I got a leather jacket in 1998 for Christmas because that’s what I asked for. I asked for it because I wanted to look like Triple H. I was 17. Our president is tweeting congrats to a professional wrestler during the middle of a global pandemic, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed by my favorite pop culture than I am right now.
I used to crave legitimacy for this goofy form of entertainment, but clearly I never counted on our country’s people electing the most craven publicity hound who loves nothing more than other phony-tough ultra capitalist ghouls to its highest office and paying tribute to one of its chief lieutenants.
What a weird time to be alive.
Oh, that it is. That it is.