I'm thinking of hitting Glenn Beck with a truck packed with toxic waste. The only thing restraining me at this point is the fear that, through some twist of fate, he will generate some freakish fire-breathing powers.
|Did you like pushing your brother in his little red wagon? How about when you watched him get hit by the truck? It's okay to smile.|
There's just this weird sense of arousal that comes with the idea of Glenn Beck bouncing off the hood like that kid in Pet Sematary as I drive away screaming, "Get him out of the road, Lewis." There would be a trial, of course, maybe even some jail time but eventually I'll skip from my stint as prison accountant to the waiting Sheppard Smith wearing a black suit and driving a refurbished police cruiser from 1974. For those of you who have never seen it, that is a reference to Blues Brothers, I suggest going to the video store and renting it and accepting Dan Aykroyd as the second coming of your Canadian comedy God.
All kidding aside, if Geraldo can go on national television and essentially promote murder - it happened, look it up - then this lowly Internet writer can ponder the sheer orgasmic joy one would have while crushing Glenn Beck with a truck. Is there a personal vendetta against the man? No grandiose stories of Glenn Beck stealing my lunch money exist, I assure you.
|Terrorism pretty much kicks comics in the nuts.|
The 9/12 Project is all about stirring up the emotional state of the American people. Much like that Christmas where Grandpa fell asleep only to die and attempt to be woken by a six-year-old three hours later, some things we need to leave alone. Most people have a story about where they were or what they were doing on 9/12. Here is mine.
On 9/12, I was in a comic book shop, because I was freaking awesome, scouting through some back issue section looking to have Jared Stevens take me to a world that sucked slightly less. The owner of the store dressed in a 'Strangers in Paradise' shirt stared coldly ahead watching the events unfold on the television. It was the thing I came to escape. Reality had gotten too real. It was this weird feeling that everything was not okay; the world had become a dark and lonely place. It was a great time for America, though.
|Did you need a picture of a child holding a sign to get this point? I hope not.|
Sometimes we all need to take a step back and get perspective on a situation. 9/11 was a terrible event, an event that one day I will explain to my kids, who will have no idea what I'm talking about. Consequently, there will come a point when I grab my children by the collar and take them to New York City. There I will fucking scream obscenities until the concept gets into their think little skulls. "Daddy I want to play with my hologram projector." "Shut up."
Don't believe me? Go ask someone who lived through Pearl Harbor how they felt that day.
Glenn Beck sees the importance of blind rage-induced unification. Glenn Beck wants me to remember that feeling, because he's a sadist douche. Using his skill to communicate with whales and his ability to travel through time, ignoring everything that happened in the last eight years, Glenn decided it was time for a change.
|Glenn Beck cries at his own irrelevance.|
Hiring a motivational speaker to dress like Thomas Paine, Glenn Beck pushed the idea of tea parties. Well, not actual tea parties, but rather encouraging people to buy tea bags and send them to their elected officials. These elected officials subsequently get to have tea parties! You know, you pay taxes when you buy tea in the store; I know it's horribly ironic.
I for one want to remember the years between 9/12 and today. I want to remember a President who deceived the nation to war, using fear mongering methods of intimidation. I want to remember the political commentators like Glenn Beck who rallied the American public and turned dissenters into cowards. Suddenly, without the fear, without the sheer terror, all Glenn Beck has are tea parties. That's all I really have to say about that.
Your Musical Moment Provided By Dixie Chicks
It's too late to make it right. I probably wouldn't if I could. 'Cause I'm mad as hell can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should.
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