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| "Wilford Fungus for America: Season 1" now available on VHS |
One does not so much watch the “Wilford Fungus for America!” show, as observe it the way one might watch a houseplant that has unexpectedly begun to speak. The plant in question is Wilford himself, anchoring the proceedings with the solemnity of a funeral director who has just realized the deceased is still breathing. He wears the expression of a man perpetually surprised that the teleprompter is, in fact, moving.
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| members of the Deep State performing Satanic rituals with their friends |
The program opens with the sort of solemn preamble one reserves for the discovery of a new continent or the arrival of the apocalypse: a grave warning about the “deep state satanic cult” that apparently runs everything from the weather to one’s Wi-Fi password. Wilford Fungus delivers this bulletin with the unflinching sincerity of a man who has just checked under his bed and found both monsters and receipts. It is a masterclass in deadpan conspiracy theater, performed by a gentleman who appears mildly disappointed that the cult has not yet sent him a formal invitation.
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| SHIA LABEOUF |
A recorded introduction from Taylor Swift follows, suggesting she was compensated in exposure and possibly a polite cease-and-desist. We then receive a check-in with Shia LaBeouf, broadcasting (we are assured) from central lockup in New Orleans after “getting rowdy during Mardi Gras.” Mr. LaBeouf treats incarceration like method acting; the segment ends before anyone can inquire whether the performance includes a one-star Yelp review of the accommodations.
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| LORD EARMAN: Distinguised Royal Correspondent |
The centerpiece concerns the arrest of Prince Andrew. Wilford interviews “distinguished royal correspondent” Lord Earman, who elects the daring interpretive choice of pretending to be profoundly deaf. Each question is greeted with a courteous, vacant smile and the occasional “I’m sorry, old boy, could you repeat that into the ear that still functions on alternate Thursdays?” It is a display of such committed incompetence that one nearly rises to applaud. Nearly.
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| Dabney Doublechins |
At the three-minute mark Wilford is joined by his best friend and gravitational constant, Dabney Doublechins, a man who carries the approximate mass of someone who has never met a buffet he didn’t like. Together they ponder “MAGA turmoil and national division” with the penetrating insight of two goldfish contemplating a crack in the tank. Their rapport is warm, genuine, and mystifying to the rest of us.
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| OK Punch Kid A fleeting detour visits the “OK Punch Kid” incident, in which internet personality Danny Spud is struck for the unforgivable sin of supporting law enforcement. Dabney narrates the clip as though commentating the Preakness and all the horses had staged a sit-in. Journalism, it seems, was achieved for roughly twenty seconds before everyone remembered the assignment was comedy. The promised climax—secret footage of Prince Andrew, President Trump, and Jeffrey Epstein enjoying a casual island retreat—is duly queued. Tension builds. Wilford leans in like a boy about to unwrap the final gift on Christmas morning. The music swells. And then, abruptly, the screen cuts to black because, we are informed, “Daddy Trump is back from golf.” The secret footage remains as elusive as Lord Earman’s working ear. “Wilford Fungus for America!” is not so much satire as it is a courteous throat-clearing in the general direction of the news cycle. Wilford and Dabney execute their duties with the straight-faced devotion of men who have been assured the joke lands harder if no one laughs. One departs the experience faintly amused, quietly embarrassed for all parties, and oddly convinced that somewhere beneath a certain golf course a man is still waiting for his tape to roll. Two stars. The fungus is real. The deep state remains unimpressed. The America, as ever, is optional. - Daniel Harambe |
