John’s eyes go blank, and he starts thinking about Boy Scout things, when I (or anyone else) go on and on about the joy that comes from watching perhaps the best television show ever, Better Call Saul. This show—which serves as a prologue to another potential best show on television, Breaking Bad—delves into the intricate life of Jimmy McGill, the beloved yet snakey lawyer from that seminal Vince Gilligan action-drama-comedy-passion-play.
Better Call Saul has never been seen by the eyes of one John Maher. I say this with love from the woods of the Kenai Peninsula, in Alaska, with barely any internet service, but… John: What. The. Actual. Fuck!? This is almost as bad as you not seeing Bojack Horseman (a topic I have many thoughts on, which I will get back to later).
It’s just that John’s missing out on so much. “HOLY SHIT, GUS IS BACK!” means absolutely nothing to him. Neither does the exclamation: “Wow, Bob Odenkirk is really nailing it this season as the ever-sly-but-endearing Sal Goodman FKA Jimmy McGill as he plunges into a world of wrong turns and good deeds gone bad! Did you see that episode of him on Comedy Bang Bang?” Nope. None of that, and none of Better Call Saul means anything.
One day, all of it will mean something, John. One day.
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