This is the forlorn conclusion I’ve arrived at after being stuck on the sofa in recovery mode after some medical drama…
Anyway, Jesus fucking Christ, the advertisements are fucking amazing… bad loans, shitty cars, shit food, dating websites, adjustable mortgage, and generally anything geared to morbidly obese lazy people. And to think some asshole thought putting fake shit crap opera in the JG Wentworth commercials was a good idea.
The programming isn’t much better. Forcing myself to sit through yet another god-awful episode of the Wendy Williams show is a fucking prescription for serious depression.
Of course, this is tempered by plowing through yet another episode of Kitchen Nightmares. “Have you lost your passion?”
Fuck it, I’ll just binge on Girl Scout Cookies.
You know, I stay away from politics as much as usual. Shit’s like religion — you ain’t changing minds now matter how loud you yell.
But I have been rather intrigued by Donald Trump’s shafting of the media recently. He’s pissing them off. Bigly.
I once worked in the “news media.” I worked various positions at a large metropolitan newspaper. Thankfully, I got the fuck out many years ago when I smelled the turpentine on the wall that the whole shithouse was about to go up in flames.
I tend to paint with a broad brush, so fuck it — I noticed that people who work in the news industry are smug assholes, and think they are smarter than everyone else. Seriously. That’s why they’re there everyday telling you what the fuck they think you should know.
So for Donald Trump to suddenly say ‘hey, you guys are full of shit’ must just piss them off to no end. I know it pisses them off. Suddenly, they have no clothes.
For the most part, the news media are a group of pompous, full-of-shit assholes who think they know what’s best for you. Of course, they don’t know shit, and get all butt-hurt when anyone calls them out on it.
Trump laid them over the coals, and now they’re all weepy.
Still waiting for some comical Gaga outfit disaster. It’s halftime for crissakes.
Nipple malfunction. Or whatever.
A keytar did, however, make an appearance.
Sometimes safe is more fun.
Halftime just finished… someone from Vega$ is going to put in a phone call. This score is most likely unacceptable to many.
So, is Dr. Oz a quack?
Just a passing thought that entered my mind as I sat through another mindless, completely useless episode of the ever-shittastic The Dr. Oz Show.
I enjoy watching those cooking shows on television. For the most part.
I suppose it has to do with a general enjoyment of food, and a weird interest in “how the sausage is made.”
I’ve recently been on a Top Chef jag… Tom Curlique or whatever he’s named, and Padma wandering around getting fucked up on wine, thinking and acting (badly) like they’re the shit.
A recent episode had the chefs creating something that spoke to their past (a recurring theme — “this is me on a plate, man’).
One chef made something and added a foam of sorts, as a nod to his upbringing by the sea. As usual, the foam looked like fucked up spittle. Or, in a seminal way, looked like foamy ejaculate. Like a fucked up porn reel stag film, where some guy went and whipped out his shlong and whacked it on someone’s fucking dinner.
And don’t get me started on the ever-popular shit smear they love to put on plates — I’ll leave that for another entry…