It All Started When They Killed Mr. Peanut
I don’t spend a ton of time wondering what would happen if Literally Anyone Else was in charge of getting us all through this thing, because it’s generally not a productive use of time, but then you hear that someone called the MyPillow guy was at a press conference in the Rose Garden and then see something like this in very quick succession:
and really who could help letting their mind wander a bit. Considering he’s been getting counsel from his son-in-law Jared Kushner, a man so dumb that his father had to basically buy international airports for a couple of universities to admit him, this is probably tracking right along expectations. In case you didn’t leave to search “MyPillow guy” and you’re also curious what his deal is, he’s like Subway Jared, but with pillows. I will not be elaborating on this comparison.
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It’s a tale as old as time, really: a local dance group rehearses a routine together, then celebrates with, what else, a dance party afterwards. They then find out that someone’s spiked the punch and things do. not. go. well from there. The subtext to the interpersonal dynamics of the group abruptly becomes text for a moment before careening right into supertext, as alliances form and dissolve, tensions erupt and all hell generally breaks loose. Starting when the music kicks in after a cold open introduces all the dancers, the film never really lets up, though the energy it has mutates in some troubling ways.
I’m not going to vouch for the deliciousness of this drink recipe, but know that it’s called Money Milk and it looks like it’ll either make you invincible or peel the skin off of you. I had to research one of the ingredients, the Black Cherry Lemonade Truly, and it turns out my knowledge of hard seltzers is very lacking beyond White Claw. While it’s great solo, the idea of mixing extra-pulp orange juice into booze makes the stomach churn.
Hard agree, rest of the internet, hard agree.
No idea what caused the spike, did Marie Kondo say something about hair? It’s definitely something I’m considering, if only out of boredom and as a test of dexterity.
The New Yorker’s Isaac Chotiner interviewed the charlatan Richard Epstein, whose article downplaying the impact of the coronavirus has likely guided the administration’s reaction to the epidemic and, reader, I assure you that if Isaac Chotiner ever calls to interview me, you’ll never find me again. Like his name shows up on the caller ID and I’m grabbing my bug-out bag, snapping my SIM card and hiking out. Chotiner is able to ask questions that, while unprovocative, somehow induce the absolute dumbest responses out of pretty much everyone who makes the mistake of speaking to him, and, really, any of his Q&As are worth a look.
While it’s not my thing, I’ve always appreciated the input of the astrology-inclined people in my life, and though my experience extends as far as downloading the Co-Star app and reading through it going “damn it do be like that sometimes” this is a pretty good summary of my knowledge.
In other “it do be like that sometimes” news, this ad for…instant ramen does a whole lot in thirty seconds, being at turns adorable, mystifying and full of a human-sized chicken going demi-god-mode. I assume the flavor is not-chicken because otherwise it’s like the barbecue ribs place with the pig mascot, like how could you not know?? Or how Mr. Peanut always encouraged you to eat peanuts like a wild class traitor, and then died and left us with The Baby Nut, which is a cursed sequence of words if I ever saw it. Actually a legit arcane dark incantation was the “Mr. Peanut Funeral Ad Canceled Out of Respect to Kobe Bryant” stories, imagine sending that transmission of words through time or on the disc they put on the Voyager spacecraft.
Nothing but misery from this asshole.
A happy birthday to Céline Dion, who turns 52(!) today. Sadly, she had to cancel her last scheduled DC show and who knows when it might happen now, but she’s responsible for so many absolute hits, including a duet with Andrea Bocelli that was basically THE AVENGERS but for Vietnamese people.
Looping back to the “it do be like that” department, this guy took advantage of his father’s unique head shape and dressed him up like the food critic from RATATOUILLE and I have to say that it does, in fact, be like that though, with such odd proportions, like he could palm his own head.
This year is the 35th anniversary of the release of the original Super Mario Bros. game and, much like in the cursed Year of Luigi, Nintendo is rumored to be remastering and re-releasing a boatload of Mario games to which I say, gimme gimme gimme, especially the under-appreciated Super Mario Sunshine, which I plan on playing again only to find out that it was appreciated the adequate amount. All that and a new Paper Mario game?
Finally, on the one hand there are lots of feelings about aquariums and their ethicality, but here’s a tank of beluga whales encountering a penguin and aww.
