Hey, let’s whine about the rich-ish and famous-ish.
Kelly Oxford is a Twitter personality (this is a thing DWI), screenwriter, and freshly New York Times bestsold author.
I don’t follow her Twitter account where she gained her fame as a mean mommy who might make you laugh, cringe, or wag a finger. I do follow her on Instagram where she posts pictures of her kids looking surly and lots of handbags and jewelry that I can’t afford. I like all of these things, particularly kids looking surly.
She recently posted this image and comment:
Before I continue, I should disclose that I am one of those people out there getting offended by things on the internet. I know! Go suck an egg already! But on the scale of being offended by things on the internet with 1 being “bored by this donkey porn” and 10 being “Southern Baptist youtube commenter” I’m somewhere safely in the middle covering my eyes, muttering about hurt feelings.
Sure, I probably wouldn’t call anyone a fat bastard except myself, after I’ve eaten a frozen pizza with macaroni and cheese on top, or a slab of lasagna between two pieces of white bread, but the name-calling isn’t really why this picture bothers me.
K.O. posted this on her return home from a vacation during which she and her family and guests (and fuckall if I know, Pope Frank?) flew in a private plane.
I posted this comment:
“Litter from a minivan! 😦 Not quite on par with the carbon emissions from a private plane but, you’re right, these people must be terrible.”
Soon enough she deleted it. I posted it again, she deleted it. Fine. She can do as she pleases with her comments. Though you’d think while she’s doling out fat-bastards, she could take a little something herself.
How do I feel about private planes? They are obnoxious and most likely unjustifiable earth-warming machines. Would I refuse to get on one out of principle? I don’t know. No one’s ever asked me. Beyoncé? Are you there?
I can’t tell anyone how to spend their money. I can’t claim to be a model citizen of planet Earth. One of my favorite pastimes is to kill half a tank of gas by driving aimlessly around my hometown, drinking an iced coffee from McDonald’s, listening to Top 40 radio. I’m part of the problem, too. All I can say is a little thoughtfulness and self-reflection never hurt a thing.
If you’re chartering private planes, if you’re living in a glass house in Los Angeles and throwing stones at minivan-driving middle America, well. Go suck an egg.
Stuff about things:
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