Brentwood on Suicide Watch

I hate partisan politics with a passion. It routinely involves men engaging in bitchy pointless debates without any self-awareness of how much you sound like girls fighting with their mom over what they’re allowed to wear to school. After you tell me how great the Democratic Party is, or the Republican Party is, why don’t you take a dump in a chocolate cake and charge me extra for the pudding center.

Here in Los Angeles, the single largest bastion of self-described progressives in the country, they are fucking reeling over the Tuesday election results. It’s like everybody is four years old and somebody popped their fucking circus balloon. The long moping faces is something on the proportion of Sadie Hawkins day at Smith College. Everybody looks freaking miserable. From the partisan yucks who paid $35K to watch Gwyneth Paltrow virtually fellate the Handsomest President Ever to the chicks who get aroused over late term abortions, the farbissineh punims about town could turn every box of soy milk in this city.

Buck up, Los Angeles. Circle around Ellen’s pant suit four times and think happy thoughts about how grateful the poor people will be when you can start giving them your scraps again.

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