When you see French dudes in Buck Rogers villain masks, you’re typically about to be sodomized to the scent of stale cigarettes and licorice. So consider last night’s Grammy’s to be less painful than expected. Sobering up from this morning’s vitriol, I’m thinking now about Metallica playing with that Asian Van Cliburn dude, getting to see Madonna one more time before she dies, the look in Taylor Swift’s eyes revealing that she’ll never be truly happy. There were good moments. Add to that the shit that didn’t happen because certain noteworthy attention whores declined to even show up at all. Miley Cyrus. Her visionary musical abortion Bangerz was released past the artificial deadline the Grammys use to ensure the latest hot music is never heard at the event. Miley stayed home and played Guitar hero and tried to score enough points to earn a real woman’s body. Kanye West didn’t show up since his Yeezus album didn’t get nominated for being the best thing ever invented. Lady Gaga didn’t get nominated at all, so she didn’t bother her make-up artists with the sixteen hours it takes to make her look less like a fruit bat. Rihanna actually won an award of some kind, but she decided to spend the evening blowing smoke rings onboard a boat owned by somebody rich who once fingered her while she kept her tears on the inside. This is like one of those children’s books learning about how relatively speaking, shit could’ve been much worse, so be thankful. I am. Thank you, Grammy Jesus.
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