American Horror Story Recap: My Two Dads


RYAN MURPHY, 46, sits on a couch in front of a secretary, filing her nails. He has a massive hangover. A bored but SEXY SECRETARY motions him into the offices of an FX EXEC, forties, wearing Wall Street suspenders and an AMERICAN FLAG TIE

FX EXEC: Well, Ryan, we're so glad to have you here. All of us at News Corp. are obviously huge, huge fans.

RYAN: Thank you.

FX EXEC: Glenn Beck can't sleep without watching of Eat Pray Love. Well ... that and huffing ether while masturbating into a leather glove.

RYAN: (Supressing a hangover DRY HEAVE.) That's great.

FX EXEC: So I hear you and Brad have a show to pitch.

RYAN: (Sweating. He has nothing.) I do ... it's called …


Ryan panics. He's just pulled an all-nighter for Glee out on script. He's been up until 4 a.m. drinking curaçao through a bendy straw — what he and Brad like to call "Emmy Juice." He hasn't thought of a single show to pitch today. What to do???

RYAN It's called …

He looks at the executive's AMERICAN FLAG TIE. He looks at a FRAMED PHOTO on his desk, where a child — ostensibly the executive's son — is being hoisted on a chair in a traditional Bar Mitzvah dance. Outside the window, a STORE is visible. He licks his dry lips with a parched cerulean tongue.

RYAN (cont'd): America …Horah … Store.

FX EXEC: Sorry? Did you say …  American Horror Story?


RYAN: (Dialing J.J. Abrams.) It worked!

SORRY. Sorry, every one! Just daydreaming! I get that when you've been super successful you don't have to plan and pitch a new television show with the thoroughness of say, a young woman with a killer idea about a girl who writes recaps for a living. But did NO ONE make plans to write this series beyond, "It's a haunted house. Sometimes there are butts." ???

Don't get me wrong. I love and am attached to this show, but I cannot be lured into another program that hinges on an "intriguing universe of hints and clues" only to find out that the people behind it are flying by the seats of their pants.

Remember when you found out there was no Santa and then you were immediately like, "Well, maybe there's no God, either! Maybe morality is a construct and I should just murder a strange Algerian"? In this case, Lost is Santa. It has ruined my faith in mystery shows. I'm sorry! I know. Read More...


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