Perhaps the easiest pick as unrealistic for those well versed in American sitcoms would be “Bewiched”, but considering the fact – or at least the strongly held belief – that there are actual witches, “Bewitched” gets a pass.
Then there’s “I Dream of Jeannie” which would otherwise seem totally fantastic were it not for the fact that genies are actual characters from the book Arabian Nights and even though the role of genie is almost exclusively played by a male – an Arabian male at that – they at least got the clothes right and let us ogle Barbara Eden’s big tits and small waist while imagining that ass.
Then there was “The Cosby Show” which now might seem unrealistic because the idea of Bill Cosby being faithful to his wife is totally absurd, but at the time, believe it or not – and Black people felt this, by the way – what was considered “unrealistic” was the notion of a Black nuclear family with a doctor as it’s father and a lawyer as it’s mother.
One trip to a HBCU could easily cure that notion.
No, the most unrealistic sitcom ever was “Gilligan’s Island“.
On that island for three full seasons and nobody even pregnant?
The mere idea that decorum or morality as it’s held so loosely in place in what we today consider “society”, exists for any other reason than the threat punitive actions to the contrary should those higher notions be broached, gives man too much credit and would be the first thing(s) abandoned should a small group of individuals find themselves washed ashore on a deserted island, particularly in the company of two bad bitches.
And yet, this sitcom featured Gilligan, the hapless, inept, skinny, first mate of a touring vessel; the Skipper, a fat, bloated, bloviating blow-hard doomed to do nothing but boss Gilligan; the Professor, a starched white shirt and khakis-wearing pedantic useless know-it-all; Thurston Howell III, a clueless borderline-senile millionaire; Lovey, Howell’s almost-elderly wife; Ginger, a tall slim movie star with a decent rack; and Mary Ann, a red-hot farm girl with greats tits, great legs and a bubble none of which we’re supposed to imagine ever came even reasonably close to fucking; not even Howell and his wife!
Instead we see the Howells in their own hut sleeping apart, Ginger and Mary Ann sharing a hut, the Professor living the bachelor’s life, while the Skipper and Gilligan not only share a hut, but sleep in bunk-bed hammocks.
Even if we’re gonna believe, as it’s implied, that Gilligan was forced to endure the high seas as the Skipper’s bitch, the prospect of pussy would have certainly turned him into Tommy DeVito after being told to go home and get his shine box.
Also, with only three bitches to choose from, the likelihood is that after Mary Ann had been bukkake’d because she was the genuine hot bitch, and everybody had had a turn on Ginger for starfucking sake at the very least, even Lovey woulda got pounded out in a group thing that Thruston, if he could still even get it up, would have had to either join, watch, or get murked by trying to oppose.
And don’t get me wrong, we know propaganda was at play here.
What we’re supposed to believe is that American restraint and dignity are so ingrained that even despair and desolation couldn’t shake it’s innate composure.
The truth, however, would be a lot closer to the tale that William Golding told in Lord of the Flies, murder included, and adding, of course, two bad bitches.