Timestamp: [3/4] Sue's Corner
Title: Sue’s Corner
Characters/Pairings: Sue Sylvester, her ego
Word Count: 785
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, AU, no spoilers for Season 2
Summary: Sue’s Corner is now a nationally syndicated newspaper column and, as usual, Sue Sylvester has something to say.
Notes: Newspaper manipulation by firefox1490. This is the third timestamp serving as a coda to my gleebigbang fic here.
Today I woke up, downed my protein shake,1 and switched on my television set as I decided whether I wanted to spend my day hassling wannabe hipsters at the Apple Store across town or devising a better encryption code for the computer file of my award-winning motivational speeches. I had just finished thinking up a stinging insult for the white, balding, pretentiously beat-up-Converse-wearing, thirty-year-old male I was sure to encounter at the Apple Store when the Kit Kat commercial ended and I found myself listening to the brassy broads of The View debate the immorality of the newest contraceptives. Less than three minutes in, I already had a new topic for Sue’s Corner.
Talk shows need to be obliterated, ideally by way of strategically placed fertilizer bombs. I will, however, settle for massive amounts of pink slips. I ask you, America: When has it ever mattered what Joe Sixpack or Sarah Palin’s pet polar bear think about tax breaks for the rich, or the latest celebrity’s fall from grace? Never, that’s when. I am not in the least entertained by scripted rants about the everyday inanities of life.
I find it much more amusing to ridicule the unnatural curliness of the Just For Men Brown© hair that is William Schuester’s.2 At least his hair doesn’t try to dictate what I should listen to or which useless kitchen appliance I should buy.
That said, here are the Top Five Reasons Why Talk Shows are on Sue’s Do Not Approve List™3:
#5: The live performances by overplayed singers are always absolute garbage. This might be due to the fact that they’ve been auto tuning since their first single. Or perhaps they don’t care about talk shows either, and therefore have no motivation to perform any better than abysmally mediocre, in which case I feel a slight kinship with them.
#4: Even though Letterman’s Top Ten List is ghostwritten, it’s still absolute CRAP. If I can write far superior lists from the comfort of my bulletproof trophy room (as evidenced by - in fact - this list), then Too-Busy-Screwing-Temps Letterman really has no excuse.
#3: The random keyboardist in the corner who can only play the same four-chord inversion with anticlimactic drum rolls at the end? And the bald accompanying saxophonists? Unnecessary. I would rather hear doves cry à la The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.
#2: No one wants to watch interviews with B and C-list celebrities who talk too much, as if anyone cares, or interviews with A-list celebrities who recycle the same crap you can read on Wikipedia. Not that anyone bothers to, because no one cares.
#1: Inane debates about the legalization of marijuana, Hugh Jackman’s sexual proclivities, or Cookie Monster’s role in the battle against childhood obesity have never: prompted thoughtful discussions or renewed inspiration to “fight for the right” among any group of viewers. Mostly, those debates make one Sue Sylvester want to chuck the TV out the window, preferably while my kleptomaniacal neighbor is ambling beneath it.
I demand to turn on my television without being confronted by asinine celebrity interviews and recipes for foods that I will never eat.4 Make it happen, ABC, CBS, and even that station that’s always changing its name (WB? CW? WTF?)! Or I will use my far-reaching influence to dramatically reduce your viewership. I once led a successful campaign against PETA and all its pleather-wearing lobbyists; I am not perfectly capable of persuading a few network CEOs to see things my way.
By the way, America (the literate sixty-two percent of you), I decided against both a trip to the Apple store and a good five hours with encryption software on my new Macbook. Instead, I blackmailed my editor5 via twitter.6 Because I want my column to appear the way I wrote it, dammit.
And that’s how Sue C’s It.
**
Sue Sylvester writes from her condo in Boca, where she is a motivational speaker.
___________________
1 See September 25th column for recipe. It's in code, by the way. Good luck with that.
2 Google him. You won't find anything about him, though, because he is a failed performer turned failed Glee club director turned boring husband of a flame-haired elf with eyes the size of my ego. Google me instead.
3 Sue's Do Not Approve List™ currently includes, yes, Will Schuester's hair, bedazzled cheerleading uniforms, Josh Groban, and those eco-friendly SunChips bags that crinkle like hell at the slightest touch, to name a few.
4 I haven't had a solid meal since 1987.
5 He had the gall to suggest I delete my footnotes.
6 His twitter account is @mrRMurphy. Spam him with ED ads. Seeing as Twitter isn't private, his wife probably knows all about our D/s sessions by now. Oops.
