Newsday TV Book, May 13-19, 1984.

Yeah, dammit, I know I said I wuzzen gunna but apparently I can't friggin' help myself!
Another 1984 issue, long past the TV Book's prime, but since it's consecutive after the last one... ah, shit. I mean, I don't even want to describe the TV movie seen on the cover, it sounds like such a fucking drag. But here goes: Appalachia, not-quite-post-war, a bedraggled but determined woman, her dickweed husband, too many dirty kids, they move from crappy Kentucky to crappy Detroit and only her skill for doll-whittlin' keeps them alive. I mean, don't we watch TV to forget these people? Where's goddamn Knight Rider?

In the TV Line, S.M. of Plainview wonders whatever became of Regis Philbin, and Carol Burton Terry points out that he's on TV three times a day, you twit! Whuddaya got, a job or something?

This next ad is not especially interesting, I just enjoyed seeing little Bernadette Castro again, easily unfolding her bed with its two-inch-thick mattress. She died in agony at 19, wearing a halo-gravity traction brace for her gravely disfigured spine. (I dunno, maybe it's true. Y’ever sleep on one o’ them fucking things?)

No-Frills Nuts & Fruits Etc. delivered a veiled threat to Ralph Rotten, who was sleeping with the Connecticut gefilte not long after.

Thinning suburban husbands had a tough choice: Should I replace my hair or my windows? Well, let's just say I bet the kids felt a draft as they peered through the curtains all night, waiting for their newly thatched dad to return from the bars.
(I think the "after" pic is on top--otherwise, expect a lawsuit, Hair Replacement Centers!)

This page is presented just for the North Shore Animal League ad suggesting a pet for mom on Mother's Day. What's another mouth to feed, right mom? Better'n one that's gonna talk back in a few years, anyway!

I loved Ernie Kovacs as a kid, and I remember joylessly watching that terrible TV movie about him, "Ernie Kovacs: Between the Laughter." Indeed, best as I could tell, the film took place entirely between instances of unheard, unexperienced laughter.
At least we had the long-running cosmetic surgery ad for entertainment, with that smooth-cootered woman eating grapefruit with her titty out. Yeah, now she was great.

Here's all day Saturday, with Local Cable TV highlights.

In Off Camera, Jimmy McNichol predicted he will "make it" in 1997, when he's thirty-five. By "it," he evidently meant a son, because he has no other "credits" for that year. (I put "credits" in quotes because, let's face it, not everyone can make a movie but any asshole can make a kid. Hell, he splooged one out when he was 19 and didn't even know until he was almost fifty!)

My family had redwood patio furniture back in the day, and I still whole-heartedly endorse it.

Here’s your humble Non-Parader and the damp prophet Elijah (as photographed by my mother—way to frame, ma!) snoozily endorsing redwood patio furniture back in the day, with my Trumpy, forty-years-premature comb-over in serious disarray.
(Not clearly seen: river of drool running from my gaping Scooter-Piehole.)

That's it, thank the lord, but I figured I'd throw in a couple pages of the Newsday Classified's Action Directory from the center of the book. I’ve never seen this section before, but it sure sounds exciting, doesn't it?

Well, it wasn't, unless wholesale Menudo trading cards chubbed your churro. Oh well, maybe next time…