Viley Likes the Wood Man

Gee, Viley, I hardly recognized you. 

You're wearing CLOTHING. And your ugly, STD-smeared tongue isn't dangling retardedly down to your chin. And you're not grinding up against a Nigga Lesbian. 



It seems that everyone who works with Woody Allen has to endure the booooring question: "How can you work with somebody who has been accused of molesting a child?" 

And the answer is always the same: "I wasn't there." "It's an accusation, not a fact." "I don't believe in witch hunts." Etc. etc.   

Out of nowhere, and despite so many indifferent and verbose movies that barely make back the investment, rich Amazon wanted WOODY ALLEN in their stable. Bozo Bezos could easily finance TEN Woody Allen movies with the money he carries in his wallet. 

Woody signed the deal and then was appropriately appalled and petrified. When was the last time he wrote for television? What the fuck would he come up with? He was obligated for a SIX PART series, which would be sort of the equivalent of TWO MOVIES. 

I haven't bothered to watch the thing yet, but by all accounts, it's a mild, somewhat sitcom-ish and harmless show. As always, the trendy names of people wanting to work with Woody carried it. People were so busy staring at Viley and the other well-known performers, they didn't have the time or energy to just repeat what everybody says about Woody's stuff: it's glib, it's formulaic, it's not exactly profound, and it's full of overly verbal white people whining at each other. 

It seems like a few years ago, somebody must've shaken Woody, or put him up against a wall and given him a thump, because he's been looking cockeyed. Where did the drooping eye come from? Or was it from sneaking glances at pap photog assholes shouting, "Woody, over here" and "What about what that metrosexual Farrow guy says?" 

At least it looks like the public pubescence of Viley Virus is at long last over, and we won't be seeing her behave like a teen slut moron again. As for Woody, he's admitted that he's not likely to come up with a masterpiece. All he'll be doing is his annual assembly of a half-dozen well-known young stars who will read his lines and ad-lib anything that might improve them. The story will probably not have any memorable moments of comedy, drama or mayhem, but also no teen idiot in her underwear prancing around singing rotten bubblegum songs.