You will never convince me that Kate McKinnon isn’t the spectacular cat’s pajamas that she is.
I’ve got a lot of problems with you people, so let’s get started.
Oh, fanboys, you vex me. When I was knee-high to an Andorian, I dreamt of a time where all of our comic book heroes came to life in actual, well-made films; Star Wars flicks appeared annually; and I could have access to horror movies whenever I wanted to watch one. I also dreamt of stowing away on a ship to London so I could form a New Romantic band and date the singer from Berlin—but with all of this other stuff a reality, why are so many so terribly bitchy? Having an opinion that leads to a rational debate is one thing, but why belittle a fellow geek who doesn’t share your opinion?
I recently watched the latest Ghostbusters film, very much enjoyed it, and was utterly flabbergasted at all the vitriol directed at the female cast from online trolls. I don’t care if you’re the next incarnation of Stan Lee: You will never convince me that Kate McKinnon isn’t the spectacular cat’s pajamas that she is. In my mind, fanboys are to 2016 what hipster doofuses were to 2015. You know what the ultimate annoying person would be? A nasty, sexist fanboy who posts selfies of himself drinking PBR, sports flannel in the summer, and never ceases to inform you that Batfleck isn’t cutting it. He also looks like Bill O’Reilly (see #4).
2. Venomous Aggressive Political Inhuman Discourse (V.A.P.I.D.)
Clicking around the magical electric internet clouds in 2016 was like being stuck in the petri dish that is the sticky tunnel-tube maze of a McDonalds playground. Whether it was the left trying their best to ignore the DNC’s Darth-Mauling of the Good Ship Sanders while hoisting the It’s-My-Turn hype of Clinton, or the evangelical right trying to convince us that Trump’s “No-Room-at-the-Inn-but-I’ll-Rent-You-One-If-I-Can-Grab-Your-Snatch” mentality was A-OK in the eyes of God, both annoyed to a degree heretofore unseen. Is it gonna change this year? Nah. We’re all just cogs in the Dopey Twat Machine.
Like most, I’m hoping to avoid Reaper, House Grim this year, if at all possible. I hate to even think about it, but it’s difficult not to keep it from the forefront of my mind, coming off a year in which so many pop culture icons vanished so abruptly and unexpectedly. I mean, after the famous Rumble in the Jungle bout against Foreman in ’74, who the hell knew it was even possible that Muhammed Ali could die? The ones that hit me hardest this year were Ali, David Bowie, Carrie Fisher, Gene Wilder, Prince, and George Michael, the last of which I have received endless amounts of grief for. Look, I still have hoops in both of my ears, and yes, I am aware that Wham! took their final bows decades ago. Why would you even question my fanship? Jerks.
4. Bill O’Reilly
I hate to mention Bill O’Reilly by name, so let’s just use my nickname for him, which is Cillian McScrotumface. Now I have friends that hate Bill Maher for the same reason I loathe Cillian (mostly his face), but the difference for me is humor. Maher occasionally makes me laugh, but Cillian makes me want to realize my dream of kidnapping him, shaving his head, and tattooing a Public Enemy logo on the side of his big, bulbous freak head, a lá 1987-era Sinéad O’Connor. Whether it’s showing off his racist cred by claiming black people can’t get jobs because they’re “ill-educated and have tattoos on their foreheads,” or shaming Megyn Kelly for her sexual harassment claims, he continues to be the gaping black hole into which good taste and class continually disappear. By the way, “Cillian” is Gaelic for “I want to use a loofah on your house pet.”
5. The Focus on Human Failings over Human Victories
We live in a world where we’re constantly berated by instantaneous information and 24-hour news cycles, almost all of which we could easily place in the useless fluff category. On the train or on the toilet, we scroll through our Facebook feeds, watching relatives pass along false information as “factual,” reading news on which looney toon drug huffer Kardashian-of-the-week is dating, and continue to be desensitized to the latest atrocity topping the hour. My resolution in 2017 is to rediscover real life, and I think I’ve already made some pretty good inroads. I go running at the park by my house in Florissant, and I always see a variety of people there, black, white, bright yellow (Pokémon hunters dressed as Pikachu), whatever. There’s never a problem, everyone is very cordial, and the only people eyeballing their mobile internet machines are the aforementioned Pokémon hunters. It makes me think that perhaps cutting down on the Samsung Portal to Despair would be a good idea.
To all my friends: I hope you discover a satisfying real life for yourselves in the New Year, and let’s hope that, together, we can all make 2017 less annoying. | Jim Ousley