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Remember Cop Rock?

It was 20 years ago that magnificent show debuted on ABC, created by wonder boy Steven Bochco, whose Hill Street Blues had revolutionized police drama.

This time he’d fling the form into yet another new dimension: the NYPD would not just bust perps but sing and dance while doing so. Juries would rise up and proclaim, “He’s Guilty!” in a joyous gospel shout.

I loved it. I thought it was great.

Everyone else—every single other living person in the entire world—thought it sucked. Protests broke out in Chad. The Uzbeks were enraged. Bhutan declared war. (fortunately no one noticed)

Said the entire world as one:

Law-enforcement personnel who suddenly burst into song? Why, that’s unrealistic. It strains credulity. Such things do not happen in real life. My puny, pea-sized imagination can’t handle it. Please, you’re making my head hurt.

Cop Rock was taken out and shot. No way it could be allowed to sully a distinguished network schedule that featured such blue-ribbon fare as Jake and the Fatman, Doogie Howser, MD and Beverly Hills 90210. It became a legendary, iconic symbol of overreaching hubristic loserliness like Heaven’s Gate, Ishtar (also underrated), General Custer (not underrated), Titanic (the ship, not the movie, which is overrated) and George W. Bush.

But now look.

Cop Rock’s influence is all over the tube.

Without warning, characters burst into six-part harmony or trombone solos on Glee and Treme and now there is TNT’s new Memphis Beat, a not-bad-but-I-doubt-if-I’ll-bother-watching-it-again cop show starring a police detective who moonlights as an Elvis tribute singer  (not to be confused with an Elvis impersonator).

And there is more to come. The Cop Rock revolution is under way. Its legacy rules. As Christopher Hitchens would (and often does) say: I was right. They were wrong.

Here are just a few of the Cop Rock-inspired shows on the fall schedule:

Glasgow Plaid: Arthur Macarthur manages the fast-food joint Haggis Hut but his heart is in his hobby, leading the city’s auxiliary police bagpipe squad, which tries to keep bagpipers from frightening the tourists. He’s desperately in love with a homeless piper, Mary Macfraggis, who spurns him and rejects, usually in ballad form, his gifts of smoked salmon.

Twang: Taking advantage of the rich bluegrass ambience of Kentucky, Twang focuses on the colorful denizens of Lexington’s Twangley neighborhood, who strum banjoes all the livelong day, drink too many mint juleps at night and express folksy angst at all times.

Jo Blow: The first season focuses on tensions simmering within the Johannesburg Philharmonic after its fiery conductor dares to flout convention and adds a vuvuzela section to the orchestra.

Bowery Boys: A star-studded nostalgia tribute to New York in the ‘80s. Lady Gaga is Madonna, Justin Bieber is Joey Ramone, William Shatner is Donald Trump.

We Have Reservations: Five teenage brothers living on a Navajo reservation form an alternative punk band despite the opposition of their traditionalist father who regards any instrument other than the tom-tom as sacrilegious.

Creighton Bernette (Image via Wikipedia)

Creighton Bernette, 58, a professor of English literature at Tulane University in New Orleans, died Sunday night when he disappeared after boarding a ferry boat across the Mississippi River.

Police called his death a suicide.

Mr. Bernette, a blunt-spoken, heavyset man who some said bore a resemblance to the actor John Goodman, had become something of a cult figure after Hurricane Katrina when he took to the Internet to criticize local, state and federal authorities and others whom he felt had not responded adequately to the crisis besetting his beloved New Orleans.

Friends and colleagues said Mr. Bernette had been despondent about the city’s slow pace of recovery and feared that it would never again be what it was.

“He marched in the Mardi Gras parade dressed as a human sperm,” said Leo Beaulieu, a neighbor in the Treme section, “but he said it was depressing that there were so few people.”

In addition, Mr. Bernette reportedly was unable to finish a historical novel he had been working on about the great Mississippi flood of 1927.

The news of his death, erroneously reported in the New Orleans Times-Picayune as an accident, sent ripples of shock through Tulane, where he was a popular figure.

“All of us will miss Creighton’s unique combination of passion, erudition and wit,” said Dr. Henry Robison, chairman of the English Department. “We are devastated.”

Mr. Bernette, who had taught at the school for 26 years, championed the work of New Orleans writers such as Walker Percy, Kate Chopin and John Kennedy Toole.

His speaking style was a mixture of the literary, the humorous and the profane. Posting a series of clips on YouTube using a webcam on his home computer, he became locally famous for his scathing diatribes against those he said had allowed the “man-made disaster” of post-Katrina flooding to occur.

After he concluded one clip with the phrase, “F— you, you f—ing f—s,” it became a catchphrase that turned up on T-shirts sold in the French Quarter.

Mr. Bernette is survived by his wife, Toni, a civil-rights lawyer, and his daughter, Sofia.

