I bet you forgot I was reviewing every episode of “The Simpsons” ever made. Well, I sure as hell didn’t forget!

Episode #3
“Homer’s Odyssey”

Original airdate: January 21, 1990

Plot: After losing his job and growing despondent, Homer inadvertently becomes a public safety crusader.

Iconic element(s): Waylon Smithers makes his first appearance in this outing and, for some reason, he’s black.

Jokes that made me laugh out loud: Ms. Krapabble insisting Bart will sing “John Henry Was A Steal Drivin’ Man” if he misbehaves; Homer’s praise of the donuts he’s eating (”I defy anyone to tell the difference between these donuts and ones baked today!”); Loaftime, the T.V. show Homer watches while in the throes of depression; pretty much everything Mr. Burns says, especially the Jolson reference.

Notes: This episode has an unusually happy ending. Homer manages to keep his new job at the power plant without being branded a sellout or a stooge by the supporters of his public safety campaign. People seem to believe Homer will have no trouble cleaning up Springfield Nuclear from the inside, despite having been previously fired from the same plant for causing a serious accident (with school children present, no less) and apparently lacking the smarts to efficiently kill himself (you’re supposed to find a bridge to leap from first and then tie yourself to a giant boulder, not vice versa).

I can’t help but think if “Homer’s Odyssey” had been produced a few seasons later, the crowd would have turned on Homer and the last scene would be one of those family couch moments where Marge and the kids offer sarcastic, cynical (if not heartfelt) advice. Then again, a good chunk of this episode revolves around the main character’s plan to commit suicide. I guess in a case like that you have to end super upbeat. Not that I’m complaining; this bastard’s got a solid story and plenty of fast, funny jokes.

I remember the first time I caught this episode in syndication, long after “The Simpsons” had established all the basic major and minor players, and being completely blown away by the fact Smithers was originally black. How could I not remember that? I guess I was still caught up in Bartmania at the time “Homer’s Odyssey” first aired and I wasn’t really paying attention to the window dressing characters. Anyway, seeing black Smithers (B.S. for short) was weird and exciting, and it’s certainly been a talking point in nearly every extended conversation I’ve ever had about “The Simpsons.”

For a show that loves to play with its own history so much, I’m surprised there haven’t been more references to B.S. I’m also surprised B.S. hasn’t been the subject of a wildly popular Internet meme the kids seem to go so crazy for these days. Where were you on that one, Matrix-obsessed members of Generation Y?

Grade: Three Black Smitherses (out of four).

The guys at AA will call you sire!

Created for my Myspace profile. It almost convinced people I was one of those jerks on VH-1. I can’t believe how badly I fucked up the side of the box.

Funny, except I spelled “What’s Happening!!” wrong. You’d think in the three hours it took me to make this I would have spell-checked the name of my favorite TV show.

Former Presidents Bush, Reagan, Carter, and Ford hanging out on Yavin IV. This was for a website I planned on setting up in 2004 that would have contained a phony list of alterations made to the original Star Wars movies for their DVD release. The San Diego Chicken weighed heavily into this proposed site’s humor.

Speaking of Star Wars, did you know Luke Skywalker was not actually played by Mark Hamill in Return of the Jedi but by my high school pal Drew Mack? Look closely. The hairline is a dead giveaway.

- John Lithgow will play a prematurely aged Joker who hides his face behind an oriental fan

- Batman will grow a lengthy, luxurious beard to distinguish himself from all the imitators

- At one point, a magic ray gun will turn all the characters into babies

- Extended sequence at Lollapalooza featuring hilarious Radiohead cameo

Dear Nerds of the Universe,

Please calm down about this whole Coleman Reese/Riddler thing. You’re spooking the cattle.

Thanks,

JG2

P.S. - No matter how they do the Riddler, it won’t top this son of a bitch:

You know it’s true.

5 out of 10.

Steak & Ale, the enduring American restaurant chain that offered diners the chance to eat mediocre prime rib in a building with slightly better lighting than Hitler’s bunker, died Tuesday after a long illness. It was 42 years old.

Metromedia, Steak & Ale’s parent company, filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy this week and immediately shut down all fifty-eight chophouse locations. At one time, there were nearly 300 Steak & Ale restaurants in this great land of ours. That was back in the eighties. Then T.G.I.Friday’s and Ruby Tuesday came along and people realized they liked to see what they were eating. Thus, they abandoned Steak & Ale, leaving the restaurants to wither away and die like so many neglected house plants.

