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The Arc of Glenn Beck

Promoted from yet another thread over at Cesca’s.

Look…really, trust me on this one…and let it here be known that I truly enjoy Glenn Beck’s insanity – like slowing for a car wreck, watching Hostel, Saw III, Jackass and midget donkey porn – as much or more than anyone…and yet there remains a concrete truth at the foundation of this shit and it is this: The seeds of his own end are sown every time he opens his doughy, ignorant mouth.
Sure, he draws some viewers. Ain’t no one ever seen no motherfuckin’ wreck like Beck’s fixin’ to have. Whether he goes back to the bottle, strips naked on live feed, or ass fucks a wolverine in Central Park while a methed-up Richard Quest jams a dildo up his ass matters not. The end of Beck is almost upon us, and here’s why…
Remember Marilyn Manson? Oooh…everyone was so shocked! No one could look away. The kids loved it mostly because it made everyone else shake their head and ask, “What the fuck IS that?”
Where is Manson now? Wandering from trimmed suburban lawn to junior high school parking lot, threatening to shit on someone’s front porch while jerking off their mutt just to be offensive.
LOOK AT ME! I’M OUTRAGEOUS! OPEN THE DOOR AND LOOK…I’M REJECTING YOUR PARADIGM!

Beck’s problem isn’t that he can’t “walk it back”…Beck’s problem is that there’s nowhere to go.

He’s stuck talking in Kermit the Frog voice and being the class idiot whose only lines are “Up your nose with a rubber hose” and “Who? What? When? Why? Who?”
It didn’t work for Kotter and it ain’t gonna work for Beck.
Where’s Ron Palillo  (Horshack) now?  Wait…when’s the next celebrity boxing episode?  Three rounds versus Danny Bonaduce – winner gets a title shot at Screetch.
Sooner or later, Beck the Brainless Fuckwit will be reduced to signing copies of Atlas Shrugged at the last remaining Borders because no one is buying his latest plagiarized fantasy pamphlet.

I know Beck’s fun to watch…trust me, I KNOW.  I’m semi-addicted to the rage he inspires and hope to someday have the chance to vent it directly upon his person – him, Susan Powter, Eric Roberts, that fuckwit Tucker who yammered for McCain (not Carlson, the other one…Bounds?)  And where are they today?
My guesses: Desperately trying to sell a diet plan that comes with a bottle of bleach for your hair; desperately trying to find someone to give him a job that Mickey Rourke is now to busy to take; desperately trying to distance himself from everything he did for McCain/Palin and will wear for the rest his utterly fucked life.

Getting your knickers in a knot over the imbecilic ramblings of an uneducated disc jockey (Rush, anyone?) is truly letting the enemy distract you with confetti, flashing lights and a bucket full of putrid ocelot testicles.
Sure, it’s attention grabbing…but in the end it’s nothing more than chopped up paper, a few bulbs and some disgusting rotten bits that no one in their right mind would go near in the first place.

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