The Hate Boat

Now that I’ve created the successful sitcom that I always wanted to make, I no longer feel afraid of other sitcoms. Now I feel that I can beat them at their own game. So let’s take a sitcom that I’ve never watched (because I was always afraid that it would influence my own creations) and go to battle against it:

All that I know about the TV series called “The Love Boat” is that it was born in the same year as me (1977), and it has characters named Captain Stubing and Gopher. 

Alright, now let’s plunge into the world of THE HATE BOAT…

Here we are, on the Hate Boat. It’s the pilot episode; and we’re the show’s main character. We take your mother out on a date and drop her off in the ocean and let her drown. She goes down fast. Now in episode two, Gopher comes out onstage (the show is filmed in front of a live studio audience) holding your mother in his arms, and he places her down on the futon. She starts shrieking, but Gopher doesn’t care. Now a pantless actress climbs up on the edge of the set of Gopher’s apartment and uses a hang glider to coast over until she lands on the Hate Boat. She curtsies to Captain Stubing, who nods in return — his hands are busy steering the large wooden wheel that controls the ship’s shark-fin. 

In the next episode, we go out on the water with a paddle (we’re the main character, remember), and your mother is in the sidecar of the Hate Boat. She’s wearing her recognizable uniform, but we ourselves are completely naked, in homage to Huckleberry Finn, who, when riding his raft, prefers to remain unrestricted by clothing. We navigate the Hate Boat until the commercial break interrupts our scene. When we return, there are lewd mermaids onboard and a really big gun — it looks like a barbette or rotary cannon. 

We ride the Hate Boat all around, just hating everyone, flipping things up and rubbing things down, in the summer and the winter. Then we start backpedaling. We get out our banjo and our one-hitter pipe filled with poison. All the mermaids are wearing tight pants with blue-green scales painted on them, instead of fish tails, because our art department got tired of wasting time with elaborate prosthetics. I start smoking the poison and offer it to the rest of the crew. We all pass the one-hitter around. Then I play my favorite song on the bagpipes while we all expire. This is obviously the last episode of our 6-season run.