woke up this morning with a head full of garbage after last night's primal scream group therapy session, its nostalgic underpinnings seemed designed less to reassure the constituents than to cautiously mend the wounded ego of a deeply unpleasant grand-toddler, whose limited exposure to a negative conditioning / positive reinforcement behavioral dichotomy has left his mental faculties in a state not dissimilar from his approval ratings; totally fucking cratered. anywaaaaaaay;
remember that scene in Batman Returns when the Caped Crusader is closing in on the Penguin's lair and the Penguin starts looking to his henchpeople and they all start slinking away so they don't get their clown-asses handed to them by a violent superhero in a missle-boat?
that's what we're seeing here.
i'm more than exhausted by the sneering malice of this sentient spite-diaper who has yet to out-learn grade school cruelties. this singularly unremarkable, hygiene-allergic cold sore of a man-boy who contributes nothing to the zeitgeist and appeals only to the those with the comedic sensibilities and intellectual/emotional capacities of over-sheltered, mean-spirited seventh graders who endlessly hurl increasingly nonsensical insults at one another during gym class.
it's beyond the pale.
it's stupid, vicious, and deadening.
this isn't arch-level schadenfreude, it's a two-way suicide watch.
part of me still wants to believe this all some kind of twisted performance art; someone in orange-face and a fat suit who has crafted an invariably ugly alter-ego fashioned in the deed of Andy Kaufman's Tony Clifton, the boorishly tone-deaf lounge act swapped out for an overcommitted internet troll persona. Sam Hyde on global scale.
i don't know if this will end... all i know is i'm fucking done.