Yoohoo must still be reeling

*Blows horn* *shoots confetti cannon* Happy New Year, dearest Filthy Dreams readers! Crack open some champagne and come up with a fresh way to act truly unhinged in public! That’s right–2022 was the year everyone fully lost their minds. Oh sure, it was a long time coming. 2016 was the start of collective mental deterioration, but it just kept spiraling through a pandemic. And now that we’re on the other side–or heading towards a tripledemic, if you prefer, every single person seems to have gone fully foaming-at-the-mouth batshit crazy.

I mean, just think about some of 2022 memorable moments. Elon Musk replaced Trump as the boogieman for a certain Internet-inhabiting contingent of the left. Rudy Giuliani sang “Bad to the Bone” on prime-time television. Trump spent most of the year as the resident Mar-A-Lago DJ, spinning the same ten songs over and over. There were stabbings inside MoMA and Times Square Dave and Busters over raffle prizes, the latter of which is, of course, more understandable. Christina Aguilera appeared onstage at LA Pride in a Hulk costume fitted with a giant green dildo. And social media was perpetually aflame with weekly–or daily–controversies: is Dahmer–Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story glorifying a serial killer? Is Blonde exploiting Marilyn Monroe’s legacy? Is homophobia why nobody wanted to see professional irritant Billy Eichner’s gay romantic comedy Bros? And who the HELL thought it was a good idea to put Brendan Fraser in a fat suit for The Whale?

Though cultural controversies are fun for voyeuristic gawking and distant judgment, nothing was as pure 2022 as the dissolution of the–not just American, but global–dream, the dream crypto and NFTs. If you’ll remember our Fanatical Superlatives of 2021, we opened our list with our favorite NFT, Tim Dillon’s “Daddy,” as NFTs were hitting their peak popularity. In the first month of 2022, we saw Paris Hilton and other celebrities hocking what was set to be the biggest artistic movement of the 21st Century, Bored Apes. Yet, by the end of 2022, these same celebrities were named in a class-action lawsuit alleging they wrongly inflated the price and importance of Bored Apes. Whoopsie! From FTX and Sam Bankman-Fried’s Bahamas Ponzi scheme polycule to the Winklevoss Twins yelling, “Fuck you! I won’t do what you tell me!,” covering Rage Against the Machine only months before, caught up in the FTX shit show, clients on their platform would be owed $900 million, crypto had a year.

A year that culminated in a *MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT*: Trump’s set of 45,000 Trump Cards, NFTs featuring the man himself as a sheriff in the vast landscape of the Brokeback Mountain West, holding a rifle like the lost member of Duck Dynasty, and in a Santa hat in Melania’s haunted Christmas forest. If that weren’t enough, he also offered some sweepstakes: prizes that ranged from a Zoom call with the former President to a dinner with the selling point, “Music played throughout the evening.” Sign me up! And yet, this was a final straw for a lot of MAGA fanatics. Why? It’s not as if slapping his image on the cheesiest brand deals possible wasn’t how he wedged himself into the American consciousness. Regardless, it was a fitting end to the crypto comedown and a year of collective derangement.

As lovers of extremity and demented behavior, it wouldn’t be right to just send this year off without our list of favorites. So put on your party hats, your Balenciaga gimp hoodies, or your grinning Grabber mask, sip some bubbly, and let’s take a look back at some of 2022’s Bests:

Dream team!

Most 2022 Moment of 2022: Ye on Infowars

No, I didn’t watch The White Lotus. No, I didn’t watch Euphoria. I didn’t watch Wednesday Addams. I didn’t even watch The Watcher, despite feeling as if I sat in front of a whole lot of Ryan Murphy productions this year. I did, however, watch almost all three-plus hours of Ye, formerly known as Kanye West, on Infowars, waxing poetic about Hitler to the dismay of sudden straight man, Alex Jones. Not only was this the must-see TV/streaming/exiled media moment of 2022, it just may have been the most 2022 moment of 2022, the pinnacle of public unraveling.

