#chuck lorre

[midmaysunray]

Oh how I cried and how I rejoiced with a smile today. Thank you Chuck Lorre. For everything. Gratitude.

Young Sheldon, Season 7, episode 14: Memoir.

[voidingintotheshout]

The end titles from season 4 episode 22 of his sitcom Bob Hearts Abishola, supporting the writer's strike.

[haveyouseenthisromcom]

[ladyofdecember]

Soooooooooooooo

Me and my man cried our eyes out at the dual finale. So much so that my man went off to search for tissues because we were bawlin' over George's death 😭🥺🤦‍♀️😓

I understand why Chuck Lorre put Amy in the finale and the whole subplot with them having two kids and all. I get it because that's how The Big Bang Theory ended up. 🤷‍♀️ I don't agree with it at all, I think it's weird but I understand it. It's what a majority audience wanted, Sheldon to "settle down" and "behave" and "get married and have kids"

And Chuck Lorre got to really spread his wings and do what he wanted with Two And A Half Men and I will be forever grateful for that show!! 😊 Alan meets Walden this crazy sexy, hot, sophisticated, caring, loving divorceé and he ends up in a long term committed relationship MARRIED to the man and they adopt a child together???

Chuck Lorre's The Big Bang Theory walked so Two And A Half Men could RUN

[ache-me-nas-estrelas]

Two and a Half Men was something else.

[vintagewarhol]

[watchingdiary]

the big bang theory

Type: Serial/Movie

Genre: Sitcom

Number of Season(s): 12

Running Years: 2007-2019

Creators: Chuck Lorre & Bill Prady

This show is insane. One of the best sitcoms out there. This is genius comedy. Nevertheless, I'd classify this show as an 'exclusive' show, in a sense that this show tends to be understood by certain groups of people. Those who understand academic settings, for example.

[movie-magic]

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #724

You cannot have my language.

It is my right to describe the world as I see it, using words of my choosing.

If those words offend vou. too bad.

Be offended.

Or just simply ignore me.

My feelings will not be hurt.

Your feelings, on the other hand, are as fragile as a snot bubble leaking from a stupid child's nose.

[eccentricpumpkin]

[willtasker]

It is September 2007, and the Big Bang Theory has begun. I take the Sig Sauer out of my mouth, but the taste of gun oil lingers. I realize that suicide is not the answer because this show would only follow me into Hell. Something like this does not descend from the afterlife but rises up out of open graves. It is populated by the unwilling, amusing only to the already deceased.

Now: The nerdy roommate who’s not a doctor is made fun of because he’s not a doctor while the other nerds make bad jokes about science that are also not accurate. It is not enough to hate a thing, but those things often do not die by death. They exist because Death is too afraid of its touch; that the soft grace would somehow kill Death its self by inventing a new dying. Death squared. The sort of fate people should wish on Ronald Reagan or anyone who explains details of last night’s dream.

It is September 2010. I am having rough sex with my girlfriend. I look up in the middle of the act, her voice cresting, when I hear the television we left on in the next room. The show is in repeats, and becoming unavoidable. A character I cannot identify but will never forget makes a reference to the physics of Warp Speed. I lose my erection immediately. She asks me what is wrong. I produce a pack of Indian Spirits from the dresser and begin to smoke, the first one I’ve had in 10 years. My hands are shaking. I look at them and think about strangling the writer’s room of The Big Bang Theory, one in each hand, a fury so passionate that the rest realize it is better to wait their turn than to try and flee.

“NO MORE!” is what I scream at the television. “DEAR GOD NO MORE!” But the episodes keep coming, marching like soldiers to the sea. An endless, undulating wave of dullness. Sunlight crushed behind rolling grey clouds. References to 80s movies and science and POP CULTURE ACTORS who are probably paid $10,000 to show up and say HONK IF YOU LOVE WILLIAM SHATNER and then have a weird punchline about particle physics. It is endless. The show’s broadcast signal goes off into the horizon and out into space, following Hitler’s hosting of the Olympics in 1936. An endless fucking current of the slime from a billion emptied septic tanks. It is not shit but what is left over from literal shit. The culmination caked to the inside of the tank walls.

