Sound is truly one of the finest of the senses, forever teasing us with its many nuances and methods of intrusion. For us music lovers, it holds a special place of reverence. There are few sounds more mellifluous than that of Bach played by someone who is a true lover of his craft, for instance. And while I have not had the good fortune to hear it, I imagine that listening to hack "film" maker Michael Moore slowly dying in a lovely orange fire is probably one of those sounds. This blob of anti-intellectual shit has made millions decrying the very capitalism and freedom that allows the pus globules that are his movies to be made. Many celebrities have wrong-headed and knee-jerk opinions on political issues, but few are so breath-takingly smug as to believe their navel-gazing horseshit amounts to something more than just one more opinion out of billions. Moore is such a man. He believes himself to be on a christ-like mission to expel the proverbial money-exchangers from the temple of the imagined socialist paradise Michael Moore's America could be. Of course, there is little to no argument in his films, and his books are pretty much unreadable. Trust me, I've tried.
Yes, I do believe Moore is one of those rare creatures who, by his very existence, makes the world worse off than it was before he was born. Please join me in a prayer to the god of your understanding that his living space catches on fire, and that he roasts alive, screaming for help from the red state losers he so arrogantly (and stupidly) derided during his lifetime. No, it aint gonna happen. But it feels good to do a little Lennonesque imagining, doesn't it?
Well said. I'll bring the gasoline.
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