I miss the Gong Show. I miss Chuck Barris hosting the Gong Show.
Gene Gene the Dancing Machine? How do we manage to go on without Gene Gene the Dancing Machine?
I loved the way Barris scratched his head and stumbled around the set like a koala bear gloriously drunk on eucalyptus leaves. I loved the Unknown Comic and Phylis Dillar and Jamie not-in-his-dress-Klinger Farr and Joan Rivers and ... and ... and ....
... and Chuck Barris's jackets and hats and the sexy Scandinavian chick that introduced him ...
... and Jay P. Morgan and her thinly veiled references to felatio and that glitzy beaded head-thing she wore.
Wait! I know! I know! There is nothing I loved more than when some complete dog of an act would get gonged and Chuck Barris would come out all apologetic and full of beautiful human compassion and pat the gonged out loser on the shoulder and say, "I don't know why they did that. I loved your act," like he really meant it.
Man, I miss the Gong Show, but have faith dear reader. I realize I am no Chuck Barris, but you can count on this:
We'll be back with more shhhhhtuff!