“Not caring about things since 1973, so that you don’t have to.”
7. Lenny Kravitz’s cock – give credit to the man who “freed the bacon”, because at least he had a sense of humor about it and didn’t issue any fake apologies. Are you gonna boner my way? Hey, so his leathers split. Who cares? But, honestly, I’d much rather see Roxie Roker’s package. Bottom line: if you like it, put a ring on it. Just goes to show that more people should go leather/commando, and less should make a career out of covering the Guess Who’s worst song.
6. John Stewart no longer being on television. The new show may not even last a year. There is just no way to replace someone who’s simultaneously hilarious, self-deprecating, intelligent, nuanced even while swathed in irony, effectively ridiculous, suffused with true wit, and able to debate nearly anyone along the political spectrum without shouting that guest down. The respect he earned was indicative by repeat appearances of rabid tools like Mike Huckabee and Bill O’Reilly, who Stewart somehow managed to convert into temporary allies even the face of their indefensible positions. No other show in television history will again command attention for its subversive political slant while basically being an extended FUCK YOU to hypocrisy in all forms.
5. Speaking of which, the nauseating display of Ted Cruz, a man who would ideally be running a fake-booze kiosk on the hard streets of Tblisi and end up getting stabbed with a dirty kabob skewer by a Chechnyan war vet, pretending that his love for Israel isn’t really the fear of being left behind for all eternity to parse Iranian sanction boilerplate with fellow left-off-the-kickball-team leftover, Kirk Cameron. Just two pals breaking down where it all went wrong (Obamacare, Benghazi, free contraception) for empty millennia of Rapture, dog food, chaste snuggling, and kerosene fires determined to smolder forever on the god-less hillside!
4. You pretending that this picture of slug-sex doesn’t look way more interesting and hot and saucily intricate than whatever happened under the blanket last night while you and the wife watched that repeat of Orange is the New Black. Hey, your shit is weak and predictable, Hominid. Step up your game and learn some new moves, maybe try a little cosplay or light BDSM. Safeword: trail of salt.
3. The plot of Amy Shumer’s Trainwreck somehow being cast as a feminist statement because it places a woman in the usual Adam Sandler/Will Smith/Steve Carrell/Kevin James/Will Ferrell utterly formulaic and never-funny role of The Immature Loser With No Control Over Their Life, until they meet a man/woman who teaches them that they’re actually capable of love, and that most of their script-convenience problems will magically go away with the snap of a finger, if they just stare into the camera and read Judd Apatow’s re-tread lines as if they were fresh and amusing, toss off a few stray gay jokes, and then settle down with Bill Hader.
2. That mole on your back. No, I don’t want to look at it. No, I will not see if it feels hot or too squishy. Yes, you should go see a doctor. No, I will not cover it with ointment for you. Yes, we are breaking up. No, I won’t call your secondary care provider to see if laser-removal is covered above the deductable. Yes, just the thought of That Mole on Your Back and its sheaf of crazy hairs makes me want to give away all my things and jump off the Grand Coulee Dam. No, even though I’m jumping, you can’t have half of my record collection. Yes, I am keeping the cat.
1. Carly Fiorina’s face, which is permanently etched with a look that either says, “I am so wet for Chuck Woolery,” or “Your money will soon be my money,” or “We are now at war with Canada” or “I ate fourteen soft boiled eggs for breakfast, which is just now starting to feel like a huge mistake, so even if you’re not on my staff you should probably back slowly out of the room and maybe even tie a Bon Jovi tour shirt around your nose, because Ovoid Cage-free AAA Evil This Way Comes.”
