The last few weeks have been such a tremendous global cluster frak that I haven’t been much interested in boring you, my dedicated reader, with my hottest hot takes. It’ certainly has been our worst, but it’s absolutely not our best. Still, like a circus bear on roller skates, we keep rolling forward.
ITEM: Multi-day festivals like Coachella sound like a fucking nightmare: tweens dressed for a fashion show, minor celebrities, drugs and drink. The heat and bodies and portajohns. I wouldn’t have done it 20 years ago. I honestly don’t care about Beyonce and I don’t believe that you do either. That’s okay; I’m not her target demo.
ITEM: I’d rather go to the zoo and see baby gorillas and brand new elephants and ride the carousel three times in a row on a rainy Sunday morning. Living our best lives. Adopt an elephant or a gorilla. Get a FONZ membership.
ITEM: War on Drugs was playing while I stood in line at the Giant tonight. I’m old.
ITEM: A Tale of Two Waffle Houses: First, black man saves his own ass and God knows how many other people by wrestling a rifle from a white, pantsless assassin. Second, a girl is tackled and stripped naked by three white cops for questioning a 50 cent charge for plastic cutlery on a take out order and dropping an F bomb. Yes, cracker, it’s all about race.
ITEM: Misery Class on track for FAA approval. The 1% get something special.
ITEM: None of the wee Bairn’s pants have pockets. The Bairn loves rocks and flowers and tiny knock-off Lego spacemen that look perpetually pissed off. It’s bad enough that everything on a rack is pink and fluffy. Add some damn pockets. If you care about her silouette more than her .
ITEM: Just watched The Shape of Water. This review in the preeminent conservative rag was written by a coked up 11th grader Incel.