Ridley Scott: Nothing Is Ever His Fault, Only the "Millennians"

 

Ken Rogerson: My Introduction to Wife-Hating "Comedy"

 

Jerry Seinfeld: Living Proof That Not All Dinosaurs Were Wiped Out

 

John Cleese: a Free Speech Warrior Who Can't Talk Because He's Licking J.K. Rowling's Boots

 

Eric Clapton, Who Doesn't Look "Wonderful Tonight" or Any Other Night For That Matter

 

Glitch McConnell, I Mean, Moscow Mitch, I Mean, Old Age Mutant Ninja Turtle, I Mean...Fuck It!

 

Caitlin Clark vs. Gregg Doyel: a Gen Z Girl Being Hit On By a Million-Year-Old Dinosaur

 

Lou Dweebs, I Mean, Lou Dobbs: Honorary ICE Agent

 

It's about damn time I brought back the garish color humiliation. Rest in Piss, Lou Dweebs.

The Undertaker: the Whole Reason the OK Boomer Meme Exists

 

Tara Mooknee vs. Brad Upton

 

Mickey Atkins vs. Bill Maher

 

Jim Cornette

 

George Carlin vs. Phil McGraw

 

Nobody Wants to Change

 Every year the pattern was the same: two rival debate clubs went head to head and not a goddamn thing changed afterwards. The clapping from the audience was only out of courtesy, not out of impressiveness for one particular side. Everybody in that crowd had already made up their minds, or whatever was left of them after devouring a nice helping of Tucker Carlson’s show later that evening.

Paulo Bermudez recognized this dull pattern all too well. As he sat there on the side of the stage with his head barely perked up, he could see all the faceless minions nodding in mock approval for whoever was speaking. Even his own debate coach, Mr. Diametes Cosgrove, looked like a mindless bobble-head in the crowd, though his civil rights lawyer credentials made him slightly more believable.

Though Paulo and Mr. Cosgrove had their racial differences, the former being a Mexican teenager and the latter being a black Boomer, their struggles as minorities were real to each other. The harsh treatment by white cops, the gaslighting rhetoric of rich pampered politicians on TV, the general disdain from society, they both knew it all. When Mr. Cosgrove asked Paulo to be the captain of this year’s debate team, it was because he saw something in the young man, though Paulo saw nothing in himself and not much else in his opponents.

While Mr. Cosgrove and everyone else in the audience had their best suits on for this occasion, Paulo’s T-shirt and jeans look showed he knew the outcome of the competition long before it was over. The minute his rival captain Cora Yellowwood took the podium in her posh blue sweater and brown skirt, Paulo’s Nostradomus skills were even more heightened. She went on and on about the basic conservative anti-immigration tropes: they took our jobs, they’re joining MS-13, you can’t care about kids in cages if you’re “pro-abortion”.

Paulo’s blood would ordinarily boil over at this kind of rhetoric. But at this point in the competition and in life in general, he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore, because nobody else did. Once Cora was done with her two minutes of hate speech, the audience applauded like they had been programmed to do all these years. Paulo didn’t even snap out of his apathetic trance long enough to hear his own name called by the moderator. The old man had to say it multiple times in exponentially louder voices before he woke up to the nightmare around him.

“Mr. Bermudez! It’s your turn at the podium. You have two minutes to rebut Miss Yellowwood.”

Paulo dragged his sorry ass to the podium and was greeted with insulting shoulder squeezes and hair fluffing from his opponent. The audience chuckled at the gesture, not realizing nor caring how creepy that was. Once Cora skipped back to her seat on the opposite end of the stage, Paulo stared out into the crowd with a mixture of hatred and aloofness.

He allowed the droning audience to absorb his rage before he finally spoke. “You know what this debate competition sounds like? Team Bermudez vs. Team Yellowwood sounds like a UFC event, which is what I wish it was right now.” The audience chuckled awkwardly while Mr. Cosgrove rolled his eyes.

“Mr. Bermudez, please stay on topic,” the moderator warned.

“Oh, don’t worry, I am on topic.” Paulo sighed heavily and read the room some more, wasting valuable time on his two-minute limit. “Truth is, I could stand up here and tell you all about my struggles as a third-generation Mexican-American. I could entertain you all with a sob story about my grandfather escaping violence. But in the end, none of it will mean a damn thing, because nobody wants to change.”

