I Will Grind Your Bones with
My Many Teeth

While watching the American league win Major League Baseball’s All-Star Game yet again (or so I gather — I haven’t really been keeping track the last few years), I had an incredible involuntary revelation that made both my husband and I double over with laughter:

Derek Jeter looks like C3PO. See?

 

I now know (thanks to our editor) that it’s not polite to comment on the way people look, and normally I really do feel that appearances don’t mean anything and aren’t really worth anyone’s time to discuss. So let’s not discuss it. But I know you see it, too:

Why am I so mean all of a sudden? It’s probably because I finally admitted to myself that I’ve always secretly envied people like Andy Rooney. The man has a national platform to declare to the world that he has no idea what riboflavin is for. Paris Hilton has a national platform to declare to the world how proud she is to have accomplished so much. Maybe I just haven’t rightly taken advantage of the platform that I have to cultivate my near boundless capacity for stupidity and put-upon cruelty. So I’m just going to say some things that have been on my mind.

I want to declare to the world that I revel in the violence of pairing purple with red. That I tire of sincerity and heartfelt gestures. That I live to disdain that which I can’t identify with. Ooh, me so scorny. And if you like my insincerity, you should see my feigned interest! So forget reason and civility and good writing; let’s just enjoy this malicious endeavor.

Why do people lack so much interest in their own lives that they must embroil themselves in the lives of others, namely “celebrities”? To me, a depressingly large portion of the population is obsessed with these people. Well, I’m here to tell you they’re not so great.

Case A — Tom Cruise. You have a picture of his face in your mind. Whenever you hear his name spoken, or read it written, this is what your mind sees. Even when you see another version of his face, this — yes, your Platonic Ideal of Tom Cruise — exists and is what you process in your mind. Think of that picture now — your ideal Tom Cruise. This is mine.

I saw a recent magazine cover reading, “What’s wrong with baby Suri?” I will tell you what’s wrong with that baby: she’s weird. She’s spent more time in the womb than in the world, so how can she be weird, you ask? Here is how: there are strangers camped outside her house, yelling, “Show us your baby!” to her parents. And the answer that her attractive, rich, weird, famous parents are giving? “No.” Weird parents, ergo weird baby. Okay, let’s move on, shall we?

Case 2 — Leprechauns. This is going back a ways, but it is as true today as it was when it was relevant. David Cassidy, Davey Jones, and Luke Perry all just look like different breeds of leprechaun to me. Relax — don’t be offended. No one is saying leprechauns are ugly. At least I’m not. Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, fellas!

I’ve got two words for you, Noam Chomsky: You’re boring.

Can anyone get enough of Ann Coulter? Remember when someone tried and failed miserably to pelt her with pies and she was all like, “They missed me — ha, ha,” and shit? She totally missed the point. The fact that someone wanted to and then did throw pies at her is the funny part. And because of the genius of that attempt, the artificially generated image in my mind of her covered in pies is now my Platonic Ideal of Ann Coulter. It cheers me up when I’m blue, and when my stomach is churning and I feel like I have to puke, all I have to do is think of her, covered in pies, in a three-way with Paris Hilton and Shaquille O’Neal, and up it comes. On cue. Really.

Now I feel like I’m kind of on a roll and somewhat entitled to fresh tangents. Remember what the man said: “Keep your head and arms inside The Mixer at all times.”

Next, the Evening “News.” Okay, just FOX 32, the Chicago area FOX affiliate.

