BREAKING NEWS: CRANKY JOURNALIST HAS SAND IN VAGINA
I just don’t get it anymore. I thought this year was going to be different. I thought Obama said that things were going to change. I thought that the decriminalization of Marijuana in Massachusetts would help everyone mellow out a little bit. I thought that Prop 8 would have been overturned by now. I thought that the great downfall of the American economic system would have birthed a more progressive ethos.
What I didn’t realize was that in the midst of our excited anticipation for change, we faced a different, more difficult epidemic. The invisible sandstorm infiltrating the vaginas of published journalists.
The sandstorm began in mid late 20th century, when a gentleman by the name of Jack took a trip cross country and found himself riding a bike along a beach in Hermosa California. An epic gust of wind traveled over the surf across the beach, and blew Jack right off of his bike and into the sand. The impact caused a tremendous POOF of sand to rise into the air and sweep Eastwards toward a monthly publication company located in downtown Los Angeles. The sand spun its way into the vaginas of many journalists working in the offices, and rather than wash their vaginas out with a bottle of water, they pointed their fingers.
They pointed their fingers not at nature, which had initially caused the gust of wind knocking Jack off of his bike, but at Jack himself! The journalists were so aggravated with their sandy Vaginas that they decided to complain about Jack’s obscure lifestyle, his paintings, poetry, and literature, and even his clothing (which looked… Well, a little faggy to them).
The same sandstorm that delivered the aforementioned journalists with their sandy vaginas, still spins across the country today, making infrequent appearances in mainstream media. My current favorite is sandy-vagina’d journalist is Chris Muther’s digression on bikes, tattoos, fedoras, and ironic t-shirts.
What the sandy-vagina’d journalists of the mid 20th Century failed to realize is the same failed realization of today’s sandy-vagina’d journalists. This kind of journalism isn’t helpful. The ignorance demonstrated from poking fun at someone’s taste in music, someone’s dietary lifestyle, someone’s environmental consciousness, someone’s choice of clothing, is both sad and upsetting.
Mr. Muther, if you are reading this, please email me your address. I can send you a bottle of the finest distilled water, so you can douche your oh-so-sandy vagina, and you can continue with being a real journalist. Reveal some corrupt politician, tell me about some new type of science research, turn me onto a new author, teach us something new, show us something cool, just… you know… move forward, Chris.
