Molestation of Public Programing Part II

A Thousand Pardons My Faithful Followers,

It has been far too long since I have lavished you with my literary loquaciousness. I have allowed myself to be distracted by mere mortal meddlings and in doing so have been derelict in my duty to educate you aspiring elitists.

As I previously promised, I will be critically evaluating the current crop of corrosive programming on public television. To begin this series, I will start with a program that has thankful just ended its scourge of the social soul; The Bachelor

What person with any amount of cerebral cells would come up with a show whose entire purpose is to make a mockery of courting and romancing women? Yes, I will admit, that it is quite pleasing to the optical organs to view these fine female figures as they flounce about in prime geographic locations. Unfortunately their combined IQ is less than the current approval rating of President Obama’s healthcare plan.

If one actually is able to focus on the conversational encounters that occur on the show, then they are truly a master over their gag reflex. I have witnessed higher intellectual banter occur between a gnat and a pile of fecal matter than these ladies and the dimwitted doofus chosen to be the gem of the group.

Perhaps a better title for the show would be “The Wealthy Windbag and his Pack of Imbecile Imposters.” None of the females on this demonstrate any honor, honesty, or high classiness to be chosen as a worthy life partner. For that matter, the pitiful excuse for a male that is chosen to be the apple of their eye would better be suited for removing the rind on Rocky Mountain Oysters than wooing the women.

In closing, I hope you all have not been subjected to the deepest form of torture by viewing this voracious visual vat of vile public programming. If this has been thrust upon you by someone you consider a friend or foe, I would strongly suggest you introduce them to a classic Higgins tactic; have them pull their bottom lip over their head and swallow deeply.

“Don't cry at the beginning of the date. Cry at the end of the date like I do.” Bonnie Hunt aka Laurel Boyd; Jerry Maguire 1996

If you date cries during your date, put her in a taxi, send her home, and make her pay the tab. A real Higgins woman wouldn't cry. E.R. Higgins 2010

Intro to the Molestation of the American Television Programs

Dearest Debutants,

I’ve debated when to begin this series of commentary regarding a poison that is perverting the American way of life. Well, my delectable designation of debutants, today is the day. This toxin has infiltrated every cell of the human petri dish of society and caused an astronomical amount of damage to the culture of the average national citizen. Yes, my friends, I am in deed talking about the horrific source of misinformation; Public Television (gasp!!!)

Since it’s inception in 1929, the television (or T.V to those less than intellectually equipped) has been a source of information that allows the viewer to expend less energy than other information sources to receive said content. For those that have motivational skills in the way of the three-toed-sloth, this invention was a gift greater than ambrosia. To be entertained without having to mobilize ones gluteal mass was not a creation for convenience, it was a launch into the land of laziness. Quickly following this product was its illegitimate child; the remote control. This trundle of terror virtually guaranteed the owner would proportionally decrease his IQ while increasing his central circumference on a weekly and most often daily basis.

If only for the physical and mental consequences of this cube of curses I would not be so deeply frustrated. However, the current crop of prime time programs have as much substance and cerebral stimulation as Paris Hilton at a spelling bee. Really, folks, I dare you to find ONE single program that is worth the electrons that it is using to spew forth it’s pathetic content. In this series that I call “The Molestation of the American Television Programs” I will systematically evaluate the most popular shows on television today and in a non-biased format present the evidence-based findings. I hope that you all read this series with an open mind and should you find that I evaluate one of your “shows” in a less than desirable light, I ask that you ask yourself, “if I were a Higgins, would I be watching this?”

I hope you enjoy this upcoming series because if you don’t, you could become “Un-Higgins worthy.”

All television is educational television. The question is: what is it teaching? - Nicholas Johnson former FCC Commissioner

If prime time television is really supposed to be the prime content, why do they call the last stuff late-night programs? They should call the prime time era the “shows-on-during-dinner-so-you-have-to-eat-on-the-couch-and-get-spaghetti-all-over-the-cushions” time slot. That makes good Higgins sense. – E.R. Higgins 2010

The Meat of Life

Fellow Friends,

I’m sure by now that many of you veteran and neophyte readers have created an image of me a something more than a normal man in lieu of my legendary female conquests, endless supply of eerily surreal wisdom, and unprecedented mastery of high-societal maneuvering. In fact, I’m certain that many of you are so in awe of my abounding smoothness in everything I say that you feel you cannot possibly relate to me and thus you feel may feel that my intellectual teachings will not apply to your little life. Well, my dissuaded darlings, I would like to let you in on a little secret that might help you to view me more in a form that you can understand with your average intellect...

