Hello, Dolls!
When last we spoke, it was the end of the last year and I had spent at least three of my annual columns barking and bitching about COVID. Now that this virus has been completely eradicated and wiped from the face of the planet Earth, we can all take our *cough* masks off and *cough* get back to focusing on *cough* what’s really important. I hope now that everybody’s guard is down, we can get back to focusing on what pisses ME off.
Hey! Remember that time that they said gay weddings would ruin the sanctity of marriage? Remember how straight people would get drunk in a casino, have a little slap-and-tickle upstairs, snort a rail and then find a 24-hour chapel and get married at four in the morning officiated by an Elvis impersonator? But somehow Adam and Steve have been sneaking around together 30 years after their college graduation and were such a big threat to the sanctity of marriage? Remember that? Huh?
Amber Heard dropped a deuce on Johnny Depp’s side of the bed and they wanna talk about it to the entire world. I mean, we’ve ALL been there before but who really wants to discuss it publicly until the kids have reached college age or are vetting assisted living facilities? Quicker than you can say “Shady Pines, Ma,” Amber Turd and Johnny Dump are airing that dirty laundry like an unbleachable brown splatter hung out on a clothesline in the front friggin’ yard. Ain’t marriage grand? Great job, heterosexuals. Lemme know when it’s cool again for your father to sell you to your rapist for five shekels as commanded by a biblical testament that is featured in at least three Abrahamic religions. #MeToo
Now I’d love to tell you that I’m upset by this and am following the news like a keen reporter, but how am I supposed to deal with the earth-shattering news that gay and/or just British James Corden won’t be forcing us to listen to his weight-laboured karaoke chortle while Madonna sits shotgun? Woe is me.
While writing this, the White House Correspondents’ Dinner is happening. I used to like that thing, but the moment that Obama dropped the mic and Seth Meyers was licking his chops, Donald Trump was planning at least four years of revenge. Maybe we need another Prayer Breakfast?
Here I am, a woman of a certain age, and I have yet to activate any of the algebraic lessons that I was assured I couldn’t operate in a functioning society without. For all of the teachers that used to warn against the possibility of NEVER having a calculator on your person at any given time, there are 20 years of smartphone users looking at porn star measurements in her classroom while covertly acing the test.
Ahhh, the ‘80s! Neon shades, drum machines and the terror of Soviet Russia starting a thermonuclear war and invasion while some elderly president hovers a palsied digit over that big red button. Oh, it seems like just yesterday. Or tomorrow.
I see that “Stranger Things” is about to debut another season, and I love all things ‘80s. I was a child in the ‘80s, back in the 1900s, so I am totally down for this show. I recognize themes and whatnot, but I’m most impressed by the set design as I see furniture and set pieces that immediately drag me into a pool of emotional recall. The show features former unnecessary shoplifter Winona Ryder. She used to date Johnny Depp. Winona may have been dealing with some shit in her day, but Johnny Depp’s kids aren’t watching YouTube courtroom footage of HER popping a squat on his side of the bed. #ImJustSayin’
Amen,
The Divine Grace
Divine Grace is an Orlando-based troublemaker with a forked tongue and all the charm you can imagine.
