IT’S EVEN WORSE THAN I THOUGHT

3/2/11

Similarly (See the other post of this day.), readers have asked why I have not commented on the travails of Martin Clean or Jerry Mean or Michael Jean or Charlie Bean or Chuckie Spleen or whatever this particular Hollywood moron’s name is. The guy I’m talking about is the no-talent who stars in some execrable exhibition of excerebrosity called Two Men and a Boy or Three Boys and a Man or Four and a Half Girls or some such nonsense. (No, my time is not so utterly valueless that I have ever seen this slimy and malodorous chunk of digestive system product and, yes, I can pronounce such judgments on its remarkable resemblance to barnyard detritus merely by viewing the snippets of it to which I have been involuntarily subjected while watching football or basketball games; imbecilic double entendres that were the height of hilarity among the cognoscenti of the parking lot we used for a playground at St. Walter circa 1967 have somehow ceased to be crisp, bold, and uproarious as one has left pre-puberty in the foggy distances, or even the relatively fresh remembrances, of the past, but I digress.) Though I might not have his name right, you know the idiot to whom I refer.

No, I am not about to launch into a studied comparison of the debilitating effects of addiction to those of other diseases, an expostulation of the rules for Hollywood lame brains, which seem to differ from those that apply to the rest of us, or a studied analysis on the impact on the media business of Mr. Mean’s (or whatever his name is) absence from the parade of banalities on which he stars. No, all I will say on this particular subject is that it is notable not for any of the above but, rather, for what the American public’s fascination with the self-imposed tribulations of Mr. Spleen says about the state of this country, i.e., that any people that gives more than a half thimble of excretory liquid about such subjects is headed toward certain and hopefully mercifully quick doom.