Irony of Irony or a Mistaken Case of We’re All a Tangled Mess.

We’re all a tangled mess. Is this not obvious? Everything we do is irony. Irony that hangs thick and heavy like a dark blanket.

All of these artists could afford to give more money to Haiti than any of their candy coated songs could ever generate (via @stephaniedrury). Make a song, sell some songs, give some money from songs to people with no homes. Maybe the Boom Boom Pow people can write something witty to sell. Or one of the cool cats with gold in their teeth. Or one of the cool people that we voted for on TV who is talented can have someone write them a song they can sing.

Said artists look like kings. Get to keep living like kings. And the poor Haitians get clean water and some bread for a few more weeks. It’s a win-win. Faux heroes get to validate the hero game they play. And the girl gets rescued from her sad, pathetic life. Only until Superman goes back to his Fortress of Solitude to not be bothered.

Or until the fancy green dollars go back to building big ass mansions, having those fancy cars that sit in garages, vacations to private islands, bottles of Crystal, $3 bottled water brought to their front door from Fiji, and parties that Ms. Lohan and friends can burn through.

But we can help the heroes. The heroes enlist our help. Quickly . . . run to our $500 phones. Text Lex Luthor’s mega-conglomerate. They will add $10 to our $150 monthly bills that we pay to have Facebook and Twitter at our fingertips. So we can ignore our friends to talk about American Idol and spy/stalk people who we hate. The great distraction has now become our greatest ally! Superman’s Hall of Justice League! The more the merrier. Strength in numbers. We grow. We grow.

We are the great Gotham. And we are all Heroes for a Day.

And I sit on my high horse and bitch and let the crushing contradictions of my life swell around me. Time for a fancy beer and a movie. And back to my ambivalence. Horror of horrors. I am the man I resent.