To understand Ye’s disgraced entrance to the Infowars Universe, the bizarro Marvel Universe of conservative media, we should probably retrace Ye’s steps in his Dante-esque journey through the circles of right-winger Hell. It all starts with Candace Owens, a White Lives Matter T-shirt, and a dream. A dream that she and her husband, Parler CEO George Farmer, could find a buyer for his increasingly defunct social media company. That dream got erased, along with apparently billions after Ye went full Yitler and threatened to go “death con three on the Jews,” picking up ex-gay grifter and Virgin Mary statue salesman Milo Yiannopoulos and little Nazi dweeb Nick Fuentes along the way. This started a round of media appearances, from Chris Cuomo to Tim Pool, all with the intent of certainly not exploiting a potentially devolving mentally ill man for ratings, but to, as VICE and Proud Boy founder Gavin McInnes termed it, “save” Ye from his antisemitism. Though every podcaster and interviewer had their own motivations, the purest probably being Lex Fridman who did genuinely try to get through to Ye but failed like the rest, each new appearance saw Ye digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole, reaching farther and farther into Naz-Ye territory.

And then, he hit Infowars. Now, dearest Filthy Dreams readers, I had predicted this appearance all the way back with the White Lives Matter T-shirt. I knew this moving trainwreck was heading straight for Austin, Texas and eventually Ye Force vitamins being sold on the Infowars store. But, little did I know that it would be even more head-spinning than anticipated as Ye shocked even resident madman Alex Jones by declaring his love for Hitler repeatedly, waving around a net and a bottle of Yoo-hoo to taunt Netanyahu and the Mossad, and reciting maniacal prayers, all while wearing a Balenciaga “gimp mask” as Jones keeps calling it. At some point, botched fillers victim and continual Congressional candidate Laura Loomer and Stop The Steal nut Ali Alexander were thrown into the mix. It was so surreal that I kept wondering afterward if I hallucinated the whole thing. But apparently not, since I keep seeing Alex Jones on his own show and others attempting to make up for his dumbfounded slack-jawed response to Ye by screaming, “BURN IN HELL HITLER!” and “I HATE HITLER!” Yes, in just a few hours, Ye made the man who owes over a billion dollars for vile conspiracies about Sandy Hook look, in comparison, relatively normal. A stunning and unforgettable achievement.

From here to eternity: a baptism at the Reawaken America Tour in Batavia, NY (Associated Press, 2022)

Best Photograph of America: Baptism at the ReAwaken America Tour (Associated Press/Carolyn Kaster)

Best Celebrity Photoshoot: Azealia Banks for Interview Magazine

Ever since Brant Publications, owned by Trump buddy Peter Brant, screwed over a bunch of unpaid freelancers by tanking Interview Magazine, declaring bankruptcy, and then launching it all over again, I’ve tried to avoid the publication. Even when it featured Lana in her mesh mask. Solidarity with other freelancers, right? Sometimes we all have to make exceptions. And in this case, this exception comes because of a singularly memorable photoshoot in tribute to Azealia Banks’s most famous song “212,” a song that earned me a scoff from a ticket-taker at AB’s Central Park SummerStage concert this year when I said it was my favorite Azealia song. Come on, dude. It’s an NYC classic, as important as “New York, New York” in my mind. *Ahem* Anyway, “212” was the inspiration behind the most berzerk photoshoot I’ve ever seen, which included Azealia, bald, throwing a knife at the camera and THIS image. Here, Azealia splashes white wine (Is it Chardonnay or Reisling?! Inquiring minds must know!) at the photographer, while pantsless, as if she’s squirting or pissing into the lens. “This is actually iconic…Butthole and all,” Azealia wrote on her Instagram story. She isn’t wrong.

Best (Hopefully) Unintentionally(?) Homophobic Movie Villain: Black Phone’s The Grabber (Ethan Hawke)

As should be obvious from the films I tend to review on this website, I’m a fan of horror. Hell. Pearl is my favorite film of the year and I even hopped across the Atlantic to see The Horror Show!, a group exhibition at London’s Somerset House that analyzes the last 50 years of British culture through the lens of horror (review to come in 2023!). Yet, despite loving horror, I’ll even admit that most horror is garbage. Case in point: the box office smash hit Black Phone, which I watched on my return flight after seeing the aforementioned Horror Show. Rounding out the last two hours on the plane, I was too antsy to fully pay attention, but I gleaned a few things when not willing the plane to fly faster: First, the film was unbelievably, hilariously bad, answering the question: What would happen if director Scott Derrickson combined the public’s love of Netflix’s Stranger Things and calling people “groomers” on the Internet? And secondly, star Ethan Hawke played the aptly and imaginatively named killer, The Grabber, as swish as Truman Capote. One of the first things we hear him say is: “Well, isn’t that just peachy keen?!” Why do actors equate evilness with flamingly femme affectations? Hawke is certainly not alone in this impulse. Joaquin Phoenix also fell victim to it in the final scenes of Joker (“Murrayyyyy”). But, Hawke takes it one step further with The Grabber, spending most of the film in various masks watching young boys sleep (“I just wanted to look at you”) and sitting shirtless waiting for his victims to play a game “Naughty Boy.” It’s woefully homophobic, which certainly makes you wonder where all the perpetually offended were when it came to this film! Not that I want Black Phone canceled, for the record. It is certainly worth a hate watch and a laugh. “Nighty night, NAUGHTY BOY!”

