Please wake up!

By Media Farm

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THE HERALD'S INSIDE TRACK girls dropped the following item last Thursday: "We hear that Boston magazine is working on a hatchet job-slash-profile of Tom Brady's Guy Friday Will McDonough. FYI, Willy, those boobs never let the facts get in the way of their idea of a good story ... "

And the Track girls, apparently, never drop a grudge. It's now been two years since the magazine ran a hatchet job-slash-profile of the gals—one that dubbed them "evil" and accused them of growing "lazy, arrogant, and complacent," of running "a protection racket" where favors are banked and enemies punished, and of "pandering and bullying and backroom dealing"—and they're still vengeful and cranky. Wagh! Sounds like somebody needs their diaper changed.

RENEE MARCOU HAS ACTED as a pitch-girl for Baby Safe Haven. (Baby! Safe Haven! Baaaaby! Safe Haven!) She's with the Lowell-based record label that's responsible for some guy who was in Making the Band 4. These facts, according to the Herald, make her worthy of being written about in the Herald. By her former babysitter, mind you.

And look how proud the babysitter is! Marcou, it seems, "Has serious skills as a singer and dancer," and avoids "churning out tired tunes about falling in love or kicking it in the club." She has "a pair of hot singles ... on the way to radio." (They're not there yet, but sit tight and be patient.) One of them even "sounds better than anything on the radio right now—and that's not just her ex-babysitter talking." Really? Because that's kind of exactly what it sounds like.

Hey, Pat Purcell, Media Farm's half-retarded puppy makes the cutest face when it farts. Your readers will looooove it. Can you send a photographer over here, like, right now?

THE NEW YORKER published a magazine last week. That magazine, as many do, had a cover with pictures and stuff on it. It depicted a hot-ass Michelle Obama dressed as Angela Davis (Media Farm likes its women in camo and AKs) terrorist-fist-jabbing her not-so-secret-Muslim husband, who has taken the liberty of burning the American flag in his fireplace and hanging a portrait of Osama bin Laden in the Oval Office. The country's collective response to this bit of cartoonery illustrates, for anyone who's been curious, just why it is that the Farm breathes fire and hates everybody ever.

A sampling of the responses on Blue Mass Group—a crowd that, we assume, is familiar with the New Yorker's brand of politics: "I'm more concerned that people will just catch a slight whiff of this story or see the magazine on a newsstand and think to themselves 'well if the New Yorker is worried too, then he must really be questionable ... '"; "Obama's strategy for victory does not include satire and I do not blame the campaign for being hostile to anything that is off-message"; "Without a headline on the politics of fear, or better yet on debunking the politics of fear, the image stands as a reinforcement of every smear that has been put out there"; "Why are we talking about a bad joke when we have an economy in full melt down. PLEASE WAKE UP!"; "Let's get our priorities straight. We have an out-of-control law-breaking administration. We have a do-nothing, enabling, congress whose only interest in [sic] getting re-elected. Together they are pillaging the wealth of the country for themselves and their financial backers."

The problem, it seems, is that the past seven years have been so psychologically traumatic, and so full of all sorts of outrageous outrages, that humor has been rendered obsolete. If you're not shouting down Gitmo or encasing your Subaru in Obama bumper stickers or holding vigil outside an armed forces recruiting office or boycotting all forms of telecommunications to protest the corporate fat cats who kowtowed to FISA or skull-fucking an Al Gore blowup doll in Arlington Center, then you're letting the fascists win. The populace must be reminded how serious shit is right now. And it's not just enough to recognize the evils around us—they must be conspicuously, continually condemned for the benefit of like-minded thinkers.

The death of humor is nothing a breathlessly earnest Phoenix editorial or 10 can't fix, though. Keep at it, guys. Sooner or later, one of those things is sure to shake the war machine to its fucking core!

Funny still exists, if you know where to look for it. For instance, this month, Vanity Fair columnist Christopher Hitchens allowed himself to be waterboarded. If you thought Hitchens getting his back waxed was funny, just wait till you see him being drowned for withholding state secrets!