the dance floor.

- On the bus, someone asks you if you’ve seen The Dark Knight. You tell that person, “I’d tell you what I thought of The Dark Knight, but comedienne (you have to enunciate the last syllable of the word to ensure the joke goes over) Michael Ian Black will be discussing it next week on VH1′s I Love The ’07. That person will now think Michael Ian Black is a woman.

- If someone asks you why you’re frowning, say because you just found out Michael Ian Black is a Jew.

- Start referring to him Ian Michael Black. When word gets ’round to Mr. Black that people are calling him names — even if its just a variation of his stage name — there’s a pretty good chance he’ll cry. Then we’ll have our just revenge on “America’s Sweetheart” Michael Ian Black.