Best Short Film: Benjamin Roberds’s Your Houseplants Are Screaming

35,000 feet in an airplane is not the only place where I’ve consumed horror on the road in 2022, though. Making the pilgrimage to Montreal in order to see Stranger Than Kindness: The Nick Cave Exhibition, I got wind of the concurrent Fantasia Festival and was lured in, unsurprisingly, by a series of short films named after John Waters’s “Cavalcade of Perversions” from Multiple Maniacs, mostly because the copy read as if I wrote it myself in some sort of Canadian bacon and cheese curd-driven fugue state. Just see for yourselves: “These filmmakers have perverted the cinematic language! They have deconstructed Cinema as we know it… and they’re proud of it! Even better than heroin! Come and see for yourself these ‘little pieces of filth’!” I could swear that was me. As I’ve already mentioned, being a lover of cult-like spiritual excess, I gravitated towards the program A Lewdly Religious Glare, which ranged from caterwauling murderous immortal nuns in the Australian bush in Michael Anthony Kratochvil’s Sweet Mary, Where Did You Go? to a bizarro camp children’s television show The Blood of the Dinosaurs by Joseph Badon. My absolute favorite, however, was already decided by the title alone: Your Houseplants Are Screaming, directed by and starring Benjamin Roberds who plays two different meaty potted flesh plants, a new purchase and a grizzled older plant who acts as the newbie’s guide through their vegetative purgatory. Tended to by *plot twist* a gnarled plant, these two houseplants have howling existential crises as they’re stuck inside a muscle, skin, and bone cavern, in perpetual limbo while alienated from their fellow fleshy forest. With the animation resembling something warped that Cronenberg would have cooked up, Your Houseplants Are Screaming will make you never look at houseplants the same again! Look at your plants! Can you hear their cries?!

Lucien Freud, Girl with a Kitten, 1947, oil on canvas (photo by me)

Best Cat Painting in a 2022 Exhibition: Lucian Freud’s Girl with a Kitten

Look. I know Lucian Freud may not be as up on his head-shrinking as his Grandpappy Sigmund, but I think something is a little off with Girl with a Kitten, on view in London’s National Gallery’s exhibition Lucian Freud: New Perspectives. Despite its title, I’m not really sure how new the new perspectives were at the National Gallery, unless they’re talking about a dour painting of a Rothschild family member and *surprise!* former Chairman of Trustees of the National Gallery. Mostly the Lucian Freud exhibition offered what most Lucian Freud exhibitions offer, large hunks of textured beige flesh, sometimes making up the body of filth elder Leigh Bowery, stripped of his decadent camp costuming. Even as a Bowery fanatic, I was even more besotted with this early painting, Girl with a Kitten, from 1947. A portrait of Freud’s first wife Kathleen Garman, also known as Kitty, this painting is not exactly flattering. Instead, it not-so-subtly gestures towards inner turmoil and a propensity for violence against animals that we all know is a red flag for future serial killing sprees! Witness her bulging dead-eyed sociopathic stare! Gawk at her frizzy uncombed hair! Behold her choking grasp on that poor kitty! Gasp at the pussycat’s deadpan yet panicked expression! I want this painting and I want it now!

