Jive-Ass Turkeys

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Since it's Thanksgiving, my thoughts are dragged, kicking and screaming, to what I'm thankful for. Whether I want to or not. Which makes me sarcastically thankful to the society and media that's doing all the dragging just so it can sell me cranberries. They don't have to, I mean, I'll buy cranberries and cranberry-based products just fine without also contemplating the nature of my gratitude, but whatever.

When it comes to You Are Dumb Dot Net, though, there is one thing that I'm thankful for every single day. And that's shit I don't have to care about. When you care about stuff, pretend to care about stuff, or care about stuff's ability to lead to a good dick joke five days a week for as many years as I have, there is a sweet, wonderful bliss in seeing a topic in your news feed and knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you don't need to care about that shit. So this year, what am I most thankful for?

SARAH PALIN:

Yes, she had a book written for her. Lovely. Don't give a crap. You'd think I would, given that the rest of the world seems to care about this book more than they do about oxygen. You'd think I would also because for most of 2008, I cared about Sarah Palin very, very much. But once she quit the Alaska governorship, I quit caring. Why? Because she holds no office and is running for no office. And the only reason anyone needs to care about Sarah Palin is to fear that she might end up in a position to make decisions about our lives.

Since that's not happening this year, Sarah Palin doesn't matter. If I covered every author who put out a largely fictional non-fiction book full of allegedly homespun Real America Wisdom, I'd have to change the name of the site to Chicken Soup For The Dumb. Fuck that. Plus, not caring about Sarah Palin comes with a bonus side effect - not caring about Levi Johnston. Who is not, I repeat, NOT on our side. He can sit in the stinky corner with Chris Matthews and all the other enemies of my enemies who are still moronic douchebags. And not caring about Levi Johnston gives me another side effect, not caring about Levi Johnston's penis.

ADAM LAMBERT'S PENIS:

Also Adam Lambert's tongue. Also Adam Lambert's larynx. Apparently, a gay dude won American Idol again, then told everyone he was a gay dude, then put out an album with a very effeminate cover portrait, since people still associate effeminate with gay. And then he went on the American Music Awards, humped the stage, grabbed his crotch, and kissed a dude. I don't give a shit, and neither should the thousands of people who tuned into the AMA's and wondered why they were having the Grammys twice in one year.

Adam Lambert is a flamboyant performer trying to make sure people remember who he is, because he almost won a talent competition. That is why he humped the stage and grabbed his crotch, because apparently, nearly three decades after we all got upset about Michael Jackson doing it, humping things and grabbing your crotch while you sing is still flamboyant. Adam Lambert is also a gay dude, which means when he goes to kiss someone, odds are pretty good it's going to be another dude, unless it's a magazine shoot where he'll get more attention for kissing parts of a naked chick. None of this is surprising, none of this is shocking, and since I have no reason to give a shit about any of it, guess what? I don't.

TWILIGHT:

I'm a middle-aged male nerd. And while I'm certainly comfortable with that fact and make the best of it, it is not a position rife with social or biological advantage. But it does mean that I have every fucking right, and quite possibly an obligation, not to give a shit about Twilight.

Of course millions of teenagers are pouring billions of dollars into the shitty books about the shitty vampires and the shitty movies based on the shitty books. They're teenagers. They have no taste. None of you had any damn taste when you were teenagers, either. The Breakfast Club sucks, you know.

And since billions of dollars are pouring into it, the media will inevitably decide that it's important, and thus you will see sparkle-vampires and six-pack werewolves everywhere, and you will bemoan the kids today, with their baggy pants, hula hoops, and free love. And me, I will just sit back and marvel at the fact that society has produced a group of vampire-obsessed people more irritating than 1990's White Wolf nerds. So if you're driving around with a faded Toreador bumper sticker* on your Volvo, congratulations! You've moved up a step on the Wank Ladder!

*Yes, I briefly Googled to see if any actual V:TM bumper stickers existed, but once I found a "humor" page with suggested wordings for said stickers, I lost the will to live.