Tag Archive: chuck lorre productions


CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #217 (CENSORED)

words that confuse the CBS censor

fecund, penal, taint, titmouse, cockamamie, cockatoo, cocksure, coccyx, ballcock, cockeye, prick, prickly, kumquat, titter, cunning linguist, insertion, gobble, guzzle, swallow, manhole, rimshot, ramrod, come, fallacious, lugubrious, rectify, Uranus, angina, paradiddle, spotted dick, dictum, frock, cunctation, engorge, turgid, stiff, bush, uvula, crapulence, masticate, Dick Butkus, gherkin and, of course, the always bewildering lickety-split.

As you can see, context is everything.

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CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #198

Censored!

 

Well, wouldn’t ya’ know it. Just two episodes back from the strike and I’ve already managed to write a vanity card that is completely unacceptable to the good folks at CBS. I wasn’t trying to offend. Honest. I just saw an opportunity to poke some proverbial fun, to knosh on the hand that feeds, if you will. They were not amused. If you would like to read my latest exercise in poor judgement, I’m sure you can find it somewhere on that thing we writers were striking to claim dominion over. Just to be on the safe side, I apologize in advance. Please know that my aim was only to provoke a bit of gaiety through the judicious use of a little thing I like to call “the truth.” Unfortunately, in the television business, the truth rarely sets anyone free. More often than not, it just pisses them off.

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #196

my soul’s journey

To let go of the fear and anger which imprisons my heart,
To relinquish all childish expectations and live joyfully in the world as it is —
not as I wish or imagine it to be,
To be free of the always craven and ever-craving ego,
To be released from the endless hungers of the body,
To see God in others,
To see God in everything,
To die without death and merge my consciousness into the
cosmic sea of bliss from which I came,
To crank out two sitcoms a week that can compete
with a deaf chick dancing her ass off…
This is my soul’s journey.

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #193

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #193

Show of hands, during the climactic, face-scrunching moment of the sex act, how many of you out there sometimes find yourself thinking, “Gee, I must look pretty silly right about now”? C’mon, be honest… Okay, I understand. This is a little too intimate for a public conversation. How about if we do it this way: If you’re alone right now, just nod. If you’re reading this with your sexual partner, simply look at them, smile sheepishly, then, when they smile back, suddenly twist your face into your freakiest orgasm position. If they laugh, know you’re in good company. Give them a hug, hit the play button on your DVR and watchTwo and a Half Men. If they don’t laugh, hit the play button on your DVR, watch Two and a Half Men, then go out and find a new partner.

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #191

I’m writing this vanity card at six o’clock in the morning on October 18, 2007. It’s my birthday. I am fifty-five years old. I have long ago become invisible to young women. They actually do not see me. But I am not writing this to complain. I am at peace with my circumstances. The blessing of fifty-five is a libido in decline. The curse of it is that major pharmaceutical companies are successfully exploiting my insecurities. Suddenly that surreal commercial of a silver-haired guy sitting naked in an outdoor bath tub and holding hands with a naked, slightly younger woman in an adjacent tub makes perfect sense (if I had produced that spot I would’ve have given him a small plasma screen TV so he could watch ESPN during his hang time). I’m also mesmerized by the commercial featuring middle-aged men gleefully celebrating their ability to drink water and drive long distances (I particularly enjoy that the slightly younger women in that one are turned on knowing that their geezers don’t have to urinate frequently). Anyway, it’s my birthday today. If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go suck on my bronchitis inhaler so that later today I can blow out the candles without hacking up a lung.

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