This is the sort of thing we think about at 3am on a Monday morning, you know.

You know when Pink Panther used to happen across Generic Man building himself a house? And Pink Panther used to take it upon himself to somehow paint the house, not as Generic Man wanted in blue, but in pink? By hook and by crook (or, more ususally, by swapping the labels on the tins of paint around), old Pink would generally achieve his aim and ensure that once the house was completed, it'd be a fetching shade of pink. And then, Pink Panther would decide to live in this house. Well, as far as I can see, either:

[a] Pink Panther is paying for the house to be built, and if he wants it to be pink, then what bloody right has Generic Man got to impose his self-styled interior (and exterior) design tips on a house he is only building for a client? Pink Panther could save a lot of effort by just getting a different firm of builders in, via PROPER LEGAL CHANNELS if neccessary. Generic Man can jump up and down on his hat as much as he wants, he'll still be in breach of contract.

or,

[b] Pink Panther has just noticed a house being built, and for some unfathomable reason, he believes that getting a house that is being built for someone else painted in the same colour as that of your fur somehow entitles you to lay claim to possession of that building, AND THERE'S NOT A SINGLE THING WE TAXPAYERS CAN DO TO STOP HIM. And who loses out? Johnny Homeowner, that's who. That's right - Mister Rinky-Dink Panther gets to live, RENT FREE, MIND, in a brand new house, free of charge, and I'll bet you that while the proper legal owners of the house are attempting to have the feline squatter removed, they still have to pay any Council Tax charges that are incurred. And if the council can be bothered doing anything to remove the pink interloper, it's still up to the legal owners of the house - WHO COULD JUST AS WELL BE YOU OR I, to clear up any damages, and to pay to have the house re-painted it's original colour. Meanwhile, that pink BASTARD can just wander off, and trick another innocent decorator into giving him another free palace to stay in for as long as he pleases. Gentleman? Scholar? Acrobat? Or freeloading pink TWAT?

That's it, I'm voting Tory from now on.

Bastard.

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South Park already did it.

Things to do if you meet Seth McFarlane: Number One.

"Oh my god, it's Seth McFarlane, creator of Family Guy! Man, this is more awesome than the time I appeared on Number 7T3 when it was guest-hosted by Mickey Thomas, Wendy Craig and the Roly-Polys..."

Then just sort of stand there, staring into the middle distance, kind of thinking to yourself for exactly one minute and twenty seconds, before piping up again.

"Heh. Sweet. Oh. Sorry, I was just thinking of an unfunny retro pop-culture non-sequitur that went on for too long without even adding any additional jokes or anything, so I don't have to bother thinking up a proper plot or ending or anything. DO YOU SEE WHAT I JUST DID THERE?"

Yeah, I've just been watching a few recent episodes of once-mighty Family Guy. Why the cocking hell can't they get it right any more? No wonder the BBC aren't in any particular hurry to show any of the post-season three episodes any time soon. Now, I'd complain more vociferously about the whole affair (using Venn diagrams to better illustrate points, and everything), but I've noticed that the quality of new Family Guy episodes seems to be inversely proportional to the quality of American Dad broadcast at the same time, and I don't want to jinx anything.

It's even got proper sub-plots and everything!

American Dad really is uncommonly good at the moment, you see, and getting ever better with each passing week (or, thanks to American television schedulers, every one-to-six weeks. I've a good mind to not pay my imaginary illegal BitTorrent downloader licence fee, you know). Possibly this is due to Seth McFarlane actually having very little to do with the scripts for it, so there's no way he can shoehorn in the ten minutes of rejected Robot Chicken sketch ideas that end up finding their unlikely way into the reminiscences of the Griffin clan. Thus, I can at least expect a rip-roaring twenty-one minutes of US animated sitcommery on a Monday evening, even though it's likely to be followed by a frustratingly similar period spent making the occasional chuckle before angrily staring at the screen waiting for a seemingly endless cutaway gag about Katie Couric to end, just on the off chance there’s another rogue great episode, like the ‘PTV’ one.

Honestly, during every tedious sequence featuring Stewie continuing to play 'Marco Polo' with Helen Keller a good ten seconds after everyone got the not-that-great-in-the-first-place joke, I can actually feel a tiny bit of my life ebbing away. Curse you, McFarlane.

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