Last night was this year’s foray into the wonderful world of modern media insanity. The off-the-gridders who still abide by life-saving advances in modern science and medicine, provided they interact with at least two other like-minded families within walking distance, might have answers for youth seeking wisdom. Because it sure ain’t coming from Chrysler’s new stooge Bob Dylan, or Rupert Murdock’s Midas pedophile look-alike touch. If I were Mao, both of these sorry old men would be treading milk in my super bowl, along with every other celebrity name I didn’t know last night (but unfortunately do now). All of them proof that money and fame are just two dead leaves swirling in gigundo voids of their own private Hells. We, the fathers and mothers, owe our children deep, profound apology for allowing these perverted billionaires access in to their hopeful hearts and minds. At least an apology. Maybe if truly humble, a head bowed down forever in shame of a today that will not move a mountain to improve a tomorrow.
Clean corporate filth reminding us to be jingoistic, love the NFL, and buy another two ton piece of loneliness that rusts. Bob Dylan ain’t no born again Christian. I hear you have to believe in Hell to be one of those. Bruce Willis? Another die hard loser. And the glorious owner of the Seattle Seahawks? A slaveholder. Graciously showering the stadium in milk on a Sunday, when the lot of us are lactose intolerant.
John Lennon explained it to us easily in a few verses. But he never got the chance to grow to be a man, and provide to his young boys a possible solution. I think that if he survived fame and a gunshot wound, there might have been a wise old celebrity born from that angst. His commercial would try to end a war by making war on the propagandists. He’d go broke trying while the rest of us got old thinking about fresh carpet smells in new cars and Scarlett Johansson cleavage that we will never ever touch.