A Wild and An Untamed Thing

Your mission is a failure, your lifestyle’s too extreme.

You know the best time we ever had in an audience? Rocky Horror Picture Show, 1979. It was still fresh — first time in college-town Eugene — and while we were a total novice, we had some knowledgeable friends to instruct us in the Mysteries of hot dogs and playing cards.

So we’re thinking about the Town Hall debate tonight, how the format calls for questions from the audience, and really, wouldn’t you rather be dancing the Time Warp in the aisles and throwing household goods at the stage?

But short of that, we suspect you’ll be yelling DAMMIT repeatedly as you watch and join us for our Presidential Debate Open Thread/Sex Comedy. Don’t dream it. Be done with it.

The Seven Stages of Joy

We’ll wait.

1. Discovery.

2. Scroll back through Twitter feed.

3. No shit.

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Plus Opening Act

Eat your potatoes.

This is a rush transcript.

MODERATOR: Welcome to the 2016 Vice Presidential Debate!

KAINE: Da fuq?

PENCE: How’d we get here?

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Great America

The Arc of History induces nausea.

One day in 1982, when we were a reporter, we got into a curious conversation with the local school superintendent. We were 23; he must have been in his early 40s. We mention the ages because of what he said, a line we haven’t been able to shake for decades:

“The Sixties were an aberration.”

What he meant was that the social liberalism of the era was an exception in American history, and that now, at the dawn of Reagan, the country was reverting to norm. We protested, without success — problem was, at the time the Sixties and Seventies were all we knew.

Which makes us an aberration.

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Don’t Look

It was this or Clockwork Orange.

We’re hearing that tonight’s debate might reach Super Bowl/MASH/alien invasion territory, tempting your attention even if you’d prefer to ignore it. How can you not watch a showdown between a Charlatan Buffoon and Triangulating Technocrat — okay, fine, Giant Douche and Turd Sandwich — moderated by an amiable guy who’s been instructed to be even less intrusive than Jimmy Fallon?

But if you are tempted, heed our warning:

Don’t look at it! Shut your eyes! Don’t look at it, no matter what happens!

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Living in Terror

Well, he tried.

A friend of ours erupted in a fusillade of angry, frightened tweets Tuesday night. While everyone else we follow was tweeting the usual — sports and politics — our friend was writing things like this:

“I’m so fucked up about all these brothers getting murdered right now, I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

And:

“Seriously, at what point can I reasonably say the police are constant threat to my life? If not now, when? How many more men have to die?”

And:

“What the fuck am I supposed to tell my son?”

Our friend lives in DC, works as a government contractor. Most days he’s griping about the bosses, or public transit, or school lunches, like any other middle-class American. But unlike most middle-class Americans, our friend is Black.

And he’s living in terror. Because he’s just one traffic stop away from being the next hashtag.

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Future Revelations

This song was not intended as a patriotic chant.

  • Fossil fuels cause global warming
  • Access to firearms increases likelihood of injury or death
  • The refrigerator light goes off when you shut the door

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