I don't know what's up with the Spousal Unit but she's on a strange little tangent to hook the kids on dumbed down black comedy. It wasn't until I played the preview for Midsummer Night's Dream that my idea might be just as vapid. Of course it was Michelle Pfeiffer that helped me realize my folly. We may be making a mistake this week in our parenting skills.
But since I'm launching on a small tangent of snark myself in reviving the Comic, it means that I'm gulping down a megadose of WTF gelcaps.
In medias res, I offer exhibit A, from some disgusting joint called 'The Beast' which is a place from which I can never come. I might go there, but I am fundamentally incapable of letting the microbes in my body, miticlorians they may be of the Dark Side, to arrange my brain into the type of cynical bastard that writes such things as the Fifty Most Loathsome People in America.
The common factor? Flavor Flav. There is nothing remotely redeeming about that person, not even bleeped out jokes about him.
Charges: Fondly remembered as the loopy jester of the world’s most serious hip hop act, this monofaceted neo-minstrel landed a career in public debauchery on VH-1 when Chuck D’s threadbare coattails finally gave way. After spending two years publicly chasing a gargantuan Danish lush, Flav decided to seek love in the traditional way, by plumbing the depths of human depravity on the most cynically trashy dating show in a field of strong contenders for that title. "Flavor of Love" is a contrived, exploitative confirmation of every racist and misogynist stereotype regarding gold-digging ghetto hoes and stoned, groping deadbeats you never heard, setting the civil rights movement back several years, prompting Public Enemy to issue a disapproving disclaimer, and causing our staff to reconsider the first amendment.
Exhibit A: "You’re blind baby, you’re blind from the facts on who you are, ‘cause you’re watching that garbage."
Sentence: Locked in a room with a clone of himself.
Thank God for God.
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