Before I start, may I make clear that the purpose of this article is not to antagonize, offend, or upset anybody. It is merely intended as a lighthearted examination of some of the charming foibles and eccentricities I find oh so humorous in my fellow Glebites. That being said, I hate you all. It’s nothing personal, you see. It’s not how you look, or how you dress, unless of course you’re wearing Capri pants. It’s not even how you talk, although hearing half the school speak like they grew up in Compton is starting to get a little old. What’s really bugging me is how you think, and the only thing I have to blame is liberalism. Not that there’s anything wrong with liberals and socialists aside from the fact that they’re all godless communists who should be shipped back to mother Russia with the rest of the pinkos. Heaven forbid PULP should take a political stand. No, the problem lies with the half-assed liberalism you get that pervades the high-school mentality, which often takes the form of holier-than-thou posturing. Listen you little punks, just because you don’t wear Nike doesn’t mean you’re sticking it to the man, and the fact that you don’t have cable doesn’t make you a decent human being. In fact, I would argue all you people without cable don’t even qualify as members of the human race, just like midgets and telemarketers, but my editor says I’m not allowed to print that. All you anti-corporate hippies preach and whine so much you can barely hear yourself selling out. If I hear one more speech about the evils of capitalism interrupted by a beeping pager from AT&T, there’s going to be trouble. It’s time for you to grow up and face the facts. We’re all just cogs in a giant corporate machine, and unless you’re willing to reject the machine entirely, and that includes giving up your cell-phone and the allowance daddy gives you, quit yer bitchin’.
And while we’re on the subject of ranting, let’s shift gears to the entertainment industry. Half the people I know refuse to go to those giant multi-screen Cineplex’s that are popping up all over the place nowadays. Apparently, from what I can understand from their long-haired beatnik lingo, the Coliseum and Silver City are disgusting examples of the evils of capitalism and American culture, and any self-respecting movie buff would only frequent such delightfully indie theatres like the Sommerset and World Exchange. News Flash, hippie: the money all goes to the same place. It’s not like World Exchange gives half its proceeds to some starving Ethiopian family with 17 kids and three goats to feed, and the Coliseum funds Nazi-run child-labor camps in Mexico. Your $9 is still going to a 50 year old millionaire living in a Hollywood mansion spending every last penny on call-girls paid to dress up like cheerleaders.
Independent Movie Buffs
Speaking of pretension, I got some more news for you French beret-wearing ,foreign film, indie-cinema, I-won’t-go-to-a-movie-unless-it-doesn’t-make-any-sense losers: Independent movies suck. You heard me. You only ever see about 0.5% of the indie flicks out there, for the same reason you only ever see a pathetically small fraction of foreign films: most of them suck. And I mean really really suck. For every Blair Witch Project there’s a thousand low-budget Showgirls without the fine acting talents of Elizabeth Berkley. And do you know why most indie flicks are confusing and vague? That’s right, because there’s a reason these directors are independent. They’re confused and vague. The only reason anyone ever makes an independent movie is to try and trick Hollywood into giving them scads of money to make movies starring Bruce Willis, and the only reason anyone makes a foreign movie is because they live in Rangoon and want to move to LA so they can eat food not made from beetle grubs.
What the hell is wrong with you? I hope you didn’t sprain anything jumping onto the bandwagon so fast. You won’t eat meat because it’s cruel? Listen, the only thing inhumane about hamburgers is how stupid the cows are before they get butchered. They aren’t even smart enough to avoid the bolt-gun in the abattoirs. Let me tell you something, if forty five of my friends just walked into a building, screamed, and then came out the back door in a Hefty-Bag, I’d sure as hell be a little nervous about the guy in the bloody apron with the hunk of smoking metal in his hand. The cows haven’t quite caught on yet. And that’s why I’m eating them.
All I’ve got to say is that I’d rather 1200 rabbits get tortured to death than me go blind in the shower if shampoo gets in my eye, and I don’t think I’m in the minority. My solution: test products on ugly animals, like lizards and midgets. Then no one would complain and we can all live happily ever after.
Well then. I feel much better, don’t you? I’m glad we had this little talk. Let’s do it again next time, shall we? Until then, sleep well, have fun, and all hail the giant corporate über-god.