Asking stupid questions is an important component of complaining, and Ted was bitching because he had to cancel his latest tour. Now, this was not a tour that real pop stars would go on, in which they filled arenas in state after state. Ted, when he tours, takes a bus to various small-town bars and rodeos, where a few hundred toothless old meth heads gather so they can shout a couple bars of “Cat Scratch Fever” along with the demented has-been. Then they go home and take their chances with a fentanyl overdose.
Ted then added to the present-day’s copious store of irony by catching the ‘rona himself, emerging from a two-week stretch in his sickbed to complain that he thought he was going to die from the virus, apparently expecting sympathy, instead of the derision that he so deservedly got instead.
In other news, scientists flew a helicopter on Mars. Not only did they launch a probe that traveled hundreds of millions of miles to another planet and not miss it, they landed it softly on that other world and launched a helicopter from its surface, the better to find out if life once existed there and if humans could one day live there, too. Although why we would want to is not clear, but getting away from Ted Nugent might be one possible motivation.
It’s enough to make you wonder if these accomplished engineers and scribbleheads like the Nuge belong to the same species, which is ours. Oddly enough, the answer is yes, and, once again dipping into our brimming irony bucket, the reason we can answer in the affirmative is that science tells us so.
One of the definitions of a species is that any two opposite-gender members of it can mate and produce viable offspring, and while Ted, his sperm addled by seventy years of loud music and poisoned by the Nuge-man’s constant inhalation of gunshot residues, might not be capable of fathering a child now, he might still be, and if he mated with a brilliant young female engineer, after a few minutes of the horror of having sex with Ted, that scientist might very well find herself pregnant by the composer of ‘Yank Me, Crank Me’.
The offspring of a NASA genius and a man who writes songs about handjobs might be an odd child indeed, perhaps a young man that dreams of going to other planets and sampling the poontang there, but he would be unquestionably human.
As are the scientists who rendezvoused with an asteroid last year, and the doctors who made the shot that went into my arm and made me confident I can go to Mexico next weekend without getting sick. Equally homo sapien are the people who think Bill Gates wants to plant a microchip in their plump asses and that dinosaurs are mythical creatures invented by Satan to promote the Dark One’s lie of evolution. We’re all part of the human family.
It’s pretty fucking depressing, when you think about it.