Merry Green Land

One thing I like about the “Baby of the Year” sketch is that it lulls you into a false sense of security about the “in memoriam” slideshow by having Sam Richardson scoff that “they don’t stay babies forever, idiot!” and having the first picture be of a ninety-two-year-old man who died of respiratory failure, only to reveal that the subsequent ex-contestants (although also elderly) died due to car accidents or murder.

My landlord and the lady at the property management company keep persisting in the false belief that I have allergies. This doesn’t really matter practically but it’s absolutely bizarre and I hate it.

Our friends who have a three-year-old came over for dinner last night, and the three-year-old kept hurling a stuffed donkey at the floor, plaintively saying “hurt,” and pretending to give the donkey medicine by holding a pencil to its mouth. And it’s like okay dude I think you’re creating the problem you’re claiming to solve.

I wonder if Jenna Maroney’s song “Rum-Soaked Tampon” helped bridge the gap between her “Balls” era and “I Caught Crabs in Paradise.”

The thing about adaptations that change a lot of stuff from the original is that, however legitimate it is for an adaptation to do its own thing, it is really noticeable when the changes result in something that is less interesting/intelligent/distinctive than the original. It might even be okay but I don’t think it’s media illiteracy to point out that someone took a filet mignon and made it into Hot Pockets.

I also don’t think the “oh, we’re not going to have sex tonight just because the government expects us to” resolution works when the state-sanctioned sex night is so stingy. You only have twelve hours, it’s not a holiday, and you don’t even get free condoms. It sounds like a very begrudging government sex night! You’re just policing yourself beyond what the state demands!