As a cultured, well-rounded, and red-blooded American man, I have been watching the common mans time honored sport of American football over the past few weekends. Yes, yes you may be saying to yourself “how can a Higgins watch a commoner’s game?” Although the game themselves are occasionally entertaining, I find my attention continuously drawn to the collection of fine looking women adorning the sidelines of the gladiator gridiron. To primitive-minded men, these Phenomenal Professionals of the Pom-Poms are a temptingly tasty dessert starkly contrasting to the massive mammals annihilating each other behind them on the field. Each of these scantily clad women bouncing, posing, and preening themselves without any chance for the drooling dogs in the stands to touch.

In many ways, these Sideline Seductresses are like a neighborhood supermarket meat section. They display their high end pieces of meat comprised of rumps, thighs, loins, and breasts for thousands to see but not to touch. Now the common man would love to sample these juicy tidbits, but he is thwarted by the glass case of monetary means and societal status. These desirable delicacies are on display for these poor simple communal creatures, but are reserved only for those with the financial girth to match their fine status. The meat for the mean male masses is of the older, saggy, and leaky variety found in clearance bins (bars) down the isle (street). Furthermore, should an average chap be so blessed as to actually obtain these moist morsels, his is from that point forward doomed to crave for this tasty meal but is instead given moldy old meatloaf at home.

As a man of more than adequate finances and status, I have enjoyed many a luscious lunch on these moist morsels. Each year, the meats become more tender, juicy, and ravishingly succulent. It is my hope for you all, my evolving elegants, to someday feast upon these prize pieces of the flesh, and revile in all their pleasure and splendor.

“If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furnitiure, let us be more ashamed of shabby ideas and shoddy philosophies…It would be a sad situation of the wrapper were better than the meat wrapped inside it.” – Albert Einstein 1879-1955

If you are ashamed of the wrapper on your meat of life, then just get better a better wrap for your meat. – E.R. Higgins 2010

Birthday Blues

My Contemporary Companions,

I apologize for my delinquency in posting this until now, but yesterday was a dark day in the distinguished history of Higgins. Many of you may know that on January 14th, I turned another year older and this year was, I’m afraid to say, the most difficult to date.

For as long as my rapier-like memory can remember, I have always been the most intelligent, the most sophisticated, and by far the most attractive man in the known world. Travelers would embark on treacherous pilgrimages on the chance that they would get to bask in the glory of my philosophical decrees, drink in my theoretical proclamations, to gaze at my Fabio like Physique. Women wanted to be with me and the men…well some men wanted to be with me too but that would have been a little awkward but not completely out of the question.

Up until yesterday, my life had been blemish-free. I had been happier than a Ricky at a Dungeons and Dragons Convention. January 14th, 2010, will go down as an infamous day in the history of Higgins. For upon yesterday, an ancient prophesy known only as Dita e Flamuri do Drop, was tragically fulfilled. As the Higgins genealogy traces back to its roots to prehistoric Albania, this archaic phrase is quite obviously in Albanian and the translation roughly translates into English as The Day the Flag will Drop. For those of you uneducated folks, the Flag was an old reference to the male reproductive organ. Drop was also a term that was synonymous with today’s term falter/quit/fade/etc. So quite literally, this prophecy may be modernized to read The Day the Weiner will Fail.

Yes, I am ashamed to admit that this prophesy did in fact come to fruition on my sacred birthday. A day that is sacred to all males to be the day that partaking in the pleasures of the female flesh requires absolutely no work on our parts and the tantrical fantasies are guaranteed to become a reality. I had the pleasure to be in the company of a women so outstandingly beautiful she could make Stevie Wonder's trousers dance.

We had met at charity function whose goal was to help recovering felonious financial investors find new elderly folks to prey upon and suck dry much a black widow to an aging butterfly. Neither one of us was intentionally looking for the other, but we locked eyes over the Rocky Mountain oyster buffet, and immediately fell under each other’s spell. As the evening progressed, we began to become intimately engaged in intellectual jousting, each trying to penetrate the other’s defenses without allowing the other to infiltrate our own barriers. Obviously you can see where this saga is trending…..

Back at the House of Higgins, we continued our battle of wits however we invited my dear friend Mr. Glen Fiddich to join us which created an interesting spin on our discussion points. Soon we began to explore each others terrain which rapidly progressed to foraging in one another’s foliage.

Suddenly, without warning, something terribly wrong happened. As I was preparing to make like Christopher Columbus and claim her unconquered territory, a deflating feeling came upon me and I realized that my Higgins Handle had begun to lose functioning. Nothing I could do would raise the Flag, rally the troops, rebuild the fort, etc. Fate had apparently deemed me to be the one in which the ancient foreboding prophecy to occur on. My female companion was crushed at the missed opportunity to experience a ride on the one of a kind Higgins Train of Pleasure. She took my receiving the prophecy as a personal failure and quickly excused herself from my presence into the cold dark night.

