Just this past weekend, American Hero Neil Armstrong passed away because of cardiac complications. First JFK and now this (#damncommies)! I’m waiting to hear what sort of conspiracy theories stem from this. But the overshadowing news of this weekend, and even before any conspiracy theories can be surfaced, we hear that Snooki’s baby was born. That’s right folks, the death of the first man to land on the moon was pushed aside and replaced by full time coverage of a Legal Alcoholic giving birth to another average to below citizen. Priorities of the 24 hour news media lies in the ordinary, and lets the extraordinary slip by (#huzzahfoxnews).
It is true that the priorities of this generation no longer in achieving greatness through hard-work, dedication and sheer testament of the Human will, but in an elevated sense of pride, shamelessness and vodka tonics. Mr. Armstrong was a navy pilot turned astronaut that landed on the moon. Upon his return he was a hero and a community leader. He never rubbed his status in anyone’s face. Snooki on the other hand is mediocre person that accidentally got a free trip to Italy, and ruined international relations with that country. Her friends bring shame to the once vast and mighty Roman Empire and the ruthless lead of Bobby DeNiro in the film, Casino. Because of them we no longer look at the Italian community for its art, history, mafia and food, but now for its blatant alcoholism and sexcapades. Although to be fair, Silivio Berlesconi was already doing most of what is done on the Jersey Shore, just going to show even in their debauchery, they weren’t first.
Mr. Armstrong was a private man that kept to himself; he wasn’t one of those people who enjoyed making a spectacle of himself. He wanted to live out his days a deputy of Aeronautical Engineering at the University of Cincinnati. Snooki on the other hand craves attention like a Meth addict craves a hug and teeth! From getting arrested on the beach to the aforementioned destruction of Italian-American relations, the crew’s job is to make a spectacle of themselves and perhaps let the world know, “Hey world, we know some of you can’t eat or anything or you’re a struggling immigrant, but look we have enough money make fools ourselves and bail!”
The youth of this generation keep looking up the mediocre folk as extraordinary folk, and strive for nothing. In fifth grade we had a write an essay called “What do you want to be when you grow up”, and because of people like Mr. Neil Armstrong, we would write “Astronaut”, “Fireman”, “Engineer” and so on. Today our youth writes “Drunk”, “Spin Doctors”, “Being Cute”, “Marry Rich”, “Housewife of Some 2nd or 3rd Tier City” and “Meatball”. I was talking to my girlfriend’s dad about Mr. Armstrong’s passing and mentioned Snooki’s spawn, and my girlfriend’s 16-year old sister goes “Wait, what happened?” So we mentioned the American hero that passed away only have her say “Yeah, yeah, that’s sad. What about Snooki’s baby? Is it okay? What color is it?” It’s orange like the Lorax and its mother!
But then again, the birth of Snooki’s kid could be what the Mayans were talking about, which would warrant the high level news coverage. We are very close to the date of all dates, and this kid was born close to 4 months before that date. If we learned anything from the Omen, 4 months is when Hell spawns discover their powers and that Julia Stiles isn’t meant for horror flicks.
We should be spending more time celebrating the life of an American Hero, who with the help of some equally talented folks, made to the Moon! How many people can make that claim? How many people can make the claim that they had a baby (#mymomx2)? I don’t think we should be celebrating something a lot of people do, like giving birth to another person that will work in a cubicle; we should be celebrating the achievements of Mr. Armstrong. Then again to play devil’s advocate (read last paragraph) (#Pachino), this kid could grow up to be the first man on Mars, and then destroy the planet with fist bumps and vodka, to continue the legacy of its mother.