In a more civilized society, child actors would be disappeared at age eighteen, or earlier if they start declaring their pronouns while still in fake online high school. I’m not suggesting murder. I’m good with whatever we arrive at as the humane forever isn’t coming back solution. Their parasitic stage parents could still live off the posthumous syndication money. The devil must get his due for any plan to succeed. See Covid lockdowns, for instance.
Alyssa Milano is forty-eight, but it feels like she’s been haunting this planet since before man walked upright. We’ll probably go back to hunching before she leaves. Outside of some late-night Cinemax movies, she’s managed to avoid most of the deadlier pitfalls of former childhood stars. The classics like drug addiction, anorexia, suicide, bank robbery, three to five divorces, and balling on Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab show. Milano opted for obnoxious social commentator with a side order of pretending to be a harried working mother. Like a double major. But for dumb people.
It’s a fascinating turn for wealthy white women to play victim, but really it’s a matter of hitting your marks on outing other bogeymen greater than yourself. Mussolini’s last words before public square death were something along the lines of, “What about Hitler, now that guy was really bad.” It didn’t work then, but it works crazy well now. If you publicly disavowed Trump during his time in office, you could feed kittens to snakes on live streams and still receive adulation from coastal white women even crazier than yourself. The bottom of the crazy woman well has yet to be reached.
Milano’s glommed onto the mommy victim classics, diving especially deep into the omnipresent breastfeeding shamers. You know, those randoms who see women breastfeeding in public and decide to beat them with tied-up bundles of reeds from the Tiber River. Her straw men are mostly women, but details are not really relevant to the oppression schematics. If you smile when you tell slow people invented facts, you’re solid. Doubly so if they believe Tony Danza is your real dad.
Milano has now decided she wants to run for Congress. Her fans think this is great. Her fans also think soup gets into cans via magic. If you want to hear them sing, ask them to tell you the letters of the alphabet. If you tie their shoelaces together, you can come back six months later and their picked-over corpses will be standing there. You get the point. If not, read her fans on social media. Low IQ people are drawn to one another like idiot magnets. Archimedes wrote about this in the bathtub.
Milano’s plans should she win the seat in her all-white district are to thank black people for their support. I think she also wants to take guns away from people not on her private security detail and tax people living off old wealth not named Alyssa. The woman has ideas. Short, small, simple ones.
Milano wouldn’t be the first person without an accomplishment in their adult lives to be in Congress. In fact, that’s most of Congress. It’s like every used car dealership in the country sent its lowest-performing grifters to D.C. and gave them official stationery. Every nation has its system of governance. The Mayans believed the sun decided public policy. We’ve decided on something more practical for corporate bribery loops.
It’s unclear if Milano can purchase a win or merely take the seat through sheer force of social media virtue signaling. Probably a combination. This could set a horrible precedent for former child stars to seek higher office. Demi Lovato’s going to reload the meth funnel when she realizes she could’ve been an ambassador or Secretary of the Post Office or something. Long live stupid people. Man they never go away.
