If the award isn’t insertable then I don’t want it.

The Grammys, like Mackelmore, have convinced me that it gets worse.  Year after year the nation is forced to endure the hard, jaundiced turd that is the annual Grammys awards.  It just seems to get more and more painful with each passing year and, no matter how high they suspend P!nk, there is never any break in the annual tedium. 

The Grammys is perhaps mankind’s least convincing argument for existing.  What can be said of an industry show that lauds its least talented artists while systematically ignoring nearly anyone dedicated to their craft?  Anyone who does not live under a rock with their eyes blindfolded and ears plugged hears and sees Beyoncé and P!nk and every other Top 40 robot on an endless loop.  What conceivable need is there to see them yet again warble out their overplayed hits?  Why do people watch this?  Won’t someone staunch the bleeding?

This year’s labored stunt was the gigantic gay wedding orgy during Macklemore’s “Same Love,” a song only modestly less irritating than “Born This Way.”  Encrusted and irritable as I am, I would actually like one of these gay pride songs were it sung by a real live gay person.  It is an utter tragedy that the gay community is so culturally impoverished that we must rely on straight people to write our gay pride anthems for us.  It’s strange that, not only do people get away with this, gay people line up to support these people and buy their shitty music.  And put them on the cover of ours magazines.  But at least I wasn’t the most embittered queen this year, that award goes to Mimi Imfurst:

”New rule: If you are going to officiate a mass gay wedding on television, You can’t stay in the closet to protect your television career.”

Ouch.  Sorry, Khadijah.

What fuckery will The Grammys hand us next year?  The Grammy committee could salvage some modicum of dignity if they handed out a lifetime achievement award to Britney Spears for her contributions to the art of lip syncing, but I doubt they would ever dare do something so entertaining.  They should listen to me, though; when the most interesting part of the evening was beholding Madonna’s latest Colonel Sanders image reinvention, then you know your show’s got problems.

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