Archive - Apr 2009

April 21st

Epic Fail Of The Will

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Memo to George Will: YOU ARE ELDERDUMB.

If you've spent any amount of time reading this column, you had to know George Will's fucking grampa-seizure had to be way up near the top of the list of things to deal with once T Party was over. And you would be right. Seriously, his column from Thursday, "Demon Denim", is the literary equivalent of breaking into my house at two in the morning and stabbing me in my sleep, all while screaming "I HATE YOU BRYAN LAMBERT".

I hate to take it so personally. I mean, clearly, I am just one of the millions of things George Will doesn't know shit about. You know, like global warming science, geopolitical reality, and hairstyles that don't make one look like a wrinkly, uncircumcised penis. But it's tough not to sense the implicit affront in "Demon Denim", which is littered with passages like this: ACTUAL QUOTE TIME!

"Denim is the infantile uniform of a nation in which entertainment frequently features childlike adults ('Seinfeld,' 'Two and a Half Men') and cartoons for adults ('King of the Hill'). Seventy-five percent of American 'gamers' -- people who play video games -- are older than 18 and nevertheless are allowed to vote."

Full disclosure - I am indeed an American 'gamer'. I vote. In fact, I seem to recall just past November voting against another cranky, ancient fuckhead, which means George Will should get down on his knees every night and thank his nonexistent God that the Washington Post isn't a democracy. And I wear denim. A lot of denim. Pretty much every damn day. Because I can. I am precisely, and I mean PRECISELY, the type of person George Will inexplicably went full hater on last Thursday, which is why it's so damned offensive.

I mean the suggestion that I like "Seinfeld" and "Two and a Half Men", that is. I think "Seinfeld" is a steaming pile of shit, and with that as a reference point, I don't even know what the fuck "Two and a Half Men" is. Can shit shit? Maybe "Two and a Half Men" is the shit that coprophilic animals and bacteria excrete? Dung beetle shit? I mean, it's completely awful, and no jeans-wearing, middle-aged, video-game-playing voter worth his salt would be caught dead watching it. Much less watching it while destroying America with our slovenly ways.

How does it happen, I wonder? What, exactly, is the mechanism by which one starts railing at the younger generations for having different standards than you? I don't even mean out loud. I mean in your head. I mean, no, I don't actually see how Zac Efron is the slightest bit interesting, but I'm forty fucking years old. I'm not supposed to. Zac Efron isn't destroying America because the kids like him. He's just a shitty teen actor making shitty teen movies. My generation had Judd Nelson. My parents' generation had Frankie Avalon. George Will's generation had Oog, who I understand was the Neanderthal Jamie Kennedy, and the inventor of the Oversized Titties school of cave painting.

And then, once you start thinking of the denim-wearing relative youth of America as the enemy, what has to break in your ossified brain to make you forget that saying it out loud, to a newspaper and Internet audience of millions, won't make you look like the self-parodying love child of Andy Rooney and Abe Simpson? And while I realize that the so-called "editors" at the Post long ago gave up even the semblance of sanity-checking what Will types up, surely this could have roused you all from your slumber?

You know what the best part is? Will didn't even have the intellectual chops to wake up one morning, walk out into the street, and almost get run over by a denim-wearing dude trying to play Solitaire on his iPhone while he drove. No. He read the Wall Street Journal, where one of their cadre of elite douchebags, Daniel Akst, wrote a "Down With Denim" column almost a month earlier. So Will, who I assume reads the WSJ front to back every single morning while trying to force an ounce of bitter urine past his comically-enlarged prostate, stewed for a good three weeks about the perfidy of jean-wearing adults before finally snapping, penning his magnum opus, and informing the world that:

"This is not complicated. For men, sartorial good taste can be reduced to one rule: If Fred Astaire would not have worn it, don't wear it. For women, substitute Grace Kelly."

Not complicated? Are you shitting me? This is an incredibly complicated rule if you, unlike George Will, gave it a second of thought. What about transvestites? Do they dress like Grace Kelly? Also, do we take contexts into account? I mean, Fred Astaire wore tuxedos a lot. But if I were to walk into work tomorrow morning wearing a tuxedo, I guaranfuckingtee you the reaction would not be "From this tuxedo, I can infer that Bryan has finally understood the importance of maturity and respect for those to whom he is presenting himself". No, the result would be a million percent decrease in productivity as every single person I came into contact with over the eight-hour workday constantly asked me questions relating to why the hell I was wearing a tuxedo, and don't those long tails get caught in the wheels of my office chair?

The universe changes, George. You don't have to change with it. We won't ask that of you. You can remain as you are - a box turtle with glasses whose lawn we understand the importance of keeping off. I'm sure that, forty years from now, when everyone is wearing shiny space fabrics that make them look like an even gayer version of the disco-ers from the Gil Gerard Buck Rogers, that I will realize, in my faded T-shirt and jeans, that the sartorial world has passed me by. But I hope, when it does, I'll have the grace to wave feebly at it from the past, and not scream at it to get back here and pull up its pants.