“PLEASE JESUS GOD HOLY FATHER KILL ME AND TAKE ME AWAY” is what I cry into the night sky, and in reply, God looks down and in His mighty mercy says

BAZINGA.

It is September 2012. I stare blankly at a drop ceiling in a downtown hotel. I have not spoken to another person in days. The television is off but I hear it through the walls from the next room. BAZINGA. Again, that meaningless word. Trichottillomania rears it’s self, and I slowly begin pulling hair out of my head in handfuls. I feel nothing. There is no pain anymore. Nothing compared to that fucking word. And the laugh track that follows.

I remember I had a gun in my mouth when the TV series started and that I was afraid of the Hell that produced this show, would perpetuate this show. This THING. And now I am afraid that there is no Hell, and that if there was Satan couldn’t keep it away from his own doors. The characters enter the archway of the eternal Abyss, studio audience laughing.

BAZINGA says the awkward man who makes an attempt at a joke about Brownian Motion that’s actually fucking incorrect but haha he’s a nerd and there’s a STAR WARS reference in there and remember that time when the hot neighbor didn’t have money so he was like I HAVE MONEY IN MY SUPERMAN MODEL and holy fucking shit I’ve seen footage of inmates in blackout solitary for weeks on end that come out covered in cockroach bites that is more humane than the humor in that show.

Instead of an eternal lake of fire, or chained to a boiling floor, or forced to watch The Smurfs Presented by The Icecapades - there is BAZINGA. That word that both saturates my brain with an incommunicable suffering and emits a kidney stone’s discomfort from my very soul. The fact I have to share a time and place with The Big Bang Theory makes me want to consider bear hugging JJ Abrams, so I can do the one great good of a doomed life by dragging him into into the 8th Circle Of Hell with me.

I realize I am damned. The freedom of this is that I can now do what needs to be done.

It is now August 11, 1971. I’ve made a time machine and traveled ten years prior from my date of birth to murder my father so I won’t ever exist and hear that FUCKING WORD Bazinga. I’ve decided to use a woodman’s axe to blunt my rage across time because my soul will not be satisfied unless I cease to exist in the most sure way possible. The blows land, a dull thud made wetter with each hit. I must make sure. This isn’t personal. This is just what must be done so I can undo that which cannot be undone.

I can feel myself fading from existence. This post will be my last. Everything is fading. All will be well. I smile in relief at a sky so blue it’s all you can do but wonder at it. Peace lovingly brushes past my cheek with a mother’s pity.

On the horizon, glowing in a blue outline, I see a pale man with a bad hairline wearing a fucking DC comics tshirt, smilingly thinly at me because - you see - he’s pleasantly awkward and doesn’t understand humor and his girlfriend is named Penny. ITS BEEN 45 SECONDS - HERE COMES ANOTHER TOLKIEN REFERENCE FOR THE PEOPLE AT HOME.

I scream. I cover my eyes but cannot unsee the truth shimmering between my locked fingers. My soul launches through the fire of time. Nothing can stop him. He follows me, smiling that trademark smile: only with his teeth but without moving his mouth. His skin stretches taught, his eyes afire. The studio audience, now and forever a chorus of faceless harpies, wings beating, their laughter wounds me like swallowing a box of straight razors fresh with grease.

I do not exist now. I do not remember my name. My parents never met and my soul is scattered on the winds beyond winds, to an everlasting personal horizon that no one will ever know. I do not remember who I was, what I was, or what I did to end up here. I am a ghost without a grave, a soul without an afterlife to turn to. But I do remember him. And I do remember…

BAZINGA.

[myobt]

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[tvmusicnetwork]

Interview: Executive Producers of ‘Young Sheldon’ at PaleyFest 2024

The cast and creatives of CBS‘s hit comedy “Young Sheldon” got together at PaleyFest 2024 to celebrate the success of the series now in its 7th and final season. Moderated by series co-star Melissa Peterman, the audience was treated to a fun Q&A panel, stories of onset experiences and got a sneak peek at this week’s upcoming episode. Attending the panel were Iain Armitage (Sheldon), Zoe Perry…

[eva-knits12]

Okay, Chuck Lorre.

Chuck Lorre, tell us you didn't call out Charlie Sheen without telling us you called out Charlie Sheen at the end of Young Sheldon.