Because of the above picture, my buddy The Black Snob is just now regaining feeling in the left side of her face.

As I look at it, all I can think is: Kanye’s not that swoll.

That’s about it.

Far be it from me to disavow allegiance to calling out f*ckery–I make a living of it frankly and will probably snap about something or other in ten to fifteen minutes–but this just doesn’t bother me. It’s not that I don’t like it or will spend time defending it; it’s that I don’t really care.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think 2009 is the Year of Submission. Not submission in that people agreed to whatever was going on–the year started with The March on Washington II, transitioned into people acting a donkey at town halls and will end with people getting lumped up in Copenhagen–but rather a year in which things topped each other to the degree that, after a certain point, you just sort of shrugged and say “OK.”

This was a year that had no ceiling and apparently isn’t winding down. Stuff will continue going down until 11:59 on the 31st. Count on it.

Michael Jackson, along with every celebrity ever died, a dude shot up a military base and a serial killer’s bodies stunk up a neighborhood. And a cop shot Oscar Grant in the back on the BART platform. And the president was compared to Hitler daily. Tiger had sex with one out of every three cocktail waitresses in the United States.

Perhaps this pic has been brought to my attention far too late. As of December 21st, I can’t muster the strength to even kind of speculate as to why Dave LaChapelle wanted to make this happen. Nor can I speculate as to why Kanye wanted to carry a naked Lady Gaga, doing her best airbrushed blonde bombshell,  out of the jungle looking like a zombie Indiana Jones who spends his free time doing crunches in the antiquities wings of Egyptian museums.

I just don’t know. And I care less than I know.

So to this photo I say: OK. #KanyeShrug

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