Today, courtesy of the Drudge Report which I’d like to imagine as comprised by Matt Drudge and a small army of lithe and lissome college girls who had all been fired from Voice of America over getting drunk and stoned with the blue collars and fucking like their credit cards depended on it. Maybe they’d known VICE was the centrism between Proud Boys and Neoliberalism. They were too well-read to intern with FOX, too familiar with abortion clinics to intern with OAN. Their online search history had no pornhub bookmarks for incest vids, so Breitbart was entirely out of the equation. Drudge wears a hat though, and that’s mysterious like maybe he actually read those Ayn Rand books from cover to cover when he was in school so it won’t matter if he’s a poor lay because his website gets serious traffic. News can only possibly be aggregated after assholes get stretched from days and nights and days of fucking and fucking and fucking unless one works for free, which entails a different trafficking altogether. Just imagine weighing the values of mixed signals from the plethora of submitted linkage while grinding asses of consenting journalism majors, over and over, again and again until smart work-suits become as unbearably confining as fair and balanced reporting.
Jake Sherman and Anna Palmer report on over 100 Republican allies and staffers to three of the biggest names in American Conservatism of the past couple of decades all up and voting for Joe Biden this time round. I wouldn’t call the lot of them liberals or even necessarily civil warring GOP irregulars, as I do not believe that there is any political differentiation in DC or in federal politics generally to speak of, beyond the complete and total lack of leftwing politics on the national stage. To be sure, plenty of loud brow-beating and chest-beating to compete with the bible-thumping and rifle-cocking across the aisle, with the masses expected to remain always unaware the two sides succeed only in never failing to play the same beat. Which sounds a lot like an old-fashioned cash register. They unify publicly and socially only when visceral threat to the bottom line of this nationalistic joke reveals itself, in this case by the bloated form of Donald Trump, the bastard offspring of a shotgun wedding betwixt absolute self-placating evil, and irrefutable ignorance to the most stupid of consequential extremes. A threat not simply to the competition of alternative business interests, but to a continuance of the human species. The worst things the western world has to give are not only being proliferated by him, his words and his actions and inaction, but they are inflated and made as provocative as news reports framed by the cinematographer to rise from the bottom of the breasts of the anchorwoman, with extra studio lights rather bluntly illuminating her legs under the news desk at least 10x more than the legs of the anchorman siting beside her on camera.
Adulthood comes with the grim understanding that hate-fucking political opposition is no less rewarding than hate-fucking religious opposition. Even the most noble love inevitably meets with unforeseen boundaries, but hate is insatiable. Lust and wrath are not deadly sins, they are human nature. We shame ourselves into forgetting how shit, blood and cum are ultimately the most productive endeavors humanity might ever experience whether we get to the bottom of a story or not. When done responsibly it spares a life.
Justine Coleman reports on Nancy Pelosi declaring how there should be no debates between Trump and Biden, as though such a heavily-orchestrated, politically correct and in all likelihood entirely prescripted event under normal circumstances may possibly but inadvertently indicate the ramped blatancy of the commonalities between the two overfed dinosaurs which betray all advertising, so the unwashed should really just go without the puppet show itself and proscribe all trust to the advertising itself. Self-censor the fuck away from what thoughts and feelings your leaders are really entertaining, the powdered noses advocate, and do so for truth, justice and the American way. While mere opinions themselves never being universal guarantees cancel culture over hurt feelings does not apply universally, repercussions for one’s own actions or inaction absolutely must apply universally, particularly when said actions or inaction infringe or impede the life and liberty of anybody, anywhere. The only people in existence who should be denied privacy and mandated transparency are those intent on being centers of attention by governance. Nature unarguably has its reasons for systematically practicing cause and effect, and we ourselves probably hold no audiences inside the womb for a reason, too.
The already-monied additionally hording to deprive a global economy in its death-throes due to this tragic lifetime of unregulated hording by egomaniacs globally, as Ben Stupples reports, probably have their reasons as well. Although as they do exist by no other means but through helping no one, they cannot help but to be predictable about why they do as they elect to do in this new trend. They get what they pay for in a free market economy alright. Simultaneous to this is Uncle Sam’s abrupt concern over possibly distorted jobless numbers, as Alan Smithee elsewhere reports. This is very cute after the last 4 years of millions of households being booted from the federal food stamps program in broad daylight, not because their situations had improved but because a tax break was needed for billionaires as social reward for being gracious gods. Same with millions denied unemployment benefits, also with neither advance warning or after the fact explanation, all explicitly to make the general numbers look less like they’re coming from a third world country. When the coronavirus is striking even remote tribal communities, where else will there be to hide, but top secret space stations for the 1%, or clandestine time portals or underground doomsday fallout bunkers whose occupants from Wall Street could conveniently be buried under hundreds of tons of additional concrete from outside should Ragnarok not actually occur. Only heartache could or should be so liberating in aftereffect. Even with this pandemic’s survival rate from social-distancing contact buzzes, there is no immunity, meaning that all survivors are free to contract coronavirus again and again, over and over, until they no longer have a life to lose to a contagion run amok due considerably to inconvenience and nothing more. Being a virtue, perseverance has its own bountiful rewards.
Jessica Jones, currently employed by the BBC following her departure from Netflix, reports on whether bartering and trading might in fact be becoming a thing, what with the general apparatus of the free market economy still idling its engines despite clearly running on fumes, presumably fumes of fire and brimstone and not nearly enough Molotovs. I was distributing food throughout my community for free long before the pandemic, exchanging medical supplies and cleaning agents to those in most need. I know firsthand from an interesting life that it simply is not necessary to have access to money just to survive. It’s the biggest cop-out from personal responsibility the western world has yet manufactured. Nothing at all like taxing pert asses while discussing pivotal ad-sales clashing with typography and color theory. What if we fucking affected and fucking effected fucking markets with our fucking reach your thesis sucks and my business only validates parking in the rear. This is geopolitical reverse cowgirl, the branching of networks which leak like ruptured cold sores from internships *spent* standing near the greatness of narratives handily misfired, standing so near the anal cleft whose clenching generously suggests crashing for the night, dreaming for a politician to finally cancel debts from student loans when frankly Americans should be getting paid regularly life-sustaining wages from the government to get educated further, over and over, again and again until they get their fucking shit together with butt-sex being the sort of thing one does not just jump into, not without a backup plan as editing is the only socially-acceptable form of sadomasochism.
Film at 11.