baby, i’m a star

clean

“well we’re big rock singers
we got golden fingers
and we’re loved everywhere we go
we sing about beauty and we sing about truth
at ten thousand dollars a show…”

as the apotheosis of talentless hackery, the political pundit cum movie star is a beacon of fatuous demagoguery that the world’s citizenry are beholden to so as to ease the burden of self emanating opinions and the crushing weight of thought. nowhere on earth has the fusion of dasein and nothingness been seamlessly fused than in the good ol’ u.s of a. …and how could it not be? entertainment capital of the world and cultural exporter of vacuous trash, where else but there could bonzo’s paternal influence, cher’s lesser half, a genocidal cyborg and captain stubing’s cabin boy be elected to political office?

facticity established without a doubt and transcendence asserted, it comes as no surprise the critic has climbed onto the stage to share the limelight of the glad-handing entertainer. no longer content to critique, the fray has been joined and many dollar is to be made by the politik of shock and the assertion that i and me now speak for we so that you know who is us and what is them. that money and time has been well-spent engaging the thought of “cash in” should be expected, but its elevation to culturally relevant discord seems to suggest that the punch and judy show has been somehow overlooked for centuries as the proper stage of political debate.

alas, it is now necessary to gambol in the manner of viswanathan cum coulter and assert that we all don’t want to abolish pundits. we simply want them to reduce our minds to the size where we don’t need to drag heads into the bathroom and drown ourselves in the bathtub.

“and did we tell you the name of the game, boy?”

Leave a Reply