Can the news please stop covering shootings? Especially school shootings.
We obviously don’t care. Not really. The only reason we’re covering the school shooting in Ohio is so the newscaster can look sullen and say something to the families of the victims like, “You’re in our thoughts and prayers.”
Who in the hell wants a newscaster’s thoughts and prayers? Who wants anyone’s thoughts and prayers? No one does. Not really. I’ll take meaningful debate, legislative action or your credit card number. Otherwise, shut the fuck up.
We celebrate the wrong people. Then we turn around and silence the right people.
Sasha Baron Cohen was the most entertaining part of The Red Carpet. Sasha Baron Cohen was almost forbidden from appearing on the Red Carpet. To promote his new movie, he came dressed as a dictator. Strangely enough, in case you couldn’t guess, Sasha Baron Cohen’s new movie is called “The Dictator.”
What’s the point of The Red Carpet? I’ll tell you the point: to promote shitty movies. In most cases, extremely loud and incredibly shitty moives.
God how I hated The Oscars.
Last year, the show was hosted by James Franco and Anne Hathaway. I didn’t think it was possible for The Oscars to suck more ass. But I was wrong. It was possible. Thanks for proving me wrong, Billy Crystal.
The most interesting moment of the entire show was when Octavia Spenser won for best supporting actress. She got a standing ovation. Of course Octavia Spenser got a standing ovation for her role in “The Help.” White People love giving Black People standing ovations. It makes us feel integrated, on the inside.
Enough Meryl Streep. Enough Billy Crystal. Enough Tom Hanks. More Chris Rock. More Emma Stone bantering with Ben Stiller. More Bridesmaids (God how I love The Bridesmaids). More Ricky Gervais. Please, for the love of God, more Ricky Gervais. If anything, The Oscars proved, once and for all, that Ricky Gervais is one funny motherfucker.
The other side of funny is the burning of the Quran. The people of Afghanistan are upset. The people of Afghanistan are incredibly upset. No one seems to understand why. No one seems willing to step back to take-in the reaction and try to diagnose what they’re telling us. They’re telling us to get out of their country. The people of Afghanistan are telling us they don’t like being occupied.
It’s not like Occupy Wall Street, which is a metaphor for occupying a mindset so we can finally have accountability. It’s different. Extremely different. The occupation in Afghanistan is real. No matter how well intended, no matter how noble the cause, no one likes being occupied. No one likes the feeling of being attacked. Not really.
Trust me, I was in New York City when we were attacked on 9/11. Al-Qaeda thought they were liberating Americans from the tyranny of capitalism. Whatever their intention, however holy the cause, it felt awful.
The low flying planes were terrorizing; I couldn’t sleep. The smell of burning bodies was the most oppressive thing I’ve ever had to try and put out of my mind; I couldn’t put it out of my mind. Funny thing about a smell, you can’t put it out of your mind. Actually, it’s the un-funny thing about a smell.
This is why Church doesn’t blend with State. It’s absolute.
You know what makes me vomit? Rick Santorum makes me vomit. He’s been alive long enough to be considered an adult. Yet his thoughts are childish. He has an imaginary friend. He’s uncomfortable with Gay Sex. He has his name embroidered on a sweater vest like a small child who has his mittens clipped to his winter coat, so he won’t forget.
Rick Santorum is the worst kind of snob, the kind of snob who looks down on achievement. What the fuck is that all about? Seriously, what the fuck? I’m a grown-up. I’m allowed to swear when I’m pissed-off at a button-pusing sociopath.
Go home, Rick. Go back to Pennsylvania. Grow-up, Rick. Take your losses. Take-in your losses. Try to find the meaningful lesson from your failures, like the rest of us in adult life. Your kids are allowed to have an imaginary friend. Not you, Rick. You’re not allowed. Not anymore. By the way, he’s not called Jesus. He’s called Snuffleupagus.
God how I hate Rick Santorum.
In real news, my best friend, Vinny Vegas, coached his daughter’s basketball team all the way to a championship victory. He texted me on Sunday to share the win. When I got the text, it felt like I was having a Mighty Ducks Moment.
Sometimes we celebrate the right people. By the way, Vinny Vegas got every single girl on the team an MVP Trophy.