Hot Take Thursday – July 9th

9 Jul

To follow Satirical Thoughts, hit us up on Twitter (fifteen followers, and I nearly know them all) and Facebook.  

We have one goal at Satirical Thoughts and that’s to find out what you like and tell you why that makes you a horrible person.  I’ve realized this is my destiny since I was fifteen and just decided not to watch Breaking Bad because everyone else was talking about it and I wanted to spite them.  Yes, I am petty enough that I will silently protest something and only harm myself from having enjoyment.

Breaking Bad is now my favorite show ever.

But we have some takes today folks.  We have new guest stars (and soon to be more!) and we tackle everything from Jon Stewart, to country bars to the beach and first fucking dates.  I know you guys want your takes, like how a grandmother loves scratch offs and swap meets, so let’s get it on.

I Hate Jon Stewart

Fuck Jon Stewart.  I’ve been saying this for at least three years and each moment that passes, I mean it more and more.

I’m politically inclined, hell I even had a blog that had zero personality in it that catered around political campaigns, and I tend to agree with nearly everything Jon Stewart says.  He’s funny, engaging and has great writers.  I can’t deny that.

But have you ever seen a more cocky and condescending motherfucker than Jon Stewart?  This jamoke gets treated like a godsend amongst your “everything is just corrupt man” friends who vote and get outraged at Republican hot takes.  Do you know what Jon Stewart was before the Daily Show?  The asswipe starred in romantic comedies and was like a JV version of Hugh Grant!  He would’ve been a subplot in Love Actually and probably would’ve seen a revival of his MTV show.

What gets me though is how he’s treated like some intelligent prognosticator.  This guy isn’t “badass” for going on Crossfire on CNN and calling them out, that’s like someone calling out First Take; its such low-hanging fruit that it is just too easy to do.  Bill O’Reilly looks down in the shower and giggles and that’s pretty much his show.  Jon Stewart making fun of Donald Trump?  These are Level 1 Crash Bandicoot, jump on the box, villains.  The Mad Money guy?  Seriously?  Olbermann, Oliver and Colbert could all have done it better.

Remember that bullshit rally with his funnier counterpart?  “Yeah man, both sides do it!”, the rally that thwarted young progressivism by doing the “goes both ways” schtick.

And if you call him out.  He does that little paper realignment thing, and arches his head back and plays that “I’m just a comedian” card.  Fuck Jon Stewart.

But enough about smirking comedians in the 11pm timeslot, let’s go to TJ (@CirqueduSoulay) who rallies against “country bars” where they pronounce Jesus as Dale Earnhardt.

Let’s talk about country bars, shall we? Thesis: Country bars were put on this earth as glorified costume parties for boot-licking Darren Wilson apologists who proudly fly their Confederate flag on their shit-ass trucks. They sell alcohol so that’s ok, but they’re mostly really bad!

Let’s start with the fun extracurricular: LINE DANCING. Witnessing line dancing in person might be funnier than a new Louis CK special. (While we’re here, Kevin Hart is awful, and the more you laugh at him, the more he sticks around, and the more I get mad.) A bunch of drunk white people just admitting they can’t dance for shit on their own, so they have choreographed steps mapped out for them like a treasure hunt so it gives the appearance of a dance. Baby steps, white people. Baby steps. One day we’ll get there.
Every country bar has the following consecutive songs: Electric Slide, Cupid Shuffle, Wobble. These Anglos LOSE THEIR MIND to these tracks. It’s downright fascinating; it’s like the bar understands they need to break up the “lost my dog in a fire but I drive yourrrr truckkkkk” monotony, but doesn’t know literally any other tracks. I’ll be the first to boogey to the Cupid Shuffle (HOT TAKE: Perfectly acceptable dance song), and I guess Wobble borderlines on okay, but these are the only non-countryish songs you’ll hear all night. You can’t burn your three lefty specialists in succession like that, country bar!  That’s poor hustle.
The bartenders are obnoxious and awful. Have you ever seen the episode of Sunny where they go to Sudz? They try SO HARD. I walked in and the bartender immediately yelled to me:
“HEY YOU! You look thirsty, buddy! What can I get you?”
*Looks around, gets pissed when I realize I’m being called “buddy”. Mutters to self “well, I guess am thirsty…”*
I ask, “Ummm…what do you recommend?”
That’s the question I always like to ask when going to a new bar, just to see what type of specials they have and whatnot. Usually, I’ll get offered a special on beer (assorted Mexican swill for $3!) or a particular drink/shot (killer kamikazes for $4, breh!).
“You look like you want a Long Island Iced Tea.”
I have never looked like I wanted nor actually desired a Long Island Iced Tea. And then my face did the sunglasses emoji I realized the initials were LIIT.  I accepted his offer, gave him my dollars and then…
I thought Joey Crawford hopped behind the bar to call me for a charge, but to my dismay, this was simply not the case. The bartender blew a whistle about five feet away from me to celebrate the dollar and change I left him for my LIIT. This whistle went off just about every time they got a tip.  It felt like I was trying to cross Comm Ave next to multiple traffic cops instead of waiting for a drink. Future proprietors: Do not allow this tomfoolery.
Unfortunately, unlike Sudz, this place was not better than an orgasm. Essentially, this bar was the SoCal version of the infamous UConn bar Huskies. That is not a compliment.
Also, cowboy hats are the snapbacks of country bars; if I see you wearing one, there’s a zero percent chance I’ll want to meet you or hear a word you have to say. Cowboy boots are whimsical, mainly because I can’t take you seriously if I mistake the sound of your footsteps for a woman in wedges.
Last time I went to a kunnnnntreeeee bar, some female strutting by, who was wearing cowboy boots that apparently didn’t fit her all that well, fell into my slouching elbow at my table. In the midst of her collapse, she dropped her PBR tall can, because, what else is she going to drink? I immediately called her Ginobili flop and gave her a measly $2 and let her boyfriend buy her new drink.
You may say “teej, I think you just had one bad experience.”  And I say, no, you’re the most wrong person. There are many niche bars out there; why waste your time and money at a dumpy place like this, with garbage people listening and dancing to garbage music?
In conclusion, don’t go to country bars unless you’re already quite inebriated, or you’re with your special significant other.  Then, you’ll at least have an excuse.
Ayyyy what did PBR do to you?  But straight fire.  Cloyd Rivers parody accounts beware.  Satirical Thoughts would like to introduce Brynne (@BrynneWHO) who tackles First Dates.  This is historic as she is our first female taker.   

