Here I sit, this sunny Monday afternoon, high atop the tallest spire of my Fortress of Solitude, quaffing Sunny Delight from a diamond-studded chalice and contemplating. What I am contemplating, I cannot say, for there is nothing really worthy of my mock in the news today. So I suppose I am contemplating the lack of things to contemplate. And nibbling Andy Capp Hot Fries.
I suppose I could jump into the fracas that is the Great Health Care Debate of 2010, but this seems to me to be like kicking my Guatamalan houseboy after he's fallen down a flight of steps. That is to say, all too easy, and a bit of overkill. I don't quite understand the suicidal impulse in the Democratic Party these days; I could see their hamfisted ramming of health care through Congress when they had their ubermajority. But that doesn't exist anymore. Why not do what I do when pesky Jehovah's Witnesses stop by my Fortress's door, drop it down an oubliette and forget it ever existed?
I see by the atomic clock on the wall that it is time for Jay Leno to resume his duties as host of the Tonight Show. Since, like a case of Thai crotch rot, he never really left, I'm not sure what the big deal is. Leno hasn't been funny since he stabbed Letterman in the back and took over the show in the first place. Imagine you've got a delicious bowl of Vietnamese pho, all hot, noodley goodness with some shrimp balls and spices derived from Strontium-90, and suddenly it transmogrifies into a bowl of wheatina. That's what Leno's done to himself in the name of the almighty buck. He's turned himself into pablum. Also, I've always been a fan of the New York City late night hosts. They somehow seem sharper.
On a personal note, I'm not sure how Snooki Polizzi could be considered hot, muchless some kind of celebrity. For those of you not in the know she's on the MTV show Jersey Shore. (Have they forgotten that the "m" in their name stands for "music" and not "moronic entertainment"?) I'm not sure how anyone could not be aware of this, since this woman and her TV show are as ubiquitous as the aforementioned Thai crotch rot. That is to say, all over the place and you wish it would just go away. Let's put it this way: I haven't watched TV since 2002, when I shot my set during a Hee Haw marathon, and even I'm aware of her. She's in today's NY Post (I receive all major newspapers here at the Fortress), and he looks like a troll doll whose hair has fallen flat. I swear she looks like she was raised in a high gravity environment, a bit too short and squat for her own good. And I understand, again from the Post, that she's a no-class, talentless moron. They didn't it put it in so many words, but I'm adept at reading through the lines. How else to parse that this woman's claim to fame is getting punched out by a drunk school teacher from Queens?
That's all I have time for today, as my "contemplation and personal reflection" hour are almost up. Now it is time for me to trim the azaleas and feed my collection of Madagascar hissing cockaroaches. Til next time, gentle readers. All six of you.