Revolution and upheaval in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Oman, Iraq. Labor protests in Wisconsin. Budget battles in Washington.
And who gets all the attention on all the TV news shows?
You know who I'm talking about.
Well, it's hard to ignore someone who says things like “I have Adonis DNA and tiger blood.” Also that he has an “army of assassins.” Also that he has “the brain of a 10,000-year-old and the boogers of a seven-year-old.” It's like trying to ignore a naked man riding a unicycle. It's just impossible.
But it palls after a while, and becomes sad and sickening. Yesterday I was reading yet another Charlie interview, in which he was asked to react to his father's very measured appeal for reason. Charlie called it “bollocks.” He's tired of being labeled an addict, he says. Also, he was angry that his father called addiction a disease. Charlie challenged his father to (I paraphrase) “walk through a cancer ward and find anybody who looks as good as me.”
Well, that's that.
I'm as morbidly curious as anyone else. But I keep thinking of the Hogarth print of sophisticated Londoners giggling at the lunatics in Bedlam Hospital.
I'd like to think that I'm a better person than they were.
Let us move on to something more pleasant.
Paula Deen, about whom I have written before, made a stage appearance recently, during which she went on and on about her “britches fallin' down.” (It's much cuter with a Georgia accent.)
Then a big guy came up on stage, pulled up his shirt, and smeared butter on his abs.
And Paula knelt down and licked the butter off. (Watch the clip if you don't believe me.)
And then the guy got down on all fours, and Paula rode him around the stage, while Paula's big bearded husband watched with a big goofy smile on his face.
Okay. Fine. These are the end days. I admit it now. I surrender. I will worship any deity who will rescue me from this insanity.
(Oh, Paula, Paula, Paula.)
(Oh, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.)
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