I’m a cognitive scientist, and this guy eight years my senior took me to Perkins, and made up that he was writing a murder mystery about amnesia to impress me (aka get laid aka he obviously did not because PERKINS OMG ARE YOU SERIOUS).

I was mostly not impressed that he took me to Perkins, but also really not impressed when I watched Memento a year later and connected the dots.

I’m a vegetarian and one time my cousin set me up with this guy who turned out to be a butcher.

When I still lived in Philadelphia. I went on a coffee date with this guy, and I was really excited about it because I was trying to get over this other guy that I had recently dated who seemed so nice and intelligent but then actually turned about to be a relatively well connected drug dealer. Anyway, I go on a coffee date and the guy seems really nice and then all of a sudden out of nowhere he won’t stop talking about how passionate he is about break dancing.

The problem with first dates is that they are not romantic, they are just really really awkward, like romantic comedies only the laugh track fails to come on when your date fails to leave your apartment since, after all he did pay for two WHOLE rolls of sushi like one cultured, polite motherfucker. If we could bypass them but then also not fall into this terrible hook-up culture limbo where I have to let you do terrible dirty things to me on your beck and call but then also disappear the second I mention the existence of your mom and somehow this is what’s normal, I think the whole world would benefit. The best “first date” I’ve ever been on consisted of the guy making me a stir-fry (note: NOT a bitch artisan salad. I’m a vegetarian, not a delicate little fawn, have some goddamn respect already) and us sitting on the couch for five hours (my other favorite activity besides eating). We had already played beer pong at a competition at a bar two days before and drank after closing time (third favorite activity, OBVIOUSLY) in the back of the running store he worked in. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even wear makeup, and his mom accidentally showed up during our “date”, and it was still better than any first date I’ve ever been on.

We also have been together for 2 years and now live together.

The worst part is his best friend is the break dancer.

PERKINS?  The first part of Brynne’s take is being used next week so expect more fire.  But let’s talk about beaches and who else but Jamil (@Jamil_SF) to bring it home.

Summers used to be very fye. There was nothing better than sprinting out of the building on the last day of school to kick off 3 straight months without class and without weak school lunches of pizza and peaches and corn and milk. Disgusting. Summers are a bit different as an adult. You work straight through the hottest months of the year (but at least I can choose what I want to eat now).

I get off the train and walk to my office and need to change clothes as soon as I get in from all the sweat. I look like Patrick Ewing at the free throw line before 10am. Casual Fridays consists of me rocking an NBA headband and color-coordinated shooting sleeves. Another overrated part of summer is the most symbolic summer destination: Beaches.

Before you come after me with pitchforks, just think about everything terrible about the beach vs. everything “good.” It’s hot as fuck. There’s no “going inside” when you get tired of it. There’s loud kids running around off their leashes. Sand is terrible. The ocean is filthy and it just so happens to be the living quarters of real creatures that can bite, sting, envelop, and kill you all before you can shout “Marco Polo.” Yes, the sound of the water and the breeze is soothing, but so is this “ocean sounds” app on my phone I can listen to in bed with the A/C on. Also dolphins rape people.

I love Hot Take Thursday.


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