His remains will be cremated on Friday. Services at the St. Louis Cemetery will be followed by a traditional “second line” procession. According to his wife, Professor Bernette specified in his will the band he wanted and the songs to be played.

Let us spray (Image by Getty Images via @daylife)

Rev. O: All of these approaches have merit, and deserve a fair hearing in the months ahead. But the one approach I will not accept is inaction.

Rabbi G: And who exactly has been calling for inaction? I’ve heard criticism of British Petroleum and your administration, but I have yet to hear anyone cry, “Enough, already! Let’s quit all this damn action and do inaction!”

Rev. O: The one answer I will not settle for is the idea that this challenge is too big and too difficult to meet.

Rabbi G: No, you shouldn’t settle for that answer as it would be fatal politically. And yet, paradoxically, I would argue that this challenge has already proven that it is in fact too big and difficult to meet.

Rev. O: You see, the same thing was said about our ability to produce enough planes and tanks in World War II.

Rabbi G: Really? Are you sure? I’m skeptical but OK, we can Google this later.

Rev. O: The same thing was said about our ability to harness the science and technology to land a man safely on the surface of the moon.

Rabbi G: Actually, I think the argument there wasn’t whether we could reach the moon but whether it was worth the money.

Rev. O: And yet, time and again, we have refused to settle for the paltry limits of conventional wisdom. Instead, what has defined us as a nation since our founding is our capacity to shape our destiny–our determination to fight for the America we want for our children. Even if we’re unsure exactly what that looks like. Even if we don’t yet know precisely how to get there. We know we’ll get there.

Rabbi G: Uh…we don’t know where we’re going but we’re sure we’re going to get there? What if we don’t like it when we get there? What if we already got there but we didn’t notice? Is it possible we got there and left and now we have no idea where we are?

Rev. O: It is a faith in the future that sustains us as a people.

Rabbi G: I thought it was pharmaceuticals and reality TV but I could be wrong.

Rev. O: It is that same faith that sustains our neighbors in the Gulf right now. Each year, at the beginning of shrimping season, the region’s fishermen take part in a tradition that was brought to America long ago by fishing immigrants from Europe. It’s called “The Blessing of the Fleet,” and today it’s a celebration where clergy from different religions gather to say a prayer for the safety and success of the men and women who will soon head out to sea–some for weeks at a time.

Rabbi G: Those folks in the Gulf sure do some colorful shit, don’t they? You gotta love those wacky Gulfsters.

Rev. O: The ceremony goes on in good times and in bad. It took place after Katrina, and it took place a few weeks ago –at the beginning of the most difficult season these fishermen have ever faced.

Rabbi G: Doesn’t seem to be working lately, does it?

Rev. O: And still, they came and they prayed.

Rabbi G: And then they saw the oil and they all went out and got smashed.

Rev. O: For as a priest and former fisherman once said of the tradition, “The blessing is not that God has promised to remove all obstacles and dangers. The blessing is that He is with us always,” a blessing that’s granted “…even in the midst of the storm.”

Rabbi G: Yeah, that’s God for you every time. Doesn’t lift a finger but hey, he’s always there. Somewhere. Is that him over there? I think I saw him behind that oil-soaked pelican.

Rev. O: The oil spill is not the last crisis America will face.

Rabbi G: Good! I hope the next one gets here soon because this one is too depressing to think about anymore.

Rev. O: This nation has known hard times before and we will surely know them again.

Rabbi G: Didn’t you just say that?

Rev. O: What sees us through–what has always seen us through–is our strength, our resilience, and our unyielding faith that something better awaits us if we summon the courage to reach for it.

Rabbi G: That’s very inspiring. And yet I don’t feel inspired. It’s probably just me. I’m sure the rest of America is out summoning its courage and reaching for something better right now.

Rev. O: Tonight, we pray for that courage. We pray for the people of the Gulf. And we pray that a hand may guide us through the storm towards a brighter day.

Rabbi G: As long as we’re praying for a hand, can’t we pray for it to make a big fist and jam itself down the fucking oil hole? Just a thought.

Rev. O: Thank you, God Bless You, and may God Bless the United States of America.

Rabbi: Did it sneeze?

Hamid Karzai, or possibly Ben Kingsley (Image by AFP/Getty Images via @daylife)

Grasping corporate executives, corrupt government officials and thuggish tribal warlords are celebrating the discovery of huge mineral deposits in war-torn Afghanistan, vowing to enrich themselves quickly at the expense of ordinary citizens.

“Dude, we’re partying like Lindsay Lohan,” said T. Furman Jessup, chairman of the gigantic mining conglomerate International Excavating Corp., in a phone call from corporate headquarters in Throckmorton, Texas. “The opportunities for corrupt profits are staggering.”