[Timestamp #4] >>
Characters/Pairings: Sue Sylvester, her ego
Word Count: 785
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, AU, no spoilers for Season 2
Summary: Sue’s Corner is now a nationally syndicated newspaper column and, as usual, Sue Sylvester has something to say.
Notes: Newspaper manipulation by firefox1490. This is the third timestamp serving as a coda to my gleebigbang fic here.
Today I woke up, downed my protein shake,1 and switched on my television set as I decided whether I wanted to spend my day hassling wannabe hipsters at the Apple Store across town or devising a better encryption code for the computer file of my award-winning motivational speeches. I had just finished thinking up a stinging insult for the white, balding, pretentiously beat-up-Converse-wearing, thirty-year-old male I was sure to encounter at the Apple Store when the Kit Kat commercial ended and I found myself listening to the brassy broads of The View debate the immorality of the newest contraceptives. Less than three minutes in, I already had a new topic for Sue’s Corner.
Talk shows need to be obliterated, ideally by way of strategically placed fertilizer bombs. I will, however, settle for massive amounts of pink slips. I ask you, America: When has it ever mattered what Joe Sixpack or Sarah Palin’s pet polar bear think about tax breaks for the rich, or the latest celebrity’s fall from grace? Never, that’s when. I am not in the least entertained by scripted rants about the everyday inanities of life.
I find it much more amusing to ridicule the unnatural curliness of the Just For Men Brown© hair that is William Schuester’s.2 At least his hair doesn’t try to dictate what I should listen to or which useless kitchen appliance I should buy.
That said, here are the Top Five Reasons Why Talk Shows are on Sue’s Do Not Approve List™3:
#5: The live performances by overplayed singers are always absolute garbage. This might be due to the fact that they’ve been auto tuning since their first single. Or perhaps they don’t care about talk shows either, and therefore have no motivation to perform any better than abysmally mediocre, in which case I feel a slight kinship with them.
#4: Even though Letterman’s Top Ten List is ghostwritten, it’s still absolute CRAP. If I can write far superior lists from the comfort of my bulletproof trophy room (as evidenced by - in fact - this list), then Too-Busy-Screwing-Temps Letterman really has no excuse.
#3: The random keyboardist in the corner who can only play the same four-chord inversion with anticlimactic drum rolls at the end? And the bald accompanying saxophonists? Unnecessary. I would rather hear doves cry à la The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.
#2: No one wants to watch interviews with B and C-list celebrities who talk too much, as if anyone cares, or interviews with A-list celebrities who recycle the same crap you can read on Wikipedia. Not that anyone bothers to, because no one cares.
#1: Inane debates about the legalization of marijuana, Hugh Jackman’s sexual proclivities, or Cookie Monster’s role in the battle against childhood obesity have never: prompted thoughtful discussions or renewed inspiration to “fight for the right” among any group of viewers. Mostly, those debates make one Sue Sylvester want to chuck the TV out the window, preferably while my kleptomaniacal neighbor is ambling beneath it.
I demand to turn on my television without being confronted by asinine celebrity interviews and recipes for foods that I will never eat.4 Make it happen, ABC, CBS, and even that station that’s always changing its name (WB? CW? WTF?)! Or I will use my far-reaching influence to dramatically reduce your viewership. I once led a successful campaign against PETA and all its pleather-wearing lobbyists; I am not perfectly capable of persuading a few network CEOs to see things my way.
By the way, America (the literate sixty-two percent of you), I decided against both a trip to the Apple store and a good five hours with encryption software on my new Macbook. Instead, I blackmailed my editor5 via twitter.6 Because I want my column to appear the way I wrote it, dammit.
And that’s how Sue C’s It.
**
Sue Sylvester writes from her condo in Boca, where she is a motivational speaker.
___________________
1 See September 25th column for recipe. It's in code, by the way. Good luck with that.
2 Google him. You won't find anything about him, though, because he is a failed performer turned failed Glee club director turned boring husband of a flame-haired elf with eyes the size of my ego. Google me instead.
3 Sue's Do Not Approve List™ currently includes, yes, Will Schuester's hair, bedazzled cheerleading uniforms, Josh Groban, and those eco-friendly SunChips bags that crinkle like hell at the slightest touch, to name a few.
4 I haven't had a solid meal since 1987.
5 He had the gall to suggest I delete my footnotes.
6 His twitter account is @mrRMurphy. Spam him with ED ads. Seeing as Twitter isn't private, his wife probably knows all about our D/s sessions by now. Oops.
[Timestamp #4] >>