December. When the country joins hands for a ritual love-in that is promptly forgotten in January. Television is at its most saccharine, news stories are at their most irrelevant, and talking heads in the public eye are at their most transparent. PR departments trot out their parent companies’ most appealing tax write-offs in a race to become caring-green-social brands that give back for you.
That’s not how we do business.
Our thoughts on industrial society and its future have never been positive, but this month we’re dialing the scorn up a notch. Ire Month is dedicated to our hit list, which begins with “Aaron” and ends with “Zack.” To be honest, it may or may not be the United States 2013 census. Consider it a holiday for people that contemplate felonies every time they hear Jingle Bell Rock.
It’s been a few months since I told you that “Positivity is for other people.” For Ire Month, I plan to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt. It begins tomorrow, when I will calmly and rationally explain why the rest of the black community should have lynched Tyler Perry ten years ago and released the footage in major theaters around the world. The creamy filling of Ire Month will be handful of our signature door-stopper essays on why our culture is a sick dog that needs to be taken out back and sent to a nice farm family. Ire Month will end with three essays on what we theoretically learned this year. These three essays will reaffirm our core values of unconditional love, world peace, and mutual respect.
Who knows, I may even drag Deaf Monkey out of his cave long enough for him to contribute something. Fingers crossed. I believe in the power of Ire Month miracles. “Miracle” being a loose interpretation of “blackmail through photos from Atlantic City.” Anything is possible with good timing and a camera phone.
I’m not above contributions from the peanut gallery. If there’s something you’d like addressed during Ire Month, send it my way in the comments or on the Facebook page. Suggestions have a good chance of getting the thousand-word treatment. It’s the closest thing to a gift I’m handing out this year. I’d add e-mail to that list, but I can’t imagine it breaking through the dense wall of spam I delete every morning.
Happy Ire Month. If you don’t have anything nice to say, find a soapbox.
P.S.: Your semi-regularly scheduled comic remixes won’t be interrupted.