April 07, 2024

Lorne Michaels

Lorne Michaels

Source: Public Domain

The Week’s Most Bitter, Glitter, and Eid al-Fitr Headlines

Canadians are like sloths. It’s hard to hate sloths. They’re cute, funny, and no threat to man.

Also, they’re dumb as bricks. By all physical appearances they don’t even possess a spine.

Alone among North American nations, Canada never fought a revolution against its colonial master. When Mexico accomplishes something you can’t, you’re in bad shape. But when Haiti accomplishes something you can’t? That’s losing a spelling bee to a turd. A turd that can neither speak, spell, nor think. And you still lost.

Saturday Night Live producer Lorne Michaels was born in British Mandate Palestine. And immediately his family said, “We gotta get this kid outta here before he grows a pair of balls.” They moved to Toronto when he was a baby, and the balls never dropped.

His entire career’s been one of cowardice.

In 1977 Michaels banned Elvis Costello from SNL for singing about how radio is corporate-controlled.

Glad that dangerous message never got out!

In 1998 he fired Norm Macdonald and Jim Downey for being funny.

Whew, that was a close one!

In 2019 he cut Shane Gillis from the cast for joking about how fried rice beef is stringy.

Lorne, you saved mankind as we know it.

Last week, SNL was hosted by 7-Eleven Big Gulp maintenance engineer Ramy Youssef, who used his monologue to call for “freedom for Gaza” (even as mosques in NYC are being overwhelmed by wretched Ramadan refuse). When it was suggested that Youssef should also call for the release of the Israeli hostages held by Hamas, he declared that he wouldn’t say “Israel,” but rather call for the release of “unnamed hostages.”

Michaels agreed.

Keep fighting the good fight, you wild and crazy guy.

Or is that “pathological liar”?

Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Lorne Michaels aside, Canada’s produced hundreds of great talents, from Neil Young to Justin Bieber to Seth Rogen.

Okay, “great” should’ve been in scare quotes.

“Yes, B.C. is the one place on earth where even the Chinese are like, ‘I can’t tell these a-holes apart!’”

And along with “great” talent comes “great” thinking. In 2020, when Oregon decided to decriminalize narcotics, British Columbia was like, “Oh, eh, let’s do that too!” The rationale was that if B.C. removed the “stigma” of drug use, drug users would stop using.

Yeah, they really thought that.

Meanwhile, the Chinese gangs that import fentanyl and control Vancouver’s formerly peaceful streets were like, “These white people can’t be that stupid! Hory clap, they make it too easy.”

Last week, Oregon decided to reverse its decriminalization policy, after the dead junkie bodies littering city streets became an impediment to left-wing white chicks walking their bichons frises (“errmahgerd, Noam Chompsky can’t climb over these piles of inconsiderate corpses”).

And now B.C. is also thinking of reversing its decriminalization project, after Vancouver mayor Gordon McThompson’s sister-in-law died of an overdose on a city sidewalk. Some in B.C., like Vancouver police chief Gordo McThompson, want a return to complete criminalization, while others, like local activist Gordy McThompson, prefer a gradual rollback.

Yes, B.C. is the one place on earth where even the Chinese are like, “I can’t tell these a-holes apart!”

Of course, it’s ironic that foreigners who can’t pronounce “Gordon” would move to the one place on earth where every other dude carries that name.

Attempts to re-criminalize drugs in B.C. have been hampered by the Canadian courts. According to the BBC—and sadly, this is not a joke—even the meager move to re-criminalize drugs in school playgrounds was struck down last week because the B.C. Supreme Court ruled “it would cause irreparable harm to people who use drugs.”

The Lorne Michaels thing makes more sense now, right?

Sloths. Cute, funny critters. But totally undeserving of a TV show, or a nation.

Following years of controversy surrounding the scene in A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving in which the comic strip’s sole black character—Franklin—sits alone on one side of the dinner table, last month Apple TV+ brought America what nobody asked for: a Franklin origin story.

Well, to be fair, one person asked for it—Ibram Kendi, as he’s only mentally capable of reading comic strips (you should see his 10,000-word dissertation on how Marmaduke represents colonialism in Barbados. It’s written on a Bob’s Big Boy place mat).

In Welcome Home, Franklin, we learn how the Peanuts gang met their black friend. And in the Apple iteration, Franklin doesn’t arrive in the neighborhood alone. He brings friends, including Pepper-meat Patty, so named because she once shot a man at a McDonald’s for hogging the pepper packet even though there were many free packets available at the counter; Patty’s little toady Marcy Project, a bespectacled, sexually confused hermaphrodite who grew up in NYC’s toughest public housing complex; and Big Pen, a “gentle giant” who, at only 8 years old, has already done three years in prison for stomping his teacher (“bitch axed for it”).

