How I Met an Idiot

Dude. I'm a hipster doofus. I wear $200 distressed jeans and this disheveled mop atop my head takes 40 minutes of careful application of not one, but two types of gel. I also like to write ridiculously detailed articles about super-cool pop trendzzz that no one else gets so I can bemoan their loss when corporate greed kills them off. I also wear my ignorance like a mourner's armband.

Quick tip for Mark Lotto of the Observer: it's one thing to mistake the Proclaimers for the Pogues - it shows that you were still listening to your mom's Celine Dion records in the '80s and don't know the difference between buoyant ScotPop and whisky-tinged Celtic punk. That's a little disconcerting, since you seem to thrive on detail, but whatever. But dude...seriously. It might look like a three-camera (you hedged and called it "multi-camera") comedy, but How I Met Your Mother is not. It's a single camera. Stick with your day job and make mine a triple grande with whole, no whip.