This week we learned through lawyers representing him in a child custody case that Infowars conspiracy theorist and freshly shaken can of Red Bull Alex Jones is actually “Alex Jones” — that is, merely “a character” played by Jones, who, it turns out, has been a “performance artist” this whole time. This will come as a surprise to millions of his devoted listeners, who may now need to recalibrate their sense of objective truth. Just kidding, they won’t care. Meanwhile, Jones is preparing his first career retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art, “The Arse Is Present.”
BASKET OF ADORABLES
“We will be stronger and bigger and better as a nation than ever before. We are right on track. You see what’s happening, and we are right on track,” President Trump told an audience of “highly, highly competitive” children assembled on his lawn earlier this week at the White House Easter Egg Roll, which rose above low eggspectations by not only actually happening, but by boasting the largest audience to ever witness the Easter Egg Roll, period, both in person and around the globe. That’s a guess.
Coachella isn’t just a wildly popular multi-weekend music festival that brings hundreds of artists, thousands of revelers, and millions of bad decisions to the desert of California, it’s my personal vision of hell. But even though I’m only attending via YouTube and Twitter, I can still offer some helpful tips for first-timers: Do drink lots of water. Don’t wear a Native American headdress as a fashion statement. Do apply sunscreen. Don’t steal dozens of smartphones and get tracked down by an angry army of Find My Phone users. Do dance and have fun. Don’t (and this one is important) crowd surf where there is no crowd. And if you really want to “win at Coachella,” take some lessons from the now-infamous “Coachella kid,” amply documented by nearby grown-ups getting lit to Migos and Drake, presumably way past his bedtime.
Yes, the world is tearing itself to pieces, presidents and unstable manboys (or both) are waggling their missiles around, sacred institutions are crumbling into the rising seas, truth seems to be buckling under its own weight, and our dealings with one another are increasingly fraught with fear, mistrust, and anger. But somewhere in Japan, there are sumo wrestlers frolicking in the falling confetti of the cherry blossoms. Don’t write this planet off just yet.
MICHAEL ANDOR BRODEURMichael Andor Brodeur can be reached at email@example.com. Follow him on Twitter @MBrodeur.