According to NPR, the idea to include a black character in Peanuts came from a letter sent to Charles Schulz from a Jewish California teacher in 1968 who, oddly, didn’t request a Jewish character, perhaps because Lucy already fit the bill (bossy, loud, money-hungry, always psychoanalyzing people, and unable to resist pulling the rug out from under gentiles).

One uncomfortable moment in Welcome Home, Franklin occurs when the titular character thanks Charlie Brown for the delicious chicken wings.

“That was Woodstock!” screams Charlie. “He was sentient! Didn’t he say anything to you before you killed him?”

“Just iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” replies Franklin. “And I didn’t like him mouthin’ off like that.”

The final scene of the show, after Franklin’s entire family has moved into the neighborhood, is their house standing alone in a sea of for-sale signs.

The new child-driven Ghostbusters film, Frozen Empire, is doing respectably at the box office. Not great, but not as poorly as the all-female reboot from 2016. Because it’s hard not to laugh at kids.

Dan Schneider: “And sometimes it’s hard while laughing at kids.”

Hey, Schneider, beat it.

“I am.”

You sonuvabitch.

Anyway, missing from the 1984 cameos in the “Muppet Baby” Ghostbusters is Rick Moranis, beloved costar of the original film. Poor bastard was walking down the street in NYC, likely thinking of how much he enjoys having an intact jaw, when a black dude in an “I ♥ NY” T-shirt broke his jaw.

Ray Parker Jr.’s fallen on hard times. But at least bustin’ still makes him feel good.

NYC’s Mayor Adams and Manhattan DA Bragg (as in, “I don’t mean to ‘bragg,’ but I’ve killed more white people than Douglas Haig”) have apparently decided to expand their “Jewish celebrity sucker punch” campaign citywide. Last week, actor Michael Stuhlbarg, best known as Arnold Rothstein on Boardwalk Empire, was bored-walking through Central Park. He was bored because it seemed like something was absent from his life.

What could it be? He has a career, a wife, a family. What’s missing?

Oh, a giant gaping hole in his skull!

Thankfully, black enricher Xavier Israel was there to help. In another random attack, Israel threw a rock at Stuhlbarg’s head, because if black cavemen don’t cave the skulls of celebrity Jews, who will?

Method actor, meet “me-thud-actor.”

Turns out Israel was on parole, having previously robbed and assaulted a Samaritan who tried to give him his coat on a chilly day.

In response to the street violence, Mayor Adams, a former cop who went to the Barney Fife School of Law Enforcement, has instituted the “I Glove New York” campaign, issuing boxing gloves to black vagrants to soften their blows.

“Hard to believe I once wore a badge,” Mr. (Fried) Chicken told the press. “But hey—my Stepin Fetchit impression is unrivaled.”

Extra, extra, read all about it—Americans aren’t happy! The U.S. has dropped from the 15th-happiest nation on earth to the 23rd, according to the annual Gallup international happiness index cosponsored by Wackenbush Woofenheimer Whoopee Cushions Inc. and Mordrid End-of-Life Chemotherapy Nausea Pills (it was hard for Gallup to find two equally whimsical cosponsors).

As per The Hill, “Americans feel broke and brokenhearted even with overall good national news on inflation.”

Yes, a dozen eggs is now only $20, not $25.

According to Jonathan Haidt of NYU, Americans are “disoriented, unable to speak the same language, and cut off from one another and from the past.”

Who in the world could have foreseen that unleashing millions of border-jumping non-English-speaking illegals while at the same time burning historical monuments to cinders might render Americans “disoriented, unable to speak the same language, and cut off from the past”?

But okay, if America is the 23rd-happiest nation, what’s the bottom-ranked? What’s the nation that Americans can look down on as “at least we’re not them”?

Lesotho. Described as “a small landlocked nation found inside South Africa,” which makes it seem like “an irritating rock found inside a stinky shoe,” Lesotho has the world’s highest unhappiness index, and the world’s highest suicide rate, with 87.5 suicides per 100,000 people. Things are so bad that the country doesn’t have a suicide hotline, but a not-suicide hotline that people call when they actually want to live.

Its staffers have yet to field a single call.

With 2.3 million people, Lesotho will surely be Biden’s next target for imported immigrants. Certainly a people already that unhappy can’t get unhappier over expensive eggs. The problem is flying them here. Knowing how easily Boeings fall apart these days, suicidal Lesothoans have a habit of kicking planes apart midair, to end their misery before contributing to ours.


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