As the timeline between a pop culture issue and our collective interpretation of said issue hits bedrock, collapsing in upon itself with all of the speed and force of the Titan submersible’s puny carbon hull, one must ask oneself: how long will it take before my brain becomes mush?

Perhaps it is the sips of Heineken I drank from my father’s empty bottles as a toddler catching up with me at last, but my capacity to think critically died upon reading the word “Kenough” on the official social media channel of a former presidential candidate. 

This is nothing to mention of the film’s numerous other breakout stars. What says the Academy of the cunty 14-year-olds who caused Barbie to self-examine her fascist tendencies? The all-star cast of Kens, who were chosen solely on their ability to fulfill Greta Gerwig’s desire to participate in a sexually-ambiguous blunt rotation? Danny DeVito’s wife?

If we had simply given Greta the Oscar for directing a historic film crucial to the development of White Catholic suburban schoolgirls with religious trauma, maybe this never would have happened.

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xoxo Roger Ebert

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