#7.
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For the second act, Beck decided to dress in full-on colonial garb. Powdered wig and everything. He walked on stage, posed and the audience clapped and did not let up for a full three minutes. He opened the second half of his set with the words "Give me liberty or give me a jelly donut." The audience totally lost its shit.
Now you're probably thinking that the costume is the "cheap visual trick" I refer to in the above note, and that the titties was just me being bored. Nope. The "titties" refer to the most infuriating moment of the show: To visually demonstrate the direction America is headed, he brings three people on stage. There's a very large, intimidating-looking dude, who represents Tyranny. On