Summer is a time of total and complete inaction. School is out. TV is reruns. Congress is out. The news (largely because Congress is out) has nothing to report. Once it hits the middle of July, most of America stops going outside and simply finds an indoors place with great AC to sit and stare off into space.
And then along comes Shark Week. The only mother-effing interesting thing to happen in months. It doesn’t matter how crap it is, or how much sharks just aren’t your cup of tea. You would kill your grandmother from some goddamn entertainment and stimulation if it didn’t require you crawl out of your lethargic stupor. Shark Week is your only chance to feel alive again.