Is it required anymore for television anchor people to actually be reporters? Or do they just say the news? For instance, didn’t Mark Suppelsa seem like he had a serious career at one time? Now he’s just on FOX 32 wackin’ it up with Robin Robinson. He might as well be making fart jokes in between Middle East and Katrina stories. (It would be much funnier if I were doing it. I don’t have any professional standards I have to follow. At least not here.) I’ll never forget one report that ended with Walter Jacobson claiming that stolen grocery carts cost about $2K for stores to replace; this was followed by Robin Robinson smirking knowingly and skeptically saying, “Hmm, somebody should check that out.” Really? A good time for checking that out might have been prior to airing it as a news item, mightn’t it? Oh, and remember that horrible switched identity news story, where everyone was asking how it could have happened that these two girls were misidentified after a crash where one of them died? The reporter in the segment paraphrased some coroner saying, I kid you not, “Dr. So-and-So has never heard of a situation like this before, but says it’s common.” How the fuck can it be common if you’ve never heard of it before? Christ, I could read the goddamn news to people.

Don’t get me started on the Amish.

OK, I’ll get started. I’m finally fucking throwin’ it down: learn to flip a light switch, you eighth-grade-educated, single-suspender-pants-wearing jerks. The only people who think you are charming are the backward-ass, nostalgic for a simple, quaint, non-existent past kind of Republicans that still think W is doing a good job leading us back into the dark ages. But more than that, it’s the enforced conformity. This is America and I think we can all exist as individuals and still be decent human beings who try to sympathize with people unlike ourselves. OK, wait. Clearly, I don’t actually think that. But let’s face it: the suppression or rejection of the individual is un-American. Hyper-repressive subcultures are wrong to be allowed to brainwash their populace, thereby closing their minds to information and limiting the accessories by which one chooses to hold up one’s pants. In this day and age, and in this particular location on the planet, why would anyone stand for this? Are these people just easily programmed? It’s creepy. Hive-like. Borg-like. I say we capture them and turn them into robots to do our bidding before the Scientologists do.

Next: the Papacy. Not the pope, per se — everyone by now should know that the pope is a very nice man. (Is he? Who cares?) But this is why I hate the papacy: he is a man who claims to speak for god and be infallible. In fact, I’m perplexed at the very modern existence of the Catholic Church. Why is anyone Catholic? After the printing press, even? Why is anyone anything, for that matter? I come from people who are related to people who married people who handle snakes. It’s as good a religion as any. Got a problem with that?

And while we’re on the subject of churches, you know those signs outside of churches that broadcast an ever-rotating churchy saying? The best one I ever saw was, “If you are looking for a sign from God, this is it.” Huh, all the tough decisions one has to make in life solved by a little slogan. So go ahead, get that abortion!

Everyone is stupid but me.

Do you know that someone has a patent for a particular manner of swinging on a swing? I am not lying. Well, I invented swinging forward and back while you’re twisting back and forth. Only I know the most fun way of performing this feat, and if you think I’m going to precisely illustrate it here for free when there’s a patent to be obtained, you are out of your mind. I’m doing you a favor because at best you will break your head, and at worst you’ll have to pay me royalties because it kicks ass doing that. I can still do a penny drop, yo.

I can’t think of another fucking thing to say.

Listen, I keep spiral bound notebooks so that I can write down all of the ridiculous crap that comes into my mind on a regular basis. My grandmother kept spiral bound notebooks. I never have had the chance to read any of hers, but I know she was probably talking about God. She would hate everything I’m writing here as much as you do. But that’s her. And also you, I guess. I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret: if I come across something written in my notebooks that I don’t like or am embarrassed to have written because it’s so dumb, I cross it out fully so that it is completely illegible. I’ve done it since I was a kid. I’ve actually tossed entire notebooks, tore them up into little pieces and threw them into airport garbage cans because they were so gay. Yeah, sounds like a real shame. I bet all of it was gold. Just like I was kind of embarrassed for a long time about secretly liking Olivia Newton-John until I realized she’s fucking great. But the point I’m trying to make here is — I mean, the real secret is — in my line of work, that is completely illegal. Not Olivia Newton-John! The destroying of raw data. I’m bad! You hear?! Bad to the bone!

I can’t just be imagining it, so I’m giving you one last chance to see what I’m seeing, lest ye feel the business end of my scorn:

 

 

 

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