The audience gasped while Mr. Cosgrove face-palmed.

“Mr. Bermudez…”

“Yes, I know! I’m staying on topic like you said! Just give me a few minutes, okay?!” The room fell deathly silent once again. “I could talk here for a lot longer than two minutes and none of it would make a difference. Nobody wants to change their minds. Nobody wants to listen to me or anybody like me. People don’t get into political arguments because they want to see a new perspective. They do it because they want to win. They do it because they want to quote-unquote own the libs.”

“Mr. Bermudez, that’s enough!”

Paulo ignored the warning against him. “Think about it! When was the last time anybody changed their minds because of something I said? Never! It’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes! Actually, no, that’s not true, because at least the brick wall wouldn’t give me a snarky answer or call me a snowflake every time I had a valid concern! The minute Mr. Cosgrove made me the team captain, I should have quit!”

Cora made a hand-job gesture and earned another round of light laughter from the crowd. Paulo caught her. “I’m sorry, am I boring you? Is there anything I’ve said just now that was a lie? Did you do that little masturbation thing because I’m right about nobody listening to me? Or maybe you did it as free advertising for your Only Fans account!”

“MR. BERMUDEZ!”

“Tell me, Cora, what’s so funny about my struggles?!” As Paulo drilled Cora with more angry rhetoric, Mr. Cosgrove emerged from the crowd and grabbed his arm to pull him offstage. Paulo resisted as he continued shouting down his rival captain. “Of course you can laugh about it, because you’ve never been discriminated against in your life! You’re a rich white bitch who never had a day of hardship! You can just throw money at your problems and they’ll go away like that!” Once Paulo was successfully pulled offstage, Cora gave him a raspberry and laughed.

“Let go of me, Mr. Cosgrove!”

He did, but only once they were far enough backstage that they had the alone time they needed. Mr. Cosgrove angrily whispered, “I didn’t go through all those years of Harvard Law School just so you can go up there and act like a jackass, do you understand me?” Paulo breathed both to soothe his anger and warm up his anxious nerves at being lectured by his debate coach. “I made you the team captain because you have a voice. You have strong opinions that needed to be out there. If I did half of what you did out there just now, I’d have been expelled a long time ago, maybe even thrown in jail at some point. You don’t control the crowd by throwing a baby fit.”

“No! You win the crowd by brainwashing them like the sheep that they are. Cora’s good at that sort of thing.”

“So what if she is? It’s your job as a debater to snap them out of it. You actually have to work for their attention. You can’t just give up because it’s too hard. Imagine how many more black and brown folks would be sitting in prison right now if I had given up on them. If you’re so certain that nobody will listen to you, then you MAKE them listen to you!”

“I can’t! Jesus, will you leave me alone! I can’t save the world by myself! If I could, I would! But I don’t have the time and energy to pull the public’s heads out of their asses! I can’t save the world if the world won’t save itself! If you’re so damn confident in your abilities, why don’t YOU go out there and destroy Cora Yellowwood yourself!”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” That smug voice belonged to Cora herself, who stood at the entrance to the backstage area with a scorecard in her hand and a cutesy-wutesy smile on her face. “I don’t know if you guys are aware of this, but Team Bermudez is so far behind in the score that it wouldn’t have mattered either way. I got the scorecard right here if you don’t believe me.”

She handed it to Paulo and the defeated look on his face grew even more sullen at the news. “We never stood a chance.”

“That’s right,” said Cora with a wink. “I guess you made people see things your way after all: nobody wants to change. Sorry life didn’t work out for you in the end. Maybe you’ll have better luck debating people when you land your first job at McDonald’s. Do you want fries with that? Here’s why you shouldn’t have fries with that.” She laughed at her own joke. “Well…you can always try again next year. Here’s a little something for good luck.” Despite Paulo’s weakest resistance, Cora kissed him on the lips.

“I’m fairly certain that’s sexual harassment,” said Mr. Cosgrove.

“What’s he going to do? Sue me? Like he’s got that kind of money. Or maybe you’ll do his legal work pro-bono…Diametes!”

“That’s Mr. Cosgrove to you, you sanctimonious little bitch.”

