My name is Dan Scharch and I have a problem.
I am severely entertained by people falling down. I may have graduated from college with a healthy resume to sit on, but most of my brain power seems to reside in where to find my next fall fix. America's Funniest Home Videos has legitimately kept me alive and happy for 20 years. Failblog was a gift from Heaven.
But thankfully, every time summer rolls around I not only get to see bikinis and eat popsicles, ABC returns one of its most popular shows to the boob tube: Wipeout. My weeks are now consumed with surviving till Tuesday where I can get an evening dose of people bouncing on big red balls and giving off the Wilhelm Scream all the way to the water. It is pure joy.
Somehow we're wired to crack up at the moment of Grandpa biting it. Is it a cultural movement or is it brain chemistry? One way or the other, I think my insatiable craving for spills is reflected in my own. I've drunkenly stepped on a skateboard (don't remember), swallowed a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sword going up my back-porch stairs (don't remember), and celebrated New Years by (drunkenly) launching myself off a trampoline (kinda remember).
We all fall down as the London Bridge song goes and it makes total sense. We all figuratively wipeout every once and a while. I think we're all just laughing to outwardly admit that, hey, it happens to the best of us.
It is much sweeter when someone asks for it, though.
Castro? C'mon.
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