Alexander Sharpe Ross, Portrait of Brigid and her sister Richie from “Pie in the Sky”, oil on canvas

Best Auction: The Duchess of Warhol: The Estate of Brigid Berlin

While we’re on the subject of desperately needing art, 2022 also marked the first year I ever submitted a bid to an auction house. And I LOST! I wouldn’t have signed up for DOYLE and received copious mass emails afterward for just anybody. But for pie-binging, pug-loving, tit-painting, amphetamine-shooting, frequently nude, Hearst media empire heiress, Warhol Talker, the B to his A, and filth elder Brigid Berlin I made an exception when her estate went up for sale. Even now that the auction is long over, the archive of lots on DOYLE’s website provides fodder for coveting. What would YOU buy? Her needlepoint pug pillows and shoes? The papier-mache pug masks? A crystal bestowed on Brigid by Warhol in his peak woo-woo phase? A brick, which on immediate glance I mistook for plastic fake Spam, from Warhol’s Factory? A photo of Warhol meeting the Pope? A smattering of John Waters’s Christmas cards? The options are endless! As for me, I bid on this subtly frightening, hilariously conservative, high-society portrait of Brigid and her sister Richie by Alexander Sharpe Ross. Can’t you just imagine their eyes following you around the apartment?! *HARUMPH!* Perhaps my 2023 mission should be finding who won this painting for over 5 grand and stealing it back for its rightful owner–ME!

Best Julee Cruise Album Not By Julee Cruise: Weyes Blood’s And In the Darkness, Hearts Aglow

2022 was a bad year for fans of Twin Peaks’ music. We lost Julee Cruise AND Angelo Badalamenti. *plays “Laura’s Theme” in tribute* Though their losses leave big gaping, tear-stained, torch song holes in our hearts, we can feel secure in the knowledge that their inspiration continues in a whole new generation of dreamy singers that launch us into orbit. In fact, there were a few albums released this year by solo woman singers that certainly bore both Badalamenti and Cruise’s influence, such as Sharon Van Etten’s We’ve Been Going About This All Wrong. But none as much as Weyes Blood’s And In the Darkness, Hearts Aglow, a title that even sounds like something straight from Twin Peaks. The sound certainly fits that title with Weyes Blood’s crystal-clear Karen Carpenter voice soaring on top of layered romantic ambient soundscapes as she sings about mainly alienation and loneliness. The album does start with Weyes Blood describing being alone at a party, wondering if anyone knows her before realizing that “we’ve all become strangers even to ourselves” on “It’s Not Just Me, It’s Everybody.” Some of the more grating jauntier peppy 1970s throwback moments on her previous album Titanic Rising are thankfully absent (except for “Children of the Empire,” which is saved by its delightfully feel-bad lyrics), replaced by hymns like “God Turn Me Into a Flower” and even more so, songs that feel straight from The Roadhouse’s playlist like “Twin Flames” and “Hearts Aglow,” which is reminiscent of Cruise’s 1950s nostalgia “Rockin’ Back Inside My Heart.” My favorite song on the album is “Grapevine,” a very Lana song (Weyes Blood does appear on Lana’s cover of Joni Mitchell’s “For Free” at the end of Chemtrails Over The Country Club) that includes a lost highway invocation of James Dean: “My car broke down in an old ghost town right around where they got James Dean.” I demand a cover of “The Nightingale” in 2023!

That’s wild, man…

Best Podcast Thumbnail: The Joe Rogan Experience with Graham Hancock and Randall Carlson

This year, frustrated with a long-forgotten COVID misinformation-induced Internet fury, that has now been replaced by whatever Elon Musk is doing on Twitter today, I came out as a fan of Joe Rogan, losing more than a few followers in the process. Boo-hoo! However, I’ve never been enough of a Rogan fan that I wanted to get a tattoo of his big meathead face warped into some shroom-induced psychedelia. Unlike, apparently, many of his followers, if Joe’s Instagram posts are to be believed. I never considered a Rogan tattoo until now, that is. This thumbnail for a podcast with living, breathing PSAs against doing too many hallucinogens, Graham Hancock and Randall Carlson, has made me laugh so hard, so often that I want it permanently etched onto my body. Hancock, who publishes an L. Ron Hubbard amount of books like Fingerprints of the Gods and Magicians of the Gods, and Carlson, with his glasses on his head preparing to give an exhausting podcast Powerpoint presentation, just look as if you grabbed two Boomers from Tompkins Square Park and asked them about their theories on the Great Pyramids. In fact, I bet if you did, they’d probably have some doozies about ancient alien technology too! And just look at Rogan’s intense idiotic face. You can just hear the “It’s crazy, man” that’s going to come out of his mouth. A perfect shot.

