You know what really burns my biscuits? The state of radio. Somehow, of all of the ghosts of media past that have been supplanted, this one is somehow still relevant, while simultaneously being its own worst enemy. I’m specifically referring to stations that are supposed to play new music. They advertise relentlessly, as “the One and Only Place for New Hit Music,” but leave out, that what they really mean is hit music from twenty years ago. How are new unproven artists supposed to find a place in that outdated cacophony? The place for twenty year old spins is a classic rock station, so maybe stop copy/pasting that playlist. The fact that some pointless, out of touch fuck sets the agenda for whole regions only serves to exacerbate this problem of general terribleness in modern rock radio especially. Why not let the DJ, who got into this profession due to a musical obsession, make some calls? Why not incorporate some regional originality back into the format? How about instead of some stale turd, cookie cutter approach, you earn the right to be relevant with current content? Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I change the station.
You know what really burns my biscuits? 98% of workout videos. Like maybe I wanna work on my cardiovascular health, without some perky pip squeak, reminding me that, “Bikini season is right around the corner!” Even worse, now it’s not even sequestered solely to the summer months. Now, there’s some bouncy bimbo admonishing me to “Squeeze that booty, it’s leggings season!” Like sure maybe, it might be more pleasing to onlookers if that shit was tight, but those are supposed to be my holding pattern rest clothes, not yet another piece of apparel to feel self conscious in. Maybe I want to elevate my heart rate, without dodging a big dump on my already precarious self confidence. Maybe I don’t need reminders of everything I’m not, when I’ve got a swamp stew brewing in all my nooks and crannies. Maybe home slice should get a Combo #5 and wipe that smile off her Patty Pound Cake face. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.
You know what really burns my biscuits? The love to hate/hate to love relationship mass media has with Donald Trump. At first, he was the businessman buffoon. The kind that provided some tabloid fodder to fill a spot between Big Foot sightings and other meaningless celebrity dribble. He progressed to being a “reality star.” Famous for, basically, being a total dick. Somehow, he became elevated into someone who gets to share their opinion on “news” shows. He became a voice for the uninformed masses. When he decided to run for really real, it was treated understandably as a joke. However, unlike the myriad of other candidates that run for office every cycle, that the voter is mostly unaware of until they step into the ballot booth, he has been given wall to wall coverage by every major news outlet. Instead of being ignored, as a rich, over inflated, jerk off he’s been aided and abetted in this race to the gutter. We’ve been given front row seats to this toddler tantrum train wreck. The more insane he behaves, the more inescapable he becomes. As outlets tried to act appalled, they still devoted most of their time/space to this Orange Crush tinted, whiniest of little bitches. Now he’s the nominee of one of the two major political parties. I’m not saying the media is necessary to blame, but please save me your false fucking indignation. All that free press, surely didn’t hurt. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Voting off the nose to spite the non-believers. I get that faith is a personal journey that sometimes involves compromise. Like when crafting a nookie nabbing Tinder photo, one must make hard choices about what to highlight and what to hide behind. But can someone please explain to me like I’m five, how someone can be more against their best interests than Britney circa 2007, when it comes to voting? How can someone be cognizant enough to acknowledge that say, Donald Trump will be less than awesome for immigrants, when they are in fact, an immigrant, but still say they’ll vote for him based on religious reasons? Or share a story about benefiting from government subsidized addiction treatment, but then say their faith points them toward the Donald, even as they recognize he most likely wouldn’t be for funding the same program that they say changed their life? In years past, that whole “family values” bullshit has at least held a little water. With Mitt Romney, I bought that wholesome Mormon thing he had going on. But how in the fuck does this translate to Donald Trump? Not only has he changed out wives like crusty underpants, but he even committed the big Scarlet Letter A. Shouldn’t Hillary be a better bastion for holding the traditional family together? She went through a tragically public assault on the sanctity of her marriage and choose to stand by her man. I know, I know – she eats babies and wants to make us all gay married and laughs like a Disney witch (insert eye roll), but come on Christians WWJD? I mean, isn’t it suspicious that her opponent is orange, which is in the same wheelhouse as red, which is Lucifer’s preferred shade for all seasons? I’m just saying. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I’m with her.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Being a cowed little bitch. One time, one place, someone does something and now we have to over-legislate in the interest of a false sense of security. Somehow, it turns us into this caricature of a hysterical woman with a case of “the nerves,” her smelling salts no more than a step away. If I can’t park curbside at the airport for five minutes without being threatened with a ticket, haven’t the terrorists already won? Not to take away from tragedy, but where do we draw the line? The bravest thing I’ve seen this year were the Dallas cops that went out sans riot gear after the atrocity their fellow officers suffered. Aren’t we America, “Home of the Free and the Brave?” What’s so free and brave about soiling your Pampers every time something scary happens? Simply out of fear, we hand over freedom of movement, privacy and the press. For what? Isn’t it just a game of Whack-A-Terrorist anyways? Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but shampoo might.