So I had a whole other thing written for today and then I went to edit it and just fucking hated it. Like, every word of it. So I’m going to complain about rich people again.
Look, rich people suck for a whole lot of reasons and I’ve already gotten into a lot of them, but today I want to complain about, perhaps, the absolute silliest reason they suck:
How Do So Many of Them Not Understand the Met Gala?
I’m just some schlub in shorts and a ratty Panic at the Disco t-shirt I’ve had for almost twenty years that has STAR WARS written on the inside in sharpie because I didn’t have a Star Wars shirt to wear to the premier of The Force Awakens and I wanted one, okay, and even I understand the point of the Met Gala. If you get an invite to the Met Gala it’s not to give you yet another opportunity to look pretty in an evening gown or just, like, the same fucking suit you’d wear to the Oscars. If you’re putting on something that you would wear to literally any other place on the planet you have already failed.
The point of the Met Gala isn’t to look good. It’s to look like a fucked up piece of art.
Like, my God, the absolute audacity of some of these people. Do they know how much money they have? Do they know how much money they have in relation to the rest of us? I honestly don’t think they do. There are so many studies that show once someone has a certain amount of money the fucking brain worms just sort of move on in.
This is barely a parody. They all are so removed from every day life this is the shit that goes on in their heads. They don’t know what things cost. They don’t know what the interior of a grocery store even looks like for Christ’s sake. When’s the last time any of them even saw a public bathroom? This is how you get people spouting of inanities like WE ALL HAVE THE SAME TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. Motherfucker, until you have to ride public transportation every day for work you can sit down and shut the fuck up.
The worst part is they keep thinking they don’t suck. Remember that time all the rich people sang us Imagine from their huge mansions because there had been a pandemic for roughly three minutes and they were all already losing what was left of their minds? Remember how they thought that was a good idea?
What was I talking about?
Oh, yeah.
These people have so much money they don’t even notice the rampant inflation brought on by greedy corporate fuckheads raising prices simply because they can and then they have the fucking gall to show up at the Met Gala wearing a plain dress? A black suit? God damned strings of pearls?? And not even an inappropriate length of pearls! Martha Wayne pearls! Pearls to clutch! What the fucking fuck!
If you’re rich enough and famous enough to be invited to the Metropolitan Galileo or whatever the fuck you can at least have the audacity to understand the assignment, okay? You’re all entertainers, fucking entertain us. This is not every other party you get invited to all year long, mmkay? It’s a fucking fever dream. It’s Halloween sponsored by Prada and Salvador Dali. It’s a fucking Eyes Wide Shut-type orgy with far more cameras but almost the same amount of dick and tits out.
If you show up to the Metty Galipagos and you don’t look like a District 1 citizen pre-gaming the Hunger Games than you should lose any and all awards you have won previously for anything and have your internet privileges taken away for the rest of the year.
…
Anyway, so, like…what do they do after they show off their outfit? Is there a party? Do they go home? Do the cameras leave and then the orgy starts? I would go home. Too many people and I can barely manage one. Sheesh.
High Urban Fantasy Jazz 