Hey, remember back the late 80s when Victoria Jackson was on SNL, and people were like, “Aw, she’s a kooky, child-like blonde, that’s kind of a fun shtick.” Fast forward twenty years, and now she’s a 50-year-old woman who wears a pink bow in her hair, and ultra right-wing whack jobs like to poke her with sticks and tell her, “Okay, Victoria, now say Obama is a communist, and try to sound like a drugged-up 7-year-old, people love that.” Point being, she writes a column for Breitbart.com (presumably translated from crayon), and in it, she recently described walking out of Year One in tears.
It was the scene where the obese homosexual is fortune-telling by looking at the bowels of a sheep that has been sodomized by a person. I told myself this was a PG-13 movie and the writers were “lost” so they didn’t know how vulgar they were being. I asked myself, “Vicki, is this movie making you feel good?” Myself replied, “This movie is making me angry, very sad, hopeless, and dirty-feeling.” As the onscreen obese gay man poked at the bloody intestines and told the fifth anal sex joke, I looked at my daughter, and we got up and walked out. I started crying in the parking lot as we walked to our car.
I had almost the same reaction Anal Sex Nurses 23. I asked myself, “Vince, is this movie making you feel good?” And myself replied, “This movie is making me feel good, but also confused, angry, and dirty feeling. I’m about to come but I can’t stop crying. I worry the two might be related. What’s wrong with me?” To which I replied, “You know what’d make you feel better? A cigarette and some ice cream.” And myself said, “Aw, thanks Vince, this is the best birthday ever.”