Best Unexpected YouTuber Bromance: Nikocado Avocado and Oompaville

BRACE BRACE BRACE yourselves–we couldn’t round out a whole year without giving a shout-out to one of our favorite filthiest people alive and ongoing obsessions, YouTube mukbanger Nikocado Avocado. In the past few weeks, Nikocado’s storyline has taken a surprise twist. We’ve now diverged from screaming and crying in drive-thru lines, throwing things at his long-suffering husband Orlin, driving his scooter around Walmarts, or sitting in a barely clothed heap amongst molding piles of KFC on Instagram. Now, Nikocado is providing us with…strangely wholesome friendship? What a world! What a world! Nikocado has recently joined forces with fellow YouTuber Oompaville, otherwise known as Caleb. Caleb, like us, has a strong fixation with Niko, so they eventually met and a bromance was born, birthing numerous videos and a podcast, The D-Fire Podcast. These videos are oddly riveting with the twosome’s captivating and charismatic chemistry that’s impossible to look away from as Nik terrorizes Caleb’s parents’ Texas ranch dressed like a Western Chris Christie, his 400-lb form stuffed in jeans, a button-down shirt, and American flag cowboy boots. Caleb introduces Nik to new things beyond gorging on Taco Bell, such as feeding livestock, scooping horse poo, and shooting guns. Yee-haw! It’s endearing to such a shocking level that those Ashleys in the comments are now rethinking their views on Nik. Just take a gander at some of the YouTube comments for the first episode of the D-Fire Podcast, which notably featured Nik and Caleb gagging while deep-throating their respective microphones: “Nick is actually such a chill guy when he breaks character, super charming guy,” “Nick is so nice and sweet, and seems really well spoken in his “normal personality,” and “When Nik and Caleb aren’t together, I can imagine them both lying on their respective beds kicking their feet and giggling on the phone to each other. Like an 80s teen movie.” It’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever seen one!

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A post shared by Stephania (@stephania_girlcat)

Best New Cat Influencer: Stefania (otherwise known as @stephania_girlcat)

As I’ve previously admitted, the only passion I can muster up about the Russia-Ukraine War mostly has to do with the cats, both domestic and wild, that live on either side of the ongoing conflict. I don’t care about Pooty potentially pooping his pants. Or Zelenskyy’s attention-hogging grip on the spotlight in both the East and West. No. For me, the only beings that should be in front of a camera are felines. One of my most beloved is the cocktail-swilling Stepan, the most famous kitty in Ukraine, an adorable brown tabby who looks like a stuffed animal and imbibes like a seasoned drunk, drifting off to a sea of colorful disco lights. For those of you not following along, Stepan and his mamma escaped Kharkiv for Nice earlier in the year, and while in the South of France, Stepan gained a new buddy and a co-star, a kitten appropriately named Stephania, who looked almost exactly like Stepan. This little feral kitten knew just what she wanted: STARDOM! The crew eventually returned back to war-torn Ukraine with Stephania in tow, ripped from her idyllic Mediterranean paradise and taken to snowy Eastern Europe. Yet, what she lost in climate, she gained in followers as she tussles, fights, slaps, and fawns over her big brother! Now, Stephania isn’t quite as professional as 13-year-old Stepan, frequently licking the condensation on their wine glasses, much to his disdain, but she’ll get there. And I, for that matter, cannot look away!

Who wants seconds?! (Letzte Generation, via Associated Press)

Best Food Thrown On An Artwork: Mashed Potatoes

2022 was the year of strolling surreptitiously into a museum, finding a beloved, crowd-pleasing masterpiece, and then, blasting it with some strange substance, gluing yourself to the wall, and screaming at the top of your lungs about climate change. To protect the environment…or something. Of course, one could spend a whole lot of time questioning the effectiveness of this type of activist gesture by Stop Oil and other assorted environmental activists. What does a museum have to do with climate change, other than perhaps some donors in the oil industry? Why not attack those oil companies directly rather than the long-deceased Van Gogh? Hasn’t he suffered enough? What about the labor of the museum workers that now have to clean up your mess? Isn’t that privileged?! But, why bother lingering too long on these questions? It’s impossible to get through the self-convinced morally righteous anyway no matter how much their protest has lost the plot. Instead, we need to answer a MORE important question: Which one of these liquids unceremonially splattered all over a masterpiece is the best? Let’s look at our options. First, there’s the unidentifiable black oily matter pelted onto a Klimt in Vienna. At least that one is somewhat on theme, unlike the others. Secondly, there’s the classic: the shock of orange tomato soup drenched onto Van Gogh’s Sunflowers at London’s National Gallery. While I do appreciate the Warholian symbolism, my absolute favorite just has to be the mashed potatoes puked up onto Monet’s Grainstacks in Potsdam, Germany. Aren’t mashed potatoes just the most Germanic choice imaginable? They should have battered those haystacks with some bratwurst and spaetzle too! And why are these mashed potatoes so SOUPY? Is it all the butter? Or did something go wrong with their fluffy potato recipe before heading to the museum? And just an unsolicited camp tip: why not play Dee Dee Sharp’s “Mashed Potato Time” as you fling food onto a legendary artwork? Do the twist while glued to the wall! I’m sure even ole Claude could appreciate that. These activists need a lesson in acting bad!

