1. Nev Schulman is an asshole. With the Manti Te’o scandal, everyone was talking about Catfishing. With Catfishing, everyone was talking about that is-it-or-isn’t-it-fake documentary. With that documentary, everyone was talking about the new MTV show based off the film. And, in a Lena Dunham-esque turn of events, it seems the internet is catching onto this whole “let’s hate this dude” idea. Apparently, despite the fact that his parents were trustees at his college (which usually means you can set the main library on fire and still be in the clear), he managed to get expelled for punching some woman in the face at a party. Nice. And as if that weren’t enough to solidify his douchey dudebro persona, it seems that a trail of obfuscation and being bailed out by his well-connected forebears seems to follow him around everyone. You do you, Captain Privilege!
2. 30 Rock is over, and life will never be the same. This is the part where I would be a liar of omission if I did not confess that I have never seen a single episode of30 Rock in my entire life. I just never have. I know I should, and I definitely want to, but it hasn’t made it onto my agenda quite yet and I don’t know how to work it in without resigning myself to a week-long marathon that coincides with a bout of mono. In any case, it ended this week, and now has been the time for all of its fans to come out of the woodwork, Arrested Development style, and get into a no-holds-barred brawl over the internet over who is The Biggest Fan Ever. Who can quote the most lines? Use the most references in an otherwise-unrelated article? Profess their unhealthy love for Tina Fey the loudest? We have yet to choose a winner, but it’s not for lack of contestants.
3. Elizabeth Wurtzel keeps being the second worst thing ever. Just when you thought you had seen the last of Elizabeth “all ladies who don’t work are sad, gross hookers” Wurtzel, the internet managed to dig up this pristine gem from last June, back before she was known for making a large and particularly pungent bowel movement all over NYMag’s home page. This Atlantic article manages to sum up pretty nicely just how much disdain she has for the non-working woman, and manages to put the blame for the flailing feminist movement squarely on their Lululemon-clad shoulders. You see, all stay-at-home moms are rich white harpies who use their investment banker husband’s absurd salary to finance a small armada of nannies and regular appointments at the spa. This is true in every case, across our country, and the only real shame is that we’re not tar-and-feathering them right out of their cities and into the welcoming arms of some coal mining recruitment bureau to go prove their worth to the feminist cause. Thanks, babe. :’)
4. Beyonce still knows how to sing. Beyonce opened her Superbowl press conference with a flawless acapella rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner because it is her job, contractually speaking, to remind us at regular two-week intervals that a single flake of dead skin cells that sloughs off of her during a vigorous pumice session is worth approximately 50 human lives.
5. Chris Brown keeps being the worst thing ever. It kind of pains me to talk about this, but it would be unfair to discuss what the internet was obsessed with this week without mentioning the walking, singing rectal polyp that is Breezy. Him, Rihanna, his fans, his mother, everyone in his entourage seems to have signed some flaming contract with the devil to defend him no matter how much of a cowardly Viking trickster god he proves to be. It’s just at the point where any bad news that comes out about him is no longer surprising, only affirming. The only proper response to hearing about his fight with beloved Frank Ocean is a vague sigh when you think about how many humans have to suffer in this world when he is paid to run around in terrible neck tattoos making a clown of himself and setting women back a half-century. At least we have the knowledge that Frank is taking this used prophylactic to court over this mess. Think of that over and over, and let it soothe your appetite until Breezy eventually goes bankrupt or winds up in jail or some other cause for a new national holiday. It’s all we have for now.