Always Late To The F**king Party

Do you ever feel like you’re late to a party? Like really late. Like 50 years late.

Let me explain.

In the 60s, it was the moon landing. The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. The dirty hippies of Woodstock.

By the 90s, it was OJ’s white Ford Bronco, Leo drowning, and the president putting a cigar up some girl’s vagina.

Now, let’s take a look at the cultural milestones of our current year…

The world’s on lockdown. Fear and paranoia reign. Tiger King is the number one show in the world. And, most importantly, some sperg got Grimes pregnant.

Has there ever been a clearer trajectory of a civilization in decline?

We need to face facts. The ocean has dried up. Our cultural landscape is a desert. And there’s nothing to watch on Netflix (unless you wanna watch some fucking hillbillies do meth ?).

This is the state of our culture. We’ve arrived so late to the party that there is no party. Only an unexplained porta potty in the middle of the Sahara.

But—if there’s anything to be learned from music festivals—sometimes deserts present their own opportunity.

Mundane is like a digital Burning Man, one that stays open even during a global pandemic. And we know better than anyone that deep-sea diving is just what one does in a desert when culture has dried up.

If it wasn’t obvious enough, this diatribe has been partially inspired by my favorite slobbering Slovenian Marxist philosopher, Slavoj Žižek (daddy!). Although I have never personally read any of his works, I often claim to.

According Wikipedia, Žižek argues in his book “Welcome to the Desert of the Real” that prior to 9/11, we were all living in a simulation. And now that the simulation’s over, all that’s left is a post-apocalyptic wasteland. And Joe Exotic.

Sounds about right to me!

Now, without further ado, here’s some pictures of boobs.