When “House of Cards” was released on Netflix in February, I serial binged on the entire series first weekend it came out. I was obsessed, consuming all 13 hour-long episodes in a 36-hour time window. I’m a sucker for anything about Washington D.C.’s corridors of power, so “House of Cards” hit me in the sweet spot. During the binge, I couldn’t stop nervously shaking my leg while worrying about what was going to happen to U.S. Representative Peter Russo and the Navy shipyard in his home district. When I finished the series at 6 AM on a Sunday morning after staying up all night, I was red-eyed and bloated from munching on bags of Tositos, with a thick layer of grime under my fingernails from hours of sweaty palms. So I took a shower, obsessing over Zoe Barnes “big story” and the minutiae of the inside-the-Beltway world I just intensively emerged myself in. “House of Cards” is more than just a simple media obsession; It’s a psychological addiction. It’s TV crack.
All I can say is this: It’s, like, the best show ever. Jon Rudnitsky’s “House of Cards Junkie” parody video gets this addiction pretty much right. Bravo. For starters, there’s Frank J. Underwood’s Carolina drawl and the desire to insert all sorts of unnecessary, straight-from-the-hip Shakespeare asides into everyday life. Other stages of HOC addiction include deep curiosity about adulterous ulterior motives and calling out close friends and family for wanting to borrow your Netflix password. Don’t mooch like a pathetic begging dog, you guys. You know what Frank Underwood thinks about begging dogs, you guys.
Suddenly I’m hungry for ribs and have a deep desire to smoke a cigarette by my apartment window at sunrise while plotting out hypothetical story arcs for Season 2.
That music is fucking intense.
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