I am of the ever-increasing opinion that Fox News gets a bad rap.
Not because any of the criticisms against it are unfair–
basically anything you can say about them is true.
Uh, Roger Ailes, lost a Labor Day baby eating contest
because he wanted to savor every baby-eating bite
and he had run out of babyque sauce
It’s 98.9 percent true,
where the other 1.1 is whether it was held on Labor Day purely out of spite.
No, Fox News gets a bad rap because
on October 25th, 2007
the Year of the Boar
And somehow, it wasn’t their fault
Because on that day
There was a headline, so perfectly crafted
by the events of life itself
That not even “Belgian beauty booed at pageant” could top it.
It was better, than “Man puts rattlesnake in mouth comma, gets bitten”
It was better, even still, than “Family hopes for miracle –>Comma<–… Gets only ashes”
Pitbulls kill, Cancer Boy… ‘s miniature horse.
Just the image of that happening:
Because, the family– the family didn’t own these pitbulls.
They weren’t the neighbors. And, as of press time, nobody knew Where the dogs came from.
Put yourself, in his electrical wheelchair
(and no doubt painful legbraces)
And try to fathom
Out Of Nowhere–
as if Metastasized into Existence by his Lonely Tears
A GANG of pitbulls– multiple pitbulls! not just one
Fly, through the air, tackle this tiny horse,
and eat it to death.
Maybe next time you, ‘Make a Wish’, you should ask for a pitbull-proof pony, You Stupid Asshole!
I used to live on the South Side of Chicago
Had to get out, though
had to get out.
Because: as a half-hearted parody
of an insincere impression
of a 1980s observational comedian
my imaginary material was starting to bum a crowd out.
Who are the Ad Wizards that came up with Rent-to-Own
Pay 16 times the sticker price for an off-brand Hi Def TV,
just because you’re desperately poor and woefully unaware of what value is?
That hardly seems fair.
What’s the deal with Outpatient Rehabilitation?
More like ‘In-and-Outpatient’: Am I Right?
(… Am I? I- uh..—)
I haven’t seen a recidivism rate this high since the DSM IV
declassified Gayness as a BRAIN DISEASE
We’ve all been there:
You’re sittting in Quiznos and ALL of a Sudden
a full grown man bursts in:
snot-nosed and crying,
torrents of hot tears streaming down his dirty face,
hard hands chapped and swollen to the size of catchers mitts:
not asking for anything; just crying
Completely broken down… in front of the Pickle Bar!
I hope the stains on his threadworn jeans mean his pants
are full of Giardinare
Because I nE-e-EED some Pickles!
That’d be my catchphrase?
It would not get me very far.
So that’s not actually true.
I really left Chicago because my roommate’s hairspray was
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas of male grooming aides.
It was so foul, and its reek was so pervasive, that I kept coming up with
more and more elaborate ways of telling him how much I hated it
until we were no longer on speaking terms.
What started off as:
Your hairspray smells like rancid hi-c
Your hairspray smells like Jonestown, two weeks after.
which, in turn, became:
Your hairspray smells like an herbal essences ad, shot entirely inside of a locked port-a-john that was built on a tilt-a-whirl (for some reason).
His hairspray smelled like an alternate Gangland cartoon universe
in which the My Little Ponies iced Strawberry Shortcake
and were hiding her bloated corpse in that very cannister until the heat blew over
— And the heat never blew over.
If I had to compare your hairspray to any putrid vanity project of the inordinately rich, it would be
a celebrity vineyard
built on top of the ruins of a cambodian killing field
from which all the human remains had been excavated
save a mile square pit of fossilized dongs,
with which Lorraine Bracco personally pestles the juice
[Ives-y] From every last grape. (duh nuh nuh NUH nuh, duh-nuh nuh NUH nuh).
Ah. Merry Christmas