I wish I could say I the last time I entered a Steak & Ale was before the brutal onslaught of puberty, but that would be a vicious, hurtful lie. There was an S&A across the street from the book publisher I worked for in 2006. I ate their once with a co-worker (his suggestion, not mine). It was alright. I think to truly enjoy it, you have to imagine a world without electricity, sunlight, happiness, optimism, and good feelings in general. Not too hard when you’re sitting around a dining area that could double as a medieval torture chamber.

Bennigan’s was also affected by Metromedia’s Chapter 7 filing; 200 of the Irish-themed eateries bit the dust Tuesday, much to the dismay of casual drunks and college students across the country. I guess deep fried corn beef sandwiches just aren’t what they used to be.

No one had Steak & Ale in the death pool.

I don’t know why I’m just finding out about this now, but there’s a company out there that makes actual working replicas of the legendary Batphone from the 1960s “Batman” TV show. Finally, I can pretend I’m talking to Neil Hamilton every single time I’m yakking it up with someone! I’m sure this will be the best $122 I’ll ever spend.

P.S. - these folks also offer a replica of the famous Shakespeare bust Adam West and Burt Ward would flip open to access the Batcave. WTF? It’s like they’re reading my fucking mind! Get out of my head, Redhotphones.com!

Hey, remember that time Alan Keyes jumped into a mosh pit? I sure do. I cover that startling, totally awesome incident plus nine other funny political/musical mash-ups in my most recent feature for Radar:

Ten Notable Instances When Politics & Music Collided

If that piece is too wordy for you, check out last week’s Crawling Ear, in which I take Scott Plagenhoef’s lead and offer up a bunch of JPEGs in place of actual album reviews:

Pictures Say At Least Six Hundred Words

Happy reading, kids.

Okay, so the guy in this forthcoming documentary is not the guy I know who maxed out his credit card buying a set of Rock-afire Explosion robots from a Showbiz Pizza in Orlando, FL. I just want to clarify that before everyone starts deluging me with questions.

No, the guy I know who maxed out his credit card buying a set of Rock-afire Explosion robots from a Showbiz Pizza in Orlando, FL, is the same guy I know who has a buttload of Mr. T dolls and likes to show them off from time to time. His name is Greg Rivera and, as you can tell, he’s lead a pretty interesting life so far.

To the best of my knowledge/recollection, the Greg Rivera Rock-afire Robot story goes something like this: one day in the late nineties, Greg was trolling eBay searching for more ridiculous toys to add to his vast collection when he came upon an auction for a complete set of the singing, dancing, anthropomorphic animal robots (known collectively as the Rock-afire Explosion) from the Showbiz Pizza in Orlando, FL, where he and I lived. Incidentally, this was the same Showbiz Pizza where part of Parenthood, the Steve Martin movie, was filmed. Anyway, Greg jokingly placed a bid, assuming some hardcore Rock-afire fan would quickly outbid him.

He was wrong. Greg won the auction, which closed just above $5,000. Understandably freaked, I believe Greg applied for a new credit card and used it to make this singular purchase, immediately maxing it out. Suddenly his apartment was crowded with a tuxedo-wearing, keyboard-playing gorilla and his rockin’ animatronic pals. It should be noted the party auctioning these fine pieces of American ingenuity off was the inventor of the Rock-afire Explosion himself. Greg had to go down to the fella’s warehouse to pick his robots up, which was full of the requisite frightening-as-hell cyber-skeletons and copious amounts of fake fur/foam rubber.

After a week or two (or three, maybe - the time frame on this story has never been clear to me), the novelty of owning the Rock-afire Explosion completely wore off. These stupid robots were taking up too much room, Greg thought, so back on eBay they went. My buddy was able to make his money back, which was great. The downside was some kid in Texas bought the fuckin’ things, so Greg had to rent a U-Haul and drive the shits all the way to Houston or El Paso or where ever. The buyer turned out to literally be a kid, too - a teenager who lived with his parents and really had no room either for this expensive pieces of crap. At least they weren’t Greg’s problem anymore.

So what does this story teach us? Don’t bid on eBay unless you really mean it, Orlando is home to a genius other than Wayne Brady, and I keep awesome company. All important lessons.

P.S. - if you think this story is insane, wait until I tell you about the time I drove a minivan full of Mr. T dolls up the Eastern Seaboard with Greg. I almost died like twelve times.