Popping champagne corks, tinkling glasses and gleeful whoops could be heard in the background.

The exultation, which extended throughout the corruption community on three continents, came after U.S. government spokesmen announced that rich veins of iron, copper, cobalt, gold and other key raw materials had been found in the conflict-ridden Asian nation.

Jessup said he was already negotiating with a corrupt son-in-law of corrupt Afghan President Hamid Karzai as well as corrupt tribal chieftains and corrupt leaders of the outlawed Taliban for “right-of-exploitation contracts,” as they are called in the world of international graft.

“I’m confident that not only will we amass untold wealth,” he predicted, “but also find a way to do significant environmental damage that will mar the ruggedly beautiful Afghan landscape for generations to come.”

Jessup added: “We haven’t seen illicit profit potential like this since the glory days of the Bush Administration.”

Another executive, Yardley M. Cantwell, vice president for chicanery and plunder for North American Ore & Metals, said that so far the bribery demands by the various rivals for power in Afghanistan were “predictably exorbitant” but he speculated that “our costs may rise even further as the bidding heats up. But that’s OK, we’ll still make a pile.”

Zemoun Keftah, a powerful Pashtun warlord in the mountainous Galabah area of southwestern Afghanistan, said he was looking forward to finally giving up the opium trade and instead concentrating on fleecing the foreign corporations that come to extract the minerals. “People don’t realize how labor intensive opium trafficking is,” he said. “My underlings must constantly travel by donkey to remote valleys and lean on farmers just to collect a few hundred million dollars. It’s exhausting. Now we’ll just sit back and wait for corporate checks to come by FedEx.”

A Pentagon official who requested anonymity said the massive mining operations needed to extract the minerals would have no effect on the U.S. war effort, which is expected to continue for the rest of the century, costing taxpayers an estimated $980 billion trillion. Asked if any of the profits from the mineral deposits might be used to defray these costs, he said, “Not a chance. They’re earmarked to go into the pockets of a handful of corrupt and powerful individuals.”

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True Blood (not to be confused with True/Slant) returns June 13, which is a good thing because The Good Wife is in rerun (and I just want to go on record right up front here that even with all their problems, I’m sure Mr. Big is much happier with Alicia Florrick than with that shoe-obsessed flibbertigibbet Carrie Bradshaw), Breaking Bad is winding down and I can never remember when Mad Men or Curb Your Enthusiasm begin and end.

The greatness of True Blood, of course, is that it is not only about vampires.

There are other creatures as well. Creatures that are loathsome yet somehow sexy. And isn’t that just like real life? I mean look at Angelina Jolie.

This season, as anyone knows who’s parked on HBO for at least an hour lately, werewolves are the new guys in town.

I am enthusiastic, despite having recently witnessed on pay per view The Wolfman, with a depressed Benicio Del Toro wandering around the moors looking to kill his agent for getting him into a movie that bad.

Think about how rare supernatural multiplicity has been in our culture. It almost seems to be an unwritten show-biz rule that if you have a vampire bedeviling the citizenry, you can’t have a zombie too. Like that would strain our credibility. Like the audience would shout, “Hordes of rabid mummies stalking the land, sure, I buy that, it could happen, but an invasion of Martians at the same time? No! It’s too much. I refuse to suspend disbelief!”

It’s good that we’re finally getting rid of such hidebound constraints. I hear that Twilight (which I doubt if I’ll ever see) has some werewolves among its vampires. True Blood has lots of things. Everyone talks about Bill the blood-sucking Civil War veteran and his fangy friends but how often do we hear anyone mention Sam Merlotte, the shape-shifting bar owner who can turn into a dog or a canary any time he feels a little stressed? (For some reason, exotic foreign fauna seem beyond his powers. The occasional wombat or coatimundi would make for a fun change of pace.)

Last season featured the evil Marianne, who was some kind of ancient Greek demigod and could transform the entire populace of Bon Temps, Louisiana and environs into rutting zombies through mass entrancement (and could herself sprout the head of a bull in order to administer an instructive if painful goring now and then).

Then there’s Sookie, who’s a human, of all things. Oh and also can read people’s minds. And takes her clothes off a lot.

And now lycanthropy.

Who among us, I ask you, does not enjoy the sight of a ordinary looking fellow excusing himself from an office picnic or IRS audit to duck into the nearest undergrowth, germinate thick facial hair and begin baying at the full moon?

Can we all just take a moment here to howl? You know you want to.

OK, that was good. Not particularly scary but it’s a start.

I for one have wondered on so many occasions: Who would emerge victorious were a vampire and a werewolf to engage in fisticuffs? Or an angel and a giant squid. Or a dragon and a leprechaun. Or a Satanically possessed cyclops and Lady Gaga.True Blood, it would seem, is prepared to answer these questions.