America is a country of sitcom watchers. We all like a nice
chuckle now and again, but unfortunately the good shows are
outnumbered, outgunned, overwhelmed, and often obliterated by
the bad.

In an effort to stem the tide of inane, sugary pap gushing down
our satellite feeds, here are a dozen ways to improve the
average — and significantly below-average; I’m looking at you,
‘Yes, Dear‘ — situational comedy:

1) Do not include a laugh track. If I can’t figure out
where the funny parts are on my own, then you’re not doing your
job. If I want yuks in a can, then I’ll buy a tin of cocktail
weenies. I hear they’re a hoot.

2) Do not air an episode, ever, concerning a mixup of
identical twins, and the shenanigans that ensue. As a matter of
fact, forget twins altogether. Creepy little buggers, what with
the ‘we know something you don’t know’ nonsense. Save it for the
Doublemint ads, Junior.

3) Do not use your show as a vehicle to tug on our heart
strings, or to teach us a ‘life lesson’. If I want drama, I’ll
watch Masterpiece Theater. If I want to learn, I’ll tune into
Nova. Or, I would, if I could understand any of it. But you get
the point.

4) Do not set your sitcom in the ’70s, or the ’80s, or
any other time besides the present. No one wants to see ‘That
1770s Show‘, ‘Battlestar Hilaria‘, or ‘How I Met
Your Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandmother‘. If a guy
walks onto your set wearing bellbottom pants, I will personally
fly to the studio and kick him in the crotch. Seriously.

5) Do not include a crusty-but-sympathetic ‘tough’
character on the show, whose gruff exterior belies a tender,
fluffy heart of gold. That’s nonsense. I’ve been around long
enough to know: a gruff exterior is simply evidence of a gruff
interior. A gruff, shriveled, impotent, crusty interior. Put it
away.

6) Do not give the show a title with more than three
words. After that, it’s too hard for anyone to remember — or
bother to watch. Observe: ‘Seinfeld‘ — fine.
‘Friends‘ — very popular show. ‘Life According to
That Other Belushi, Who’s Really Let Himself Go But Inexplicably
Has a Smoking Hot Wife in This Show‘? Not so much.

7) Do not include a random elderly character, like a
grandparent or senile old neighbor, just to pique the interest
of the aging general population. Honestly, if the old folks
can’t relate to a ‘regular’ show, let them go back to their
‘Matlock‘ and ‘Walker, Texas Ranger‘. I hear
‘Murder, She Wrote‘ is nice and inoffensive this time of
year, grandma. Move it along.
Do not employ any sort of ridiculous gimmick like
dream sequences, flashbacks, or other fantasy bizarro world
shenanigans. If I see wavy shimmer lines on my screen at any
time, I will personally fly to the studio and kick your effects
guy in the crotch. Twice. I’m not kidding.

9) Do not cast a bubbly hot young actress who can’t act
on the show. If she’s got nice boobs and huge tracts of
comedic talent, that’s just peachy. Otherwise, leave the eye
candy to the girlie mags, please. Brainless bimbo dialogue does
not a fine comedy make.

10) Do not include the same tired, obvious stereotypes
that have been used on every show since ‘All in the Caveman
Family‘. If you have a gay male character, let him do more
than wear all pink all the time and chitter about show tunes. If
there’s a girl from the South, don’t have her twang it up, drive
a pickup, and line dance her way to NASCAR races. Yes, I
know that parts of the South are really like that — but
I don’t need to see it in my living room. I eat in there
sometimes, for goodness sakes.

11) Do not include product endorsements during the show.
I see you, sneaking in a can of Sprite, or an iPod, or a box of
jumbo-wing Tampax pads ‘accidentally’ left in the camera shot,
labels perfectly angled toward us. Shameless. Save the shilling
for between the plot lines. Otherwise, how will I know when to
slip out to use the can?

12) Finally, do not let the series linger on any longer
than it has to. This isn’t soap opera — you’re not obligated to
pair up every possible couple combos, shoot ‘onsite’
episodes in every major city in the world, or have the
characters face every financial and personal crisis known
to mankind. Just let it go. If you’re writing in a new baby, a
retirement fund fiasco, or a Tim Conway cameo, then it’s too
late. You’ve jumped the shark, backed up, and run over it again.
Game over.

I hope you sitcom writers and producers out there can use these
suggestions to create a few new shows that don’t make me want to
give my television thirty lashes with a rabbit-ear antenna.
Because if you don’t, I will personally fly to your
studio. And I think you know what’s coming next.