The two begin the show in armchairs on a grunge-cool set, talking about the week’s news — a healthy mix of politics, sports and bizarre internet curiosities — with a few lively pre-taped bits sprinkled in between.
So, it’s been about an hour of sweaty, bass-thumping dancing at a house party that, in most respects, is identical to every other one I’ve ever been to. I walk outside to get some fresh air (and maybe a welcome whiff of cigarette smoke) when a friend approaches me complaining that a girl she clearly “cancelled” is still following her “finsta,” or “fake Instagram.”
You might just believe for a second that you are in fact watching a documentary about a Jonestown-esque cult, but then the show throws out something remarkably absurd such as “orgasm jars,” where cult members must scream their pleasure into a jar in order to preserve it for future moments of darkness.
“HIS MOM IS TOO THICK FOR A WHITE WOMAN!” Baked yelled. “HAVE YOU SEEN ME?” Buzzed replied. I shoved another handful of popcorn into my mouth, wondering what the feminist implications of cartoon body image could be. This remained unanalyzed, but we all agreed that the sister was, ahem, “a c*nt.”
There aren’t many times I go into a new show/documentary/whatever where I am predisposed to despise the overall subject matter. Not that I went into the PBS documentary “Margaret: The Rebel Princess” hating the late Princess Margaret herself, but rather the concept of royalty and well, the British Empire and its brutal domination of large swaths of the planet.