Wednesday, June 30, 2010
A heartfelt congratulations to Ms. Sunderland. We can surmise from all the interviews and recent press that you have successfully circumnavigated the globe, you modern day female Magellan. But hold the horses.....you sailed directly into notoriously dangerous waters in the southern Indian Ocean, your mast was owned by the badass waves that every mariner with half a dick knows to exist in those very waters at that time of the year, hit the panic buttons with much aggression, were located by an Aussie aircraft, then French sailors had to navigate into these same dangerous waters and risk their lives to rescue your narcissistic, attention-whore ass from your monumental failure. I'm sure that Australian taxpayer money had nothing else to do, like help some Aborigines maintain their alcoholism or save some kangaroos from some crocodiles. And I know the French mariners were totally amped about risking their lives to save some American dipshit with her own yacht (a yacht that had no back-up mast, mind you), rather than head home to pound wine with their kids, watch some Jerry Lewis, view their soccer team crybaby their way out of the World Cup and surrender some land to the Germans. In the end you got what you wanted-a shit ton of attention and adulation from pussy media types. And why the attention for such a failure? Shouldn't they be worried about......wait a second....you don't suck. I suck. I'm sitting here with my dick in my hand whilst you've just masterminded a plot to make yourself a multi-millionaire before your 17th birthday. You parlayed your yacht, your attention-seeking family, your shitty survival skills and your recklessness into a best-selling book. It doesn't matter you FAILED. Some low-skilled author is going to write your unreadable story (sorry, Jon Krakauer isn't writing your shit unless you succeed or die), the marketing geniuses at Big Publishing House Inc are going to sell the fuck out of your book to the barely-literate segment of the reading populace where your tale of unprecedented selfish recklessness will inspire Ronald in Spokane to finally organize that Accounts Receivable file cabinet, and Emma in Orlando to smoke that hot senior Mike's pole because, you know, carpe diem! Abby is laughing all the way to the bank. In the end it doesn't matter who succeeded, who failed, who saved who's ass, who inspired some dumb ass to copycat the whole stunt and actually die. All that matters is gettin' paid, bitch. Huzzah, Abby!