“I’ll be sure to let the Principal know you said that. It’d be a nice test of your debating skills, trying to convince him to let you keep your job.” Cora laughed and waved goodbye before skipping back onstage to accept Team Yellowwood’s victory.

Mr. Cosgrove roughly grabbed Paulo’s shoulders and snapped him out of his sexual harassment trauma long enough to add a cherry on the cake. “In case there’s any confusion as to whether or not this school needs you more than you need them, I’m recommending you for a ten-day suspension for that stunt you pulled tonight. Rebut that.”

Paulo shrugged his teacher’s hands off of him. “I’ll send you a postcard from the Bahamas.”

If he couldn’t afford a lawyer to sue Cora, then he couldn’t afford a ten-day vacation overseas. But that didn’t matter, because the little zinger brought a smile to his own face. It was the first time he smiled that whole night. For just a tiny little while, he believed in his own verbal skills. How long would that last? How would he use that momentum? It was hard to answer those questions with the trauma of Cora’s forced kiss swirling in his head.

Hardcore Hershel

HARDCORE HERSHEL

Get off my lawn or I’ll bury your keister

Explode your noggin like the eggs of Easter

One shell from my shotgun is all it takes

Go and get a job, you millennial snake!

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Calm your ass down, Mr. Hardcore Hershel

You’re sounding like an NRA commercial

I’m just walking along and enjoying the view

Stop being afraid of everything that’s new

HARDCORE HERSHEL

This gun’s been in my family since a million BC

I’ll be damned if it’s taken away by Washington DC

I’ll be damned if you come here looking for a handout

Original Go Fund Me was being a working class standout

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Pump those damn brakes, Mr. Badass Billy

Too much Fox News is making you sound silly

I’ll be on my way if you take your aim off me

If you do, nobody will think of you as a softy

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I forgot what the hell I was jibber-jabbering about

Something about your generation doing dumb shit for clout

Eating Tide Pods and putting Gorilla Glue in your hair

I’d never do those things because I’ve got a brain to spare

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Take it nice and easy, Mr. Army Man Arthur

There’s no reason to make your heart work harder

Not all of us are like that, perhaps none of us are

Your brain is being washed by Boomer Bill Maher

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I fought in every war that this country has waged

I’ve earned my right to bask in my elderly age

Knowing that you kids will inherit this world

Makes me want to double over and unleash some hurl

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Slow the fuck down, Mr. Bullet Bubba-Bob

You can’t live forever whether you like it or not

Just raise the minimum wage and forget my age

Let someone else have the spotlight on the stage

HARDCORE HERSHEL

You’ll have to pry this gun from my cold dead hands

You’ll have to spray my red blood across the land

When was the last time you fought a war in the sands?

I’m the king of the hill and you don’t stand a chance

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t want any trouble

And for you that goes double, Mr. Barney Rubble

BOOM!

HARDCORE HERSHEL

The world is mine! The world is all mine, you whippersnapper!

HEART ATTACK NOISES

FINAL LINE

And this, boys and girls, is why we can’t have nice things. The end!

Buy Buy Buy

 Here’s a million bucks, go fuck your friends

Here’s a million more, put their lives to an end

Here’s another thousand, sell out your country

Who cares where it comes from? It’s just money

It’s an ultimatum of the very worst kind

A mediocre life is about all you can find

Maybe homelessness is what you’ll get

All my CEO friends have a running bet

Here’s a million bucks, look into the camera

Here’s a million more, sell out your grandma

Here’s another thousand, sell out your minority

Money talks and it’s your only authority

We can buy celebrities for pennies on the dollar

Buy politicians and make them hoot and holler

Buy the police and give them palms full of grease

Buy, buy, buy, it’s an addiction and disease

Here’s a million bucks, don’t give it to the poor

Here’s a million more, don’t shop at little stores

Here’s another thousand, give it all to charity

Tax loopholes are written with such clarity

Ever hear about The Man Who Sold the World?

He gave it to us for the price of diamonds and pearls

We’ve got whole countries sucking our dicks

They come to us when they need a cabinet pick

Here’s a million bucks, go buy the universe

Here’s a million more, go empty your purse

Here’s another thousand, bring aliens to their knees

Business is booming, we buy debts and fees

Whoever said money is the root of all evil

Isn’t hanging out with all the right people

It’s a big ass club only a select few can join

If you’ve got the power, we’ve got the coin

But the younger generation already knows

We’re full of shit and it certainly shows

But what can they do about the world burning?

