Good morning, everybody, rise and grind.

It's 7.58 a.m. on a.m. on a Saturday morning, a brisk Saturday morning. I already turned my episode in, but I woke up

feeling a little extra zesty. And I was trying to scream at Andrew's corpse-like body next to me,

just like my grievances about the world and social media. And she doesn't really care. So I had no

choice but to saunter over to my computer and

scream into a microphone. Early morning, she wakes up with a night. Why does she cry? I'll tell you why

I'm fucking crying because I don't want to spend one more second, one more minute or one more day absorbing the mediocrity

that is plaguing the internet right now. It is the silent pandemic of 2022. And I had an epiphany,

an epiphonic moment last night while I was trolling, trolling till my fucking phalanjee started twitching.

And people are like, Jackie, if you hate it so much, get off the internet.

Thank you so much for all of your mind-bending solutions. No, because then I'd have nothing

to complain about. And complaining is coping. And coping is thriving. I'm going to tell you about my best friend

signing me up for a week long therapy camp in October in a second, but first, let's just talk about

the mediocrity because I feel like everyone slowly but surely, it's very much like that homeland,

Carrie Matheson, where everyone, all the strings are connecting and we're all looking at each other like, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, did you see that? Did you see that? The fact that we're consuming so much mediocrity from sunrise to sunset, it's doing something to our brains. And it is my personal mission statement to look you dead in your eyes, shake you violently and be like, whoa, whoa, whoa.

I felt this way for a while, but it really hit an apex while I was watching the Metball red carpet, because I could not believe that we have come to a place in the world, especially after suffering collective trauma,

a la coronavirus and everything else going on in the world, the social and just and blah, blah,

Roe versus Wade, the hits keep a fucking coming.

The fact that we can't discuss an atrocious outfit without the qualifying, like, well,

you know, I loved her in Coda. And this dress is super

pretty. Like, why the fuck can't we talk shit about people's outfits heading into a metball

that's like a, you know, $50,000 a plate extravaganza that will never even get to put our fucking pinky toe on the

...