My brain hurts. Almost literally. It’s highly illogical for me to say that, since the brain doesn’t have pain receptors. Damn it, though, it hurts. I have a major and legitimate complaint about how television is a massive corruption, and I’m going to do my damnedest to not make it cliche or overbearing.
Glee. Oh my god. Glee. Why? Everyone is a dramatic. Is this a standard? What sort of boat did I miss in high school? The one made of broken dreams that floats down the Drama River; this river is real, it flows parallel to “de Nile.” Every character is a sociopath, and the show is glamorously perceived as brilliant television. Musicals are expressive and respectable, but filling a talented stereotype, of sorts, with vulgar dramatization is unfair, unjust, and equally disconcerting (pun intended).
This is different from watching a person shoot another person. Laws forbid acts like that, so excuses can’t happen, and the behavior of a homicidal person is not instilled through childhood upbringing. Why the hell would telling, or singing to, kids now with mentally unhealthy standards of singing to sonograms and making an infatuated student cook your wife dinner? This looming hatred toward this lack of standard is keeping me awake far too late, especially since I have to work again in 5 hours.
The singers are talented beyond measure. The message is far too clear: “life has to be this way.” It’s already out there. What can we do? Warn our families. Hide your kids and hide your wife; they’re dramatizing everything. The media and the “glow box” have the digital herpes. Much like donuts to hips, it will go straight to your brain, reader. It’s the only one you have. And no one wants to read “anti-whatever” writings about things that don’t matter. Believe me, being this irritated about Glee is definitely lowering my standards of mental content.
If only the singing could be separated from the bad and maltreated acting. Help find a cure.
And have your drama kings and queens spade and neutered, reader. They travel in packs. Or, perhaps, like crows, in murders.
Look, now I’m bantering. Good night, and don’t watch that which rots your brain. Walmart doesn’t carry replacement brains yet.

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