Beavis and Butthead’s couch potato satire scores

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe my brain’s fried from finals-driven all-nighters, maybe it’s just a subversive reaction to the high-brow ideology perpetuated by the English major, but I have never in my life been as hooked on “Beavis and Butthead” as I currently am.

I can scarcely endure one day without viewing an episode, or two, or twenty. Should I go too long without witnessing Butthead attempt to woo women with non-alcoholic beer or hearing the dawning realization in Beavis’ trademark “Ohhhhh yeah yeah,” well… I can’t promise I won’t start scratching my neck and complaining about how it really is freezing in here, you guys.

It’s not only “Beavis and Butthead,” either – that was only the gateway. Ever since my dad took me to see “Beavis and Butthead Do America” at the ripe age of seven (I think his thought process was if it’s animated, it must be kid-friendly; whatever was going on there, thanks pops), I’ve developed an incorrigible affinity for humor of the warped, low-brow variety. This would explain my admiration for the contents of Adult Swim, particularly such notables as “Aqua Teen Hunger Force” and “Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job.”
By nearly any standard, programming revolving around anthropomorphic fast-food products doing… well, not a whole hell of a lot should not be funny, nor should the spectacle of Ray Wise (for those in the know, the singing-and-dancing Leland Palmer of David Lynch’s “Twin Peaks”; God I love intertextuality) producing an instructional video on hug etiquette be so inexplicably fascinating. And don’t get me started on how bursting into hysterics upon Cornholio demanding “TP for my bunghole” makes me feel about my 20-year old intellect.

I could spout off every manner of rationalization and excuse. Certainly the way Adult Swim squeezes itself into the wee hours would support the maxim that such shows are best experienced when one’s mind is exhausted, inebriated or somewhere in between. As an English major, I rarely get the chance to let my hair down and not only immerse myself in nonsense but revel in it – being up to the eyeballs in Great Works on a constant basis is bound to produce some repressed contrarian tendencies. Frankly, a little kitsch keeps everybody sane.

Yet to simply deride “Beavis and Butthead” and its ilk as sources of disposable hyuks and nothing more would be rather glib. Often unrecognized, for instance (particularly during the blame-happy, reactionist decade in which the show aired) is the obvious satirical element of a text in which teenaged characters spend the bulk of their existences (if the word can truly be applied in this instance) watching television, spray-painting cats and critiquing the world in terms of what’s “cool” and what “sucks.” “Beavis and Butthead,” it could be argued, commented on growing intellectual malaise even as it was accused of contributing to the epidemic.

Along the same line, the apparent “stoner humor” laced into “Aqua Teen” and the like, while seeming moronic at first glance, betrays a certain artistry upon closer examination. It takes a special sort of mind to pull off the absurdist, non-sequitive humor one finds in so many Adult Swim gems. Lesser souls have tried and fallen on their figurative faces, yet I never tire of such gags as Shake’s explosive touch (objects he drops inexplicably burst into flames upon hitting the ground) or Meatwad’s tragically limited shapeshifting abilities (his repertoire includes Hot Dog, Igloo, and, uh…).

The ATHF movie may be one of the oddest things I’ve ever experienced, and this is coming from someone weaned on William S. Burroughs’ “Naked Lunch,” works by filmmakers like Luis Bunuel and David Lynch, etc. Somehow, however, the extremity of the strangeness provokes correspondingly extreme laughter. I guess that’s part and parcel of the arbitrary, elusive science of humor: all attempts to pin down exactly what makes something funny are doomed to either fail or rob the subject of its knee-slapping essence.
The interweaving of music videos within the sequence of the program might indicate the pervasive de-differentiation of popular forms in post-modern culture, breaking down norms and boundaries and driving them to spill into one another.

The gist of all this pontificating, I suppose, would be that the tendency to embrace or dismiss things based on preconceived prejudices can lead to unfortunate deprivation. One person’s dreck, after all, is another’s soul-stirring masterpiece. In the eyes of a certain beholder, Beavis and Butthead could be martyrs, a modern day Vladimir and Estragon, agitated emblems of the agonizing horror and confusion comprising our society.

Justin Levesque can be contacted at jlevesque@ksc.mailcruiser.com.