Greg Bovino

His Life Has Become Our Collective Freudian Nightmare

One of the few valuable things I learned in show business: If you have a boss or encounter anyone in a position of authority in show business or anywhere else with daddy or any other childhood issues, be prepared for the worst.

Stats:

Kash Patel: Meth-eyed garden gnome with short-man Napoleon complex. Self-hating son of refugee parents who fled ethnic cleansing. Sound familiar? Senior-year high school quote: “Racism is man’s gravest threat—the maximum of hatred for a minimum reason” - oops! Daddy issues? I really don’t give two shits what caused this except whatever it was we’re all now paying for it.

Patel just seconds after sitting on a tack.

Stephen Miller: Adult onset egg-shaped encephalitic baldness in high-school. Tormented during adolescence by move from white neighborhood to one with *gasp* NON white people. Now we’re all paying for his alleged trauma and spiritually deserved non-hair.

Miller’s iconic “come hither and vomit” look.

Donald Trump: Two words- “daddy” and “mommy”. Desperately in search of the love his parents refused to give him because they found him unloveable. A black hole of spite that can never be filled. Now we’re all paying for an unlovable and unloved son with even worse non-hair than Miller.

Trump surrounded by the Democratic party.

Jon Stewart: $120 millionaire anti-union¹ megalomaniacal pain-sponge with daddy issues. Self-appointed Spokes-Dilbert and normalizer for anti-vaccine crackpots², disproven lab-leak conspiracy cranks and fellow assorted assistant cowards who mock and bully people who dare commit the offense of wearing masks to protect themselves and their loved ones against the things that viruses still tend to do, like mutating, infecting, debilitating and killing people in this Orwellian Trump-Kennedy science-illiterate dystopian waiting room of sickness. And apparently the rest of us have to pay for it. And, yes. I worked for that asshole and I know what I’m talking about. Six years of this bullshit and over 1.2 million American deaths later and you all can just shut the fuck up about Saint Stewart. He can afford the best healthcare in the world- most people can’t. And on a related note, as my friend Barry Crimmins once said: "Never Shake Hands With A War Criminal.”

“If you don’t like the way things are here you can go join the ghost of Jim Earl!” - actual quote to puzzled Daily Show writers, years after I was gone.

Which leads us to…

Jimmy Dore: Daddy issues and assorted childhood shit abound. Read about this specimen here.

Which leads us to…

“Bobby” Kennedy: His uncle and dad killed by assassins, turns to drugs and brain worms for companionship, advice and sexual gratification. Finds new wealth and desperately sought attention with fraudulent health advocacy career. Now he’s doing his best to assassinate-by-virus the rest of the population one-by-one.

Having eaten most of his cerebellum, two brain worms emerge triumphant from Bobby’s Ketamine tits.

Greg Bovino: It’s June 6, 1981. Greg’s daddy drinks three six-packs of beer and plows his truck head-on into 26 year-old Janie Mae Mitchell’s car, killing her and seriously injuring her husband. Dad Bovino is subsequently sued for damages and forced to sell his popular, ahem, bar. Divorce and family separation soon follow.

Cut to: Greg’s low-IQ paramilitary mutants murdering 37 year-old mother of three Renee Good. In her car. Greggy’s M.O. is to blame drunk-driving deaths and probably his shitty childhood on immigrants and those who like immigrants. It’s not hard to extrapolate from this preening turd’s life story that this strutting Gestapo peacock and his army of misfit Nazi Death Squads are from the same branch of the same gnarled tree of deranged, damaged, Schutzst-awful people. And proudly they scapegoat brown-skinned people for their problems. Why? Because they’re too cowardly to look inward and peer down through the septic abyss of moral sewage that defines their scabby little lives. And blah fuckin’ blah the rest of us are paying for it.

Bovino takes a moment to contemplate murdering young mothers and eating Kraft American cheese, known for its creamy texture and mild flavor.

Oh sure, times are disgusting and depressing. But there is the occasional ray of light. There’s still some good fun to be had on Twitter! Just do a search for “Greg Bovino” and it turns up a cornucopia of descriptive phrases that should only reaffirm one’s faith in the American Public’s creative spirit:

• “What a deeply rancid person.”

• “feckless little dweeb”

• “pathetic squat little Nazi toad”

• “the Little Nazi That Couldn't”

• Bovino “and his Gestapo posse of pussies”

• “walks like he has a giant butt plug up his ass while he wears shoes that are two sizes too big for his tiny body. Fucking creepy Nazi fucker.”

• “I love how Greg Bovino walks around with invisible watermelons under his arms like every roided out 5'2" loser in any gym you've ever been to”

• “It’s astonishing how transparent it is but Greg Bovino clearly enjoys being reviled because it gets him closer to stasis. Making the outside noise match the inside noise to help drown out those voices that never stop telling him he’s scum. Clear as day that’s his deal.”

In closing: thank you for your attention to this matter JE.

Before you go or leave the country or do whatever it is you do with your lives, here’s a song about dangerous carnival rides called You’re Not Getting On That Thing.

Because why the fuck not? I hope you enjoy the momentary distraction.

Song by Stephen Gordon & Jim Earl
Vocals, guitars: Jim Earl
Bass: Paul Chastain
Drums: ‪@MattNorthDrums‬
Video: ‪@marthaprevite‬

1. Better take a pic of this before Viacom takes it down.

2. Huge respect for Walker Bragman and his reporting on Covid conspiracy idiots and assorted science-illiterate cranks doing their best to endanger our lives.