My dearest friends, I share my previous 24 hours with you not to make you pity me or to feel guilty if you sampled the female flesh while I was selected not to do so. I share this story with you to illustrate a point that fate truly does have EVERYTHING to do with happiness. As I have mentioned before, I have always been selected by the fates to be superior to others in all aspects of life. This one occurrence on my sterling record of conquests will haunt me for the remainder of my life, but it also will give others hope that even the elite of the elitists can be chosen to experience tragedy. The silver lining in this saga is that the ancient Algerian prophesy has been administered, completed, and now is dead. I may now go forth and conquer the vast female land that is eagerly waiting to be claimed by the Higgins without concern of the infamous Dita e Flamuri do Drop.

To conquer oneself is a greater task than conquering others - Budda 563-483 B.C.

All civilized men conquer fear and failure on a daily basis. A Higgins has no fear and has never failed so he is already better than all other men. E.R. Higgins 2010

Ode to the Emo

Greetings Giants of Society,

I trust that the first two weeks of this New Year has treated you like the fine debutants that you must be as you’re worthy enough to peruse my priceless thoughts. Many are those who pine for the opportunity to witness my seemingly infinite supply of literary genius, however most are found unworthy on the Higgins Sophistication Scale. So, please count yourselves lucky much like I do on a daily basis for others bad fortunes making you look like societal kings. But enough about others, let’s talk about my thoughts….

I was reminded yesterday during one of my jaunts around the common man’s cesspool (also known as the mall) of a new wave of “fashion” that is quite frankly molesting the style of America. The so called “Emo” rash of dress is perhaps the most redonkulous idea that has been expressed since the advent of the Flowbee. I cannot fathom why a normal young lad would want to turn himself not only into a skinny damsel, but a skinny damsel with Saran Wrap for jeans and shirt, hair that makes Tammy Fay Baker look human, and scarves that have patterns that would make Pink Floyd stare in awe.

Now really, folks, I implore you to seriously ask yourself if this is what our future should look like. Compounding the issue is the fact that this style of dress is accompanied by an annoying behavior of self-pity and apathy. Instead of working to overcome your problems, these Goth-lite folks cling to the mindset that they are misunderstood/judged/targeted/misfits. Well, if I decided to wear clothes so tight that let everyone know my circumcision status and whether or not I was a brief or commando person (for your reference, a true Higgins is always free from all constraints; inside AND out), and styled my hair to resemble a wet obese Marmot, then perhaps I would be rightly labeled as the village obtuse.

Finally, this lifestyle apparently requires its disciples to write dark and brooding poetry, mix it with an atrocious amount of distorted guitar sounds, and try to pass it off as art. Oh I long for the days of The Lawrence Welk Show where you would have your ears massaged with musical masterpieces from the late great Ralna English and Guy Hovis.

So, my fellow high-level homosapiens, I urge you to greatly lower your standards and help these misguided followers of Freakville. Perhaps all they need is some like yourself who will explain to them in a language they will understand that feathered hair, bandanas, tight jeans, and a dark attitude will never lead to the inner circle of Higginism.


Never judge a book by its cover – Cary Grant in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer 1947

To dress like a schmuck is to be labeled as such. To dress among the elite of the elite is to be labeled a Higgins – E.R. Higgins 2010

New Year's Philosophy

A Warm Higgins Hello,

For starters, I would like to wish all my fine followers a Happy New Year. New Year…. it has an attractive auditory allure to it. Much like the scent of a finely rolled Cuban cigar, a glass of perfectly aged single-malt scotch, the softness of a sophisticated woman’s touch…pardon my temporary tangent.


To begin a New Year is to completely eliminate the previous year’s achievements and failures from memory. To wipe clean the proverbial slate in preparation for a whole new year of opportunities is one of the most refreshing activities a man could ever perform, secondary to a good ride on a freshly installed bidet.


Many are the common people who make so called “New Years Resolutions.” These resolutions often are silly and juvenile like give more to charity, quit smoking/drinking/hooking, volunteer for soup kitchens, etc. Obviously these are the proclamations of those less-than-sophisticated cretins who also think that “going green” has anything to do with saving the earth’s resources when we intelligent folks know it is a Mongolian reference to money.
As a member of high society, it is in my Higgins Honor Code to guide those less fortunate than me, which is nearly everyone, in how to start off the New Year right. Please read the following and try to follow them to the letter of the word;


1.) According to the ancient Mayan Calendar, this is Annus of Verus Vir or The Year of the Real Man. For those of you who have been accused rightly or wrongly of being feminine/weak/submissive, this is the time to drink in your testosterone, flex your man muscle, and mark your territory. (yes, I intend literally)


2.) Those people who resolve to lose weight, work out, or become better looking this year need to save your breath. People are born attractive, so if you have not achieved it by now, then society has deemed you unworthy and you cannot rise in physical status. A real man does not need to work out, as by flexing his intellect and working his social muscles will keep him in perfect shape and smelling much better than a ghastly smelling Weddle-used gym jock.


