I Need an Election Vacation
Trump’s ear has miraculously healed, I have not.
This week’s episode is brought to you by the end of discourse. We did it, you guys. We said it all.
I’m pivoting to video — lol, nah, it’s not 2015. But I am sending little vids to my close friends list aka my paid subscribers. Last week I did a little fortune telling. Who knows what’s next … I’m in a real mood!
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Hi friends!
I think August is the ideal month to go completely insane. You can scapegoat the heat. You can sit under a tree and eat really good fruit while you loosen your grip on reality. You can go to the beach and taunt the seagulls. You can count down the days until your children go back to school. You can stay in the AC and curate new nightmares on the internet. Or, if you’re me, you can have so much deadline-less writing to do that you simply have no choice but to embrace madness as both a lifestyle and a vocation. Not a vacation. That, if I can overcome my pathological avoidance of planning, will happen sometime in mid-to-late September.
I’m not a parent, so I think back to school ads at the beginning of August are vile propaganda. Let us enjoy this month, even if we are one bad edible away from the asylum. We earned our summer and we will live our summer and I’m going to stretch mine out so fucking long.
Here in La La Land, where we spend so much time driving around getting arm freckles, there really is no fall. Winter is definitely a different season, but summer kind of just roasts its way through October and then chaotically peters out. Not complaining. I grew up in Toronto where a winter coat ruined my Halloween costume for about two decades. But no matter where you live — unless you are one of my cherished Aussie readers — summer officially sticks around until September 22 this year.
I once had an unhinged boss who instituted “Harvest Fridays” so we could all avoid working more post-Labor Day. While her leadership left many potential lawsuits unfiled, “Harvest Fridays” was genius. Why is working less only part of one (shortened) season? Let’s add that to the list of society’s ills.
And … speaking of society’s ills, here is your Burn It All Down Hot 5™️ this week:
At number 5, we have Snoop in Paris.
OK. I misspoke because this is actually one of society’s thrills — watching Snoop Dogg watch sports in all these themed outfits. No one has lived the American dream harder or higher than Calvin Broadus and he is one of the greatest entertainers of all time, evolving yet again. He’s too, too good. I know Hollywood is in the midst of total collapse, but if the last person working in development is reading this, give this man his own travel docuseries. I yearn to watch him ride camels with Martha, spiritually.
The Olympics in general have been a real delight. Marvelous feats of athleticism, excellent memes. And look at that, the swimmers even made it into the Seine. I haven’t yet heard news of any athlete’s demise, even the chocolate muffin guy seemed to survive his swim through the poo river. Hats off to Paris!
At number 4, we have bear carcass.
My family has some crazy lore but the Kennedys … they are just the lore incarnate. Because why was RFK Jr. taunting the New Yorker with a video in which he tells Roseanne Barr about the time he picked up a roadkill bear because he was going to eat its meat (!?) but then decided to ditch it in Central Park with an old bicycle? If you haven’t seen him tell the entire story, I do recommend you click here and waste three-ish minutes of your one wild and precious life.
Anyways, this story has everything: Peter Luger Steak House, going to the airport, a string of unfortunate bike accidents, a highly-publicized New York mystery, and, of course, the bear carcass.
I like to imagine that RFK Jr. and Roseanne met at a summit for wealthy conspiracy theorists, a low-rent Davos where people yell about 5G and vaccines. This man is still running for president.
At number 3, we have daddy’s home.
Tim Walz is a welcome new character in the relentless theatre of the absurd production that we are still, against our will, the captive audience for. President Uncle has gone back to bed. Now we could get Vice President Dad. A solid rearrangement of the vibes.
My guy Tim is a wholesome, former teacher who values things like children being fed. He earned this starring role when he put his schoolyard experience to good use and started calling Republicans “weird,” knowing it makes a bully crumble. He’s a “tells it like it is” personality hire with soundbites and daditude.
The Democrats have finally built a TikTok ticket for the Age of Unhingement™️. Happy for everyone involved.
At number 2, we have this fucking hat.
A. This campaign’s marketing team is stacked with the gayest men alive.
B. If I had the energy I would photoshop a BURN IT ALL DOWN version.
C. It is indeed real and has already raised $1 million.
D. I still want to know where the pussy hats are.
“We're not weird, we're very solid people … they're weird.” - THE CONVICT
And topping the charts at number 1 this week, we have … being weird.
We’re officially at the “no I’m not, you are” moment of the whole “weird” thing. I’m going to be honest, I think most politicians are weird. But the Trump bunch is obviously next level weirdly too into other people’s business. And as one of the foremost yentas of my generation, I’m not talking about good gossip, for that is the tie that binds us all. I mean: Let trans people get healthcare. Let women be multifaceted human beings, not incubators sent here to serve men dinner. Stop banning books like you’re auditioning for a fascist regime. And consider not being a bunch of racist fucks. Then we can discuss who’s weirder.
Here at Unhingement HQ we take the misuse of Celine Dion very seriously. She has been through too much. Also, playing a video of “My Heart Will Go On” is an objectively weird way to warm up a crowd.
How has it been just three weeks since comically large ear bandages microtrended? July was the longest year of my life. I can’t imagine how much it aged Wolf Blitzer.
I know our favorite coping mechanism is collective amnesia — Covid taught us well — but that shit with Trump’s ear was bonkers next level crazy. Not to mention President Uncle’s curtain call, Kamala’s Act 2, and a new dad entering the villa this week.
There are 85 days left until the election, that’s too many days for shit to go down. And (like Celine) I’m Canadian. I can’t even vote. I am, also, merely human and love the drama way too much. When this level of political madness is trending — I have no choice but to pay attention! I’m exhausted.
It seems disaster has been avoided, so I need the election to take a short August vacation, just a few days off so I can recharge, take deep breaths, and get ready for the return of must see TV — the most memed event in history, I’m calling it now — Kamala vs. Trump on September 10.
I want one solid week to open Instagram and not see shit like Trump comparing January 6th to MLK’s "I Have a Dream" speech. The only thing I want to see when I open a social media app is this.
And if you’re thinking, girl, can’t you just take a break from social media? No, I can’t. Because social media is regrettably my job, they pay me too much to impersonate Gen Z, and a six pack of toilet paper now costs $47. I need that money.
As always, thanks for being here. I was so distracted by the chaos of the ear that I missed marking my 50th edition of this newsletter. This is issue #53 which is truly fucking wild.
Maybe for my 100th I’ll throw a cocktail party and we can all meet.
Have a great week! Until next time…
Less Lessons More Blessin’s™️
Liz
Waiting for my Burn it All Down camo cap ❤️