STOP STARING AT THE SCREEN

A search for Meg Griffin on the internet inevitably leads to Dutch Nazis, muppets, and dead frogs. That, and the way the writters of Family Guy show their unmitigated meanness and misogyny, is enough to convince anyone that television leads to dementia.

The best episode of that show was probably the one in which Meg got sent to prison. After three months in the hoosegow, she returns a changed woman. She's empowered, assertive, and won't take any crap.
It shows a side of Meg that is heartening.
Those writers have issues.


"I'm home. You're all my bitches now."


This past week I have probably seen more television than usual, because Northern California is burning. Normally, the only time I pay attention to the tube is when something horrific on Housewives of Blisterville sends me into the kitchen for a nice quiet smoke. My apartment mate often watches the show, because she finds rich blonde idiots being repellent enjoyable. It's a repressed self-esteem issue, for which society and the media are to blame. Blondes, in America, especially if they have large mammaries and empty blue eyes, are at the top of the heap, and they know it. That's why they become trophy wives and rightwing news announcers.

Exceptionally large mammaries. A sign of fecundity, and something for the average man to focus on while she talks. Given that I tend to keenly watch their faces for any sign of intelligence or conniving weasely evil in the process of being hatched, I tend to lose out at those times.

An instinct for self-preservation prevents the tits from taking effect.

Wildfires and Meg Griffin are more interesting.

Normally I don't watch teevee.

Kool-hhwipp.




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