It's like Cher. It won't go away, no matter how many times it promises it will.
Let it be known: I hate ER. With more passion than I can express. It's been plaguing me ever since my college years and Thursday night TV, on whose much worthier coat-tails it annoyingly drags its long-dead corpse. (Too dramatic a sentiment? I think not.)
Every episode seeks to trump the previous: This weeks' ER is like nothing you've ever seen. You won't believe what happens when the staff has to deliver the twin babies of a homeless parapalegic psychic man who turns out to be Dr. Romano's college lover. While Dr. Carter returns to find Abby in love with another nurse.
Next week: This week, ER is the most explosive, the most unbelievable. A surgeon goes blind the exact moment he must surgically remove a bomb from a midget's stomach. While Luka falls in love with the new intern.
Next week: This is the last year of ER with the most mind-melting, the most soul-squelching, the most chilling episodes you've seen yet. A long lost beloved doctor returns for the third time since he left two years ago, and the staff must exorcise Dr. Neela when her curry lunch turns out to have contained trace elements of arsenic and aliens. And Noah Wylie returns for the last, final, ending 17 encore episodes before the end.
No! No! No! Please make it stop! I can't handle watching one more commercial for ER, let alone one more episode of the ridiculous, over-the-top drivel. Would that the hospital would have blown up already, as it has promised us to do so many times in the past.