Oh yeah, our failures are what they’re learning

Anti-Millennial Bigotry

***ANTI-MILLENNIAL BIGOTRY***

I’m not a confrontational person by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t talk about politics on a frequent basis and I dread getting in debates with people. However, as someone who was born in 1985, I feel like if I don’t write this blog entry, it’ll be a missed opportunity to put myself out there. This is a sensitive topic for me, so bear with me for a minute. I’m talking of course about ageism, particularly against people born in the 80’s and 90’s a.k.a. Millennials.

Being a Generation Y member should never be associated with laziness or selfishness. Those are stereotypes based on limited information. Some Millennials fit the stereotypes, some don’t, just like with any other group of people. It’s like saying all black people love fried chicken or all gay people think about sex 24/7. Again, those are stereotypes and they don’t apply to everyone. Yet ageism against young adults seems to slip through the cracks and is widely accepted by both liberals and conservatives of older generations. They see some of us texting on our phones and think the entire population is suddenly doomed.

No generation is without their own set of stereotypes. For example, I could easily label Generation X members as whiny drug addicts or Prozac chugging slackers, but I’m not going to say any of those things, because I’m not an asshole. I could also say Baby Boomers and Great Generation members are a bunch of boring storytellers who can’t shut up about walking 100 miles in the snow, but again, that would make me an asshole and that’s not who I am. So why would it be okay to say that every millennial on this planet is a self-important text-messaging queen? Every last one of them? Not just some? Not just a few? All of them?

As a millennial myself, I do admit to fitting in with at least SOME of the stereotypes against us, but not because my birth year was magically selected to be 1985. I’m open about the fact that I’m unemployed and live with my parents.

I’m not unemployed because I’m lazy and therefore don’t want a job. I’m unemployed because after sending my resume to a bunch of different work sites and doing countless interviews, the bosses still said no. It happens a lot, especially since millennials hit their pique during the Bush-era recession. Older people love to blame laziness, but that’s simply not true. Truth is, you can dress in your nicest clothes, you can work your hardest, you can give the most agreeable answers, and give 100% of yourself during an interview, but in the end, you, the Generation Y member, are not the one who makes the decisions in the workplace. Otherwise, unemployment wouldn’t be a major stereotype for my generation. If we could work, we would. We know full well that money isn’t everything, but it is something.

I don’t live with my parents because of financial worries. I live with them for two main reasons. One, I love being in their company. Two, we have a symbiotic relationship where we help each other. As Baby Boomers, my mom and step-dad can’t do as much physical labor as they could in their younger years. My mother has hip and knee problems that she can only find relief from on a temporary basis. My step-dad Dale has been battling a kidney stone since the last month. While I don’t enjoy heavy lifting or any other kind of strenuous labor, I do it because I love my parents and I don’t want them to get hurt. If you can’t take care of each other, who can you take care of? It’s natural to want to surround yourself with people who make you feel good and that’s something that spans all generations.

While I’ll always condemn people who unfairly criticize young adults for laziness and entitlement, there is one thing I will share common ground with them on: smart phones. I agree with the idea that being in real world company should trump text messaging or playing videogames on a smart phone. It’s a basic form of respect. Corey Taylor from Slipknot once smacked a phone out of someone’s hands during a performance because that audience member was texting instead of watching the show. I grinned from ear to ear at Mr. Taylor’s display.

I myself don’t need a smart phone for anything that my desktop computer can do better. I have a generic cell phone that I only use for emergencies, whether it’s bumming a ride or needing to know where a family member is. And before you criticize me for not having my own car and therefore being a lazy millennial, I should let you know that crashing on the highway and spreading one’s guts all over the tarmac isn’t a pleasant experience for any age group.

Millennials are just like any other group of people in this world. Some are good, some are evil. Some are smart, some are dumb. Some are happy, some are sad. There will always be standouts who defy stereotypes no matter what group of people you’re talking about. George Carlin, a member of the Great Generation, is definitely not a droning storyteller; he’s one of the funniest comedians of all time. The main cast of the new Ghostbusters movie are not a bunch of bikini-wearing sex machines; they’re normal women who do extraordinary things in their movie. Q-Tip, a born-again Muslim rapper, is not secretly plotting to blow up buildings with a suicide vest; he’s putting out kick-ass music and helping younger rappers get noticed.

