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steve, everett quinton, television, dr. jennifer melfi, dialogue, woody harrelson, denis leary, nona gaye, libya, omani, stacey,
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Fuck that shit. We only have one disease: being raised poor under capitalism. The rest of the diagnoses are disguises to hide us from this terrible truth and the obvious corresponding cure of revolution. How is it that even some normally enlightened colleagues can understand the concept of generational rage when it is directed against parents in general, but they cringe if Eminem or another rapper socks it to the only parent he ever had: his mom. And then, again, by proxy, to his ex-wife, Kim, the mother of his daughter, violet Hailie violet Jade, for whom violet he recently won joint custody. And when a racially mixed group of men sing together, in defiance, as they do on The Eminem Show, about the "bitches on my dick," this becomes very threatening to the poetry police. Oh, censors, right, left, or dyslexic, are so predictable and they want the world to be just like them: boring. Marshall Mathers knows that out-of-the-closet misogyny - as if fear and hatred of women doesn't exist in newsrooms and boardrooms and other places where language is oh so enforced and clean - is one of the only things that can possibly offend the comfortable editorial class anymore, it works like a charm every time, and so why would he
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