3.) Those who wish to be more charitable, serving, and community-service minded must realize that people are in the predicaments in life that they are for a reason. For example, as I am a pure bred Higgins from a long line of Higgins’, I am destined to be superior in all aspects to the common man. It does no good to give a commoner such as a Weddle, Crab, Smith, or Ogden any assistance in climbing the societal ladder as it will only serve to frustrate them when they cannot maintain the high level of competence required to reside this high in the ranks.


4.) The bad habits that you have spent the last year nurturing, coddling, and perfecting will not be broken simply by making a silly resolution. The only Higgins-endorsed way to break a bad habit is to throw enough money at the problem that it goes away. For example, prostitution. I have an acquaintance that for the sake of argument we will call “Jessie” who has an addiction to prostitution. His addiction is NOT employing these street walkers, but rather playing the role of one. He constantly feels the need to dress in drag and in his size 10D 4 inch stilettos, parade down the streets of a town called “Overland Park” pleading for business from the wealthy members of the community. Jessie has longed to escape this lifestyle, but the feel of the stilettos, the embrace of fishnet stockings, and the comfort of the crotchless sequence thongs make this a difficult activity to dispose of. For Jessie to finally break this habit, he must find an investor who is willing to pay for a $10,000 Clockwork Orange-style therapy session to brainwash him out of this lifestyle. Being the selfless Higgins that I am, I am happy to donate $5 toward this noble effort. Good luck, “Jessie.”


5.) Last but not least, if you are a hapless married man who has not engaged in an appropriate amount of “intimate moments” with your wife, then your problem is simple. You must not be a refined enough man for a woman to want to present her lovely woman spirit to. Try and spending a little more time on pubic hair grooming, ear cerebrum extraction, and inguinal massaging. These are some of my own exquisite hygiene rituals that have gotten me more female attention than baby-oil-covered Bradley Cooper (Phil from the Hangover.)

In closing, this is an exciting time in beginning a new year. I have many plans for this year, and if you are deemed worthy enough by the Higgins Class-O-Meter, you may get to partake in these functions.

"The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that tthey always see the past better than it was, the present worse than it is, and the future less resolved than it will be" Marcel Pagnol 1895-1974

Last year is in the past and this year is in the future. Don’t mix them up. E.R. Higgins 2010

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

Happy Holidays Dearest Friends,

Today’s elegant entry is centered on the giving season. While some less-than civilized people may be under the influence that “it is the thought that counts,” they do not matriculate in the societal circles that the select few of us do on a daily basis. To give a gift that could be found in a Wal-Mart, Target, or Kohls is on the same class level as bringing Arbor Mist to a Bordeaux tasting.

When you find that perfect present for that special someone, you must deeply ponder whether or not it will floor them like Mike Tyson on Vern Troyer with its majesticness. If someone opens their gift, and they respond by saying “I love it” or “it’s just what I wanted,” then you have failed, my silly little naive friend. The true test of the impact factor of the gift is the ability for the gift to render the recipient speechless.

The scientists at the Honorable Institute of Gothical Graduate International Neo-linguistic Station (H.I.G.G.I.N.S) have undertaken intense studies on what is actually occurring in the sub-cerebellar part of the sub-conscious during this process. They have dubbed the condition Higgins-itis, as it often is a result of a gift given from a Higgins. The shear shock of such a classy gift triggers a release of the chemical farkinawesome (pronounced FARkin Awesome) which inhibits the trigeminal nerve and temporally paralyzes the vocal cords for a minimum of 30 seconds. I myself witness this syndrome every time someone is lucky enough to receive a gift from moi.

There are two treatments for this Higgins-itis. The first is simply to allow the gift’s shocking effect to wear off. The second is to immediately place your hand softly on her shoulder and whisper sensuously in her ear, “Please accept this gift as a pathetic attempt to please someone of your unfathomable status.” This strategy makes her think that you are humble in addition to being uber-classy. The end result usually involves tears, hugs, and you may use your imagination on what follows later on….

Hopefully those readers who look at Higgins’ as a role-model have learned something from this entry and can put into practice some of these methods for couthness. I hope all have great end to 2009 and more importantly, have a prosperous 2010.

“That’s the gift that keeps on giving the WHOLE year.” – Cousin Eddy, Christmas Vacation, 1989

“A gift that keeps on giving for a year should receive immediate medication, quarantined, and surgical debridement.” – E.R. Higgins, 2009