While ageism should be recognized as being like any other form of bigotry, it somehow became normal along the way. Bill Maher, a liberal-libertarian pundit, once called ageism “The last acceptable prejudice” and then turned around and referred to Millennials as “Generation Ass” because he saw a picture on Twitter of a woman with a giant posterior. Ageism has become one of those things that spans many belief systems and cultures while no real progress is being made against it. There are even members of Generation Y who criticize their own age group.

I don’t know how young people ageism became acceptable, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with all of this sweet technology and “free shit” we have. No generation wants to pass the torch to the next. I even had a hard time passing the torch to Generation Z because of all the Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez songs that were being published. Reina, my Generation Z niece, doesn’t fit those stereotypes because she’d rather listen to bands like Breaking Benjamin and 3 Doors Down. That’s right, folks. I used to be just another ignorant ageist myself. And then I posted a 2009 essay where I joked about ruling over teenagers with an iron fist if I ever became an English teacher. That didn’t go over too well with the Deviant Art community, because surprise, surprise, ageism is just as bad as any other form of prejudice. As we all know, prejudice isn’t just insulting, but it can hurt us on an even deeper level whether it’s with employment, police treatment, or social status.

I’m going to ask something that’s been asked many times before, but nobody gave a definitive answer to. Can’t we all just get along?

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when a McDonald’s employee goes berserk?

A: Minimum rage.

"How Not to Write a Novel" by Howard Mittelmark & Sandra Newman

An unfortunate stereotype that comes with being a Generation Y member is that we suck at being grammatically correct, especially when it comes to text messaging and having conversations on the internet. We’d rather LOL at our BFF’s than write ten-page essays on nuclear physics. The thing about this stereotype is that it’s reinforced by the fact that more college and high school students these days are doing poorly on English exams, much worse than Baby Boomers and Generation X members before them. If you want a nonfiction book that will save you from the perils of being part of this statistic, I just may have the thing for you. Christians have the bible, Muslims have the Quran, and now young English students have “How Not to Write a Novel” by Howard Mittelmark and Sandra Newman. Incorrect grammar is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to all of the common mistakes this book documents. Stereotypical characters, hyperbolic descriptions, plot holes that can’t be pieced together easily, minimalism, this book does it all when it comes to pointing out faults in manuscripts the authors have received before. I’ll bet you my life savings that you as a writer have made at least one or two of these many mistakes sometime during your young writing career. When I was in my teens, I engaged in minimalism. In my mid-20’s, it was hyperbolic descriptions. I do my best to correct the mistakes I make, but this particular nonfiction book isn’t a substitute for a personal editor. The book is a general list of common errors while a personal editor gets to the root of what a budding author does specifically. If nothing else, you should at least get a kick out of reading some examples of the mistakes made. You want to hear a few of them? Here they are. No author, under any circumstances, should describe a piece of sausage as looking like a penis, especially when they’re trying to sell it as being delicious. And there definitely shouldn’t be anybody who would describe the flow of a waterfall as being comparable to drunken piss. Even in comedic novels, these are laughable for all the wrong reasons. Speaking of comparisons, it’s not necessary to pepper every other line with them as a way of showing instead of telling. Simply saying things like “raven black hair” and “rose red lips” to describe the beauty of a female character should be sufficient. It paints a picture and the reader is very happy. You know who else is going to be happy? The next budding author who buys this book. If you learn nothing else from it, you should at least get a few giggles out of the examples of bad writing. Giggling is the best medicine, never forget proverbs.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There are some large organizations out there whose names are a little mixed up. The Department of Water and Power. Well, water and power don’t really go together, you’ll get fucking electrocuted. The Food and Drug Administration. Well, with most drugs, you don’t have any food. Except for marijuana, but they shouldn’t be bothering people with marijuana in the first place. Then you have that really interesting organization The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Do I even have to talk about this one? Bad combination. Here’s what you do. You call the police The Department of Power and Firearms. Then you have the Food and Water Administration since those are two things you need to survive. Then you’re left with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Drugs, keep all the good shit in one place.”

-George Carlin-