Are we supposed to care?
The NSA won’t tell our government anything we don’t already know about ourselves: we like smoking pot, we don’t care if our gay friends want to be unhappily married and forget what fucking feels like, obesity is more disgrace than disease, guns are being used to massacre schoolchildren as a form of population control, Obama isn’t so different from Cheney, after all.
Language has no meaning when you’re above the law, unless you’re making a Hip-Hop Record, in which case, shameless bragging is called an art form.
And if you don’t know, now you know.
Vladimir Putin stole a Superbowl Ring. We’re supposed to be more outraged by his affinity for bling than his propensity for poisoning journalists.
Bashar al-Assad is selling his new fragrance, “Genocide: The Scent Of Zero Accountability.” It’s flying off the shelves.
I can’t watch the news anymore. It’s ridiculous. But the intention isn’t ridiculousness. The intention is dead seriousness. The intention is terror.
The formula is simple: dress like you’re on the way to a Bris, primary colors, nothing too suggestive; pander to an audience of easily outraged bigots, listen to the voice in your earpiece, don’t think for yourself; most important of all, giggle like an uncomfortable schoolgirl when you’re finally confronted by Russell Brand.
Did you see Mika Brzezinski treat Russell Brand like an afterthought on Morning Joe? That is to say, did you see Mika Brzezinski attempt to treat Russell Brand like an afterthought on Morning Joe?
It’s a defining moment in news. It’s a defining moment in non-news.
There is no news, not really. It takes a comedian in kinky boots being objectified by spoiled children dressed-up as penis snipping adults for the curtain to be pulled back.
I don’t consider it an interview. I consider it an audition.