Forgive me, little Druckers, for I have sinned. The reason why I can’t post about a Monday night hotspot/Tuesday morning hangover is that I’ve been sucked into the vortex of vapidity known simply as The Bachelor.
Sure, I pretend it’s a social engagement. Watching with awesome pal Kate, eating Whole Foods, wondering aloud if Tenley‘s boobs are real, and if it really is safe for her to fall.
But that doesn’t mean it’s okay. Or that I shouldn’t be using the TWO HOURS OF MY LIFE I’LL NEVER GET BACK to volunteer at a soup kitchen or read some Proust or practice the law of attraction to find myself a house and husband. (Or a house-husband.) But I digress. And offer you this, by way of absolution:
“This nudibranch apparently thinks it’s the cutest thing on the block just because it’s the neon equivalent of a drama kid. Prancing around the ocean like you have a spine doesn’t mean you should pose jazz-hands style like you’re in a college production of Fame, asshole.”
Smarty pants pal Adra LOVES the blog fupenguin.com, and for good reason. It’s a sarcastic, profane commentary on cute animals that somehow manages to be entertaining, endearing and ultimately, cruelty-free.
Which is more than can be said about The Bachelor. Enjoy!