the new face of evil.

One good thing about having a blog is that it's a convenient soapbox I can mount to rant and rave about the smallest, pettiest annoyances in life even if nobody else on earth is even a little bit interested. Sure, I suppose I could go to the trouble of acquiring an actual soapbox, schlepping it to the vicinity of Times Square, and haranguing passersby with my opinion—but I will quickly see for myself that they aren't listening or, if they are, it's only in amusement at my insanity. On the interwebs, however, I can't see my Hypothetical Readers, so I can easily imagine you all enrapt, hanging on each and every word of my entries, and salivating for even more narcissistic diatribes about whatever peeve I have locked in my crosshairs at any given moment. I can even imagine that some of you are my minions and you are only waiting to be unleashed upon whatever target I direct you to.

Well, listen up, minions—because have I got a target for you. (And it's not even Mariah Carey or Adam Levine. Incidentally, did you know that Mariah Carey's vagina is so cavernous that Adam Levine's ego could easily go spelunking in it? True story.)

KT Harris: The New Face of Evil.

I know. At first glance, KT Harris: The New Face of Evil just looks like any slightly overweight woman with overplucked eyebrows and slight acne scarring. You might be tempted even to pity her because that was probably the exact grimace she wore when we she was giving handjobs to the high school seniors in the Rite-Aid parking lot. And for what? To feel some sense of worth in this uncaring, irrational world, that's what! Who can blame her? Who hasn't snowballed a homeless Puerto Rican man in her day in order to finally feel something—anything at all? We often behave recklessly in order to merely feel our own existence. And we have the oozing pustules to prove it.

So, you ask, who is this KT Harris—whose horrible visage is the mask that Satan dons when he walks upon this earth? Is she a third-world dictator? A serial killer? A contemporary country music singer? None of the above. She's the daytime deejay on Sirius XM's 90s on 9. 

Let's speak frankly here. I think we're intimate enough to do that now. Music deejays aren't known for being the highest human lifeforms, are they? In the official hierarchy, I think they fall somewhere between telemarketer and illegal transplant-organ trafficker. But even contextualized within the already bottom-of-the-barrel standards that define her ilk, KT Harris is the Pol Pot of the airwaves—littering our most essential resource—our minds—with her idiotic ramblings. If you tune in to her and just listen to the way she fills the space between Tony! Toni! Toné! and Sophie B. Hawkins songs, you'd almost swear you were listening to a giant disembodied sphincter burbling shart into the microphone. Seriously. This woman makes Tila Tequila sound like Simone de Beauvoir. Her radiant dumbness is a blinding beacon of stupidity for would-be idiots the world over. They march like zombies toward the Sirius studios, like Muslims during their Hajj. Every idiot must lay eyes on the queen of dumbfucks before they shuffle off this mortal coil!