Free will is an illusion.
We are all just mindless lemmings death-marching to the bedazzled beat of a limited-edition Kardashian drum. Our wills are simply not of our own making, but merely a cog in the wheel of Caitlyn’s totaled SUV.
Excuse me while I descend from an elevated area and curl up in a ball to avoid getting struck by lightning.
It took rock star Travis Barker just two short months of dating Kourtney to fall under the Kardashian spell so possessively, he etched her name on her torso.
(Meanwhile, I just got in trouble for not posting an Instagram photo to commemorate my wife’s birthday).
1990s Punk Rock: Doing blow off a stranger’s sex organs.
2021 Punk Rock:
I’m totally here for the Punk Rock Emotionally Vulnerable re-brand, but I draw the line at normalizing opening car doors for loved ones. Impractical and inefficient.
No one holds Travis Barker in higher esteem than I and I genuinely hope he and Kourtney achieve mutual fulfillment in one another, but I can’t shake the image of Kourtney holding the controls and guiding a dead-eyed Barker into the tattoo parlor to shorten the shelf-life of the Kim becoming a billionaire news.
We are all mere puppets. Even our idols.