I would have died too
I'da liked to
if my man was fighting
some unholy war


I know that internet commentary is the province of sociopaths, narcissists and the socially retarded—teh furrez community is even more so than most—and that this peanut gallery considers any celebrity event to be fair game. But we've suddenly found our culture dimmer and poorer, and for such a sad reason, and maybe it's just my shit luck but holy god am I stumbling across a fuck-ton of trolls under the web-nets and in eye-are-ell.

I get that you have a hard time feeling empathy because most of the real world as you experience it is filtered through one kind of electronic screen or another. I get that the safe thing to do whenever an opinion is warranted (if unsolicited) is to noisily express disdain; it's way easier to baww about how awful something obviously is than it is to defend an idea that you love. I get that the closest you've ever been to mental illness, addiction or death is a Maury rerun. You're a comfortably insulated, overlarge adolescent who lives obliviously on one side of the producer/consumer equation, and you are the vast majority of our ugly little civilization. God Bless America. I get it.

We, the creators of the art, the survivors of the calamities, and the reckless wielders of the lives you vicariously suck down through your television sets and your Facebook pages, generally don't give a fuck what you have to say about it. It's kind of like how you feel when the six year-old in the back seat gives you driving tips. Cute sometimes, maybe a little annoying, but you would never, ever think of it as advice in any meaningful sense of the word. Like I said: peanut gallery.

But every once in a while you have to reach out into the back seat and slap a child and say Grownups are talking, honey; now shut'cho face.

So the next time you smugly chortle Well, they tried to make her go to rehab, you pit-stained, Cheeto-dusted, Hot Topic T-shirt-wearing, talentless, unfunny, overfed manatee, I am going to slap that Mountain Dew out of your mitt and shove it up your lily-white motherfucking ass.

And then we, the creators, the survivors, and the reckless, are going to light the bar on fire and dance across the top of it and belt out Unholy War until the roof caves in.





Thanks for coming out to play, lady. We'll miss your mess and the noise it made.