Why do I even bother with the news? You tell me that and I’ll pay you some money.

This is clever and proper and I give it my full endorsement. For whatever that’s worth.

Then we have this. And, I don’t know internet, you tell me. Mel Gibson, who is looking, thankfully, “more subdued”, is now responsible for his own rehabilitation. Rehabilitation for what, I’m not exactly sure. Is it rehabilitation for an alcohol problem? That would be okay. I’m for that. But if it’s rehabilitation of the racist, anti-semitic rantings of a too-rich, delusional actor slash director, then give me a freakin’ break.

Money wrecks people. It insulates them from the real world and they can’t see or feel anything real unless it’s extreme and so over the top as to not be believed. Being very rich and very famous destroys you. You are surrounded by yes-men and excess. No one tells you how stupid you look with clown makeup bronzer and that pink tutu you just had to wear to the Oscars. No one tells you that getting shit-faced drunk and spouting volatile epithets at any particular race, gender or religion is a bad idea. You just don’t get it.

But guess what? It’s not our job to teach the very rich. They are not our children we’ve taken to raise. We are not responsible.

We love our idols. We live vicariously through our celebrities. We make them who they are. But as much as we love them and love to build them up, we love to watch them fall. We love that all the more. We delight in it. A lot of people will get drunk and say and do stupid things. If we were all required to go to rehabilitation every time we said something horribly offensive, the world would be nothing but rehab clinics and support groups. Is this where we’re headed?

Then there was this, which flies directly into the face of anything even remotely resembling common sense. I’m sorry, but teens have been having sex for ages. Like patrolling heavily on that one day is going to change anything? It’s just removing one of many excuses. Instead of, “it’s Valentines day, don’t you love me?” it’ll be, “it’s Wednesday, don’t you love me?”

I like the show Futurama. The boys have been lifelong fans of the Simpsons since birth so I naturally became addicted as well. This spawned interest in the rest of Groening’s stuff. He’s funny and smart and gives good show. Anyway, the thing about Futurama is, it scares me a little bit. It’s set 3000 years in the future and there’s all these things going on that worry me. Mostly because I can totally see us going that way. I can imagine that in the distant future, Santa will be a villain. We will fear him and what he represents. Christmas will be a day of horror and trepidation. We will destroy it. We will do it in. We will violate it with all our PC, regulatory, thought police bullshit. We’ll choke the life out of it with our zealous desire to feel secure. Even if it’s false security. Especially because it’s false.

What will the police do if they come upon a young couple dining at a restaurant or walking hand in hand in the mall? Will they approach them and demand to know their agenda for afterwards? What kid wouldn’t say he’s going to have sex on Valentine’s day? What kind of stupid poll is that anyway? Was it called the poll of the completely obvious and fallible? Do they really think every one of those kids is going to say, “No, no. I think I’ll just sit in front of the internet and play with myself because I don’t have a date and no girl would ever let me touch her”? Is that really what they think will happen? They will say, “Oh yeah. You know how I roll. I’m going to bag me a whole nation‘s worth of hos that night.” Because they are all liars and also insecure.

Some might even be telling the truth.

But come on. What kind of sense does it make to pull valuable resources away from where they are seriously needed to a place that can’t possibly be policed — nor should it be.

Doing something like that would make about as much sense as being afraid of Santy Claus.

But that’s just me.