Midseason TV Update: Die, Chicago Code, Die

It pains me to wish ill on Shawn Ryan's The Chicago Code. After all, Shawn Ryan was behind The Wire and Terriers (my favorite best new show last year, RIP). And yet, wish ill I will. You see, Fox  is home to both Fringe and Human Target, two shows that are little happy pinpoints of light in my otherwise dreary existence, and their ratings are nothing to write home about.

But (and this is where I diligently search for some straws to grasp at, because I am nothing if not an expert straw-grasper-atter) if everything else put forth by Fox fails miserably, then the minuscule chances that those shows will be renewed increases by a tiny, tiny amount. (No you can't have admittance to my fantasy world. Unless you have cake and vodka. And the secret password, but mostly cake and vodka.)

So instead of a rising tide lifting all boats, an exploding ship leaves lots of debris for people to cling to. Or something.

Bonus mini-review: Watched Mad Love last night. It had a laugh track. Really. A laugh track? Really? Dude. Really? Watching people be all cute and smooshy mostly makes me want to hit someone. As it was, I could only muster enough disgust to want to poke Jason Biggs repeatedly with a spork. If I walked into the little yuppie pub these people frequent, I would be hard-pressed not to torch the place. Blegh.

The one saving grace? Tyler Labine, show-killer extraordinaire. I would watch an entire one-man play of Tyler Labine reading food labels. Tyler Labine rocks. This show would be so much better if you got rid of every character except for Tyler Labine, possibly by having them dispatched in a hideous spork-wielding monkey showdown.

The scary thing is though, after having enjoyed Tyler Labine immensely in shows like Dead Last, Invasion, and the criminally under-appreciated Reaper, I just last night realized that he is THE VOICE INSIDE MY HEAD. Really, that explains so much.