Pure evil

Best Product Placement: Hunts Ketchup in Dahmer–Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story

Speaking of food, product placements can be more than just evidence of a mind unraveling like Ye’s unsolicited Yoohoo! endorsement. In film and television, products can subtly communicate plot points to an audience, particularly an American audience who can only understand symbolism through consumerism. For example, how possibly were we to know serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer was evil in the controversial Netflix series Dahmer–Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story if not for the appearance of a *gasp* bottle of HUNTS KETCHUP in his beer can-strewn, dank, dreary, and dim apartment? Sure, the fridge was full of chopped-up people parts, but somehow this bottle of HUNTS is a more shocking crime against taste! For those of you who weren’t born and raised in Pittsburgh like me, you might be scratching your head and thinking: What’s wrong with Hunts? Isn’t it just ketchup like anything else? What’s the difference? WRONG WRONG WRONG! Hunts Ketchup is the work of the devil! It’s here to tempt you with its disgusting subpar flavor! As a native Pittsburgher, I can say with utmost confidence that if you go into a restaurant and they don’t have Heinz with its 57 varieties, run, don’t walk! Though Monster drummed up a whole lot of controversy about potentially glorifying Dahmer’s murders, necrophilia, and cannibalism, by casting Evan Peters in the title role, all the perpetually outraged should be secure in the knowledge that, of course, we weren’t supposed to like or even empathize with Dahmer. I mean, see?! Hunts!

Act bad, Sam! (via 8NewsNow.com)

Best Crime That Seems Inspired By John Waters: Sam Brinton Stealing Suitcases At Airports A La Liarmouth

John Waters’s siren call to act bad can be extremely convincing. Who hasn’t wanted to experiment with intravenous liquid eyeliner? Or try out Sylvia Stickles’s water bottle trick from A Dirty Shame? Or at the very least, lick all the banisters in your nemesis’s house or apartment building for some saliva-drenched revenge? So when I saw former deputy assistant secretary of The Department of Energy’s Office of Spent Fuel and Waste Disposition, Sam Brinton, who previously made news for being the first non-binary government official, swiping Vera Bradley bags and suitcases in the Minneapolis-St. Paul and Las Vegas airports, I knew exactly who to blame: JOHN and his 2022 novel Liarmouth! Liarmouth, which reportedly is being turned into Waters’s first film since A Dirty Shame, follows pathological liar Marsha Sprinkle on a whirlwind odyssey, which ends with analingus and love (that romantic combo!). But before Sprinkle’s cracked redemption story, we see her doing what she does best: Stealing people’s suitcases at airports! Seriously. “Marsha’s not checking in anywhere except other people’s luggage,” John writes. In fact, John goes into such extensive detail about the best airlines and times to nab luggage that it’s almost impossible to restrain yourself from trying it out at least once! I get it, Sam! For instance, Delta flights are the best “because that airline guarantees the luggage will be delivered to baggage claim in twenty minutes or you get 2,500 bonus Sky miles.” Coach bags are better “because top-tier passengers get down there first and their bags come right away, but coach passengers, emptying overhead bins, bottle-necking behind stroller families and wheelchaired fliers, take forever to deplane and find their way downstairs.” Noted! “By that time, Marsha and their bags are both history,” John quips. Thanks for the tips, John! I wonder if Sam was taking notes for their baggage heist hobby?! Because of this clear Waters influence, I’ve been absolutely tickled by Brinton’s alleged theft. I mean, let them have the suitcases! Crime is beauty, is it not?

Granted, I’m not immune to the klepto draw either. If I saw these two waiting at an airport baggage carousel, I’d snatch those bags as quickly as possible too!

Trump rally today in NC. pic.twitter.com/8tJFVvAAAM

— Ron Filipkowski 🇺🇦 (@RonFilipkowski) April 9, 2022

Best Reason To Live Until 2023: Lana Del Rey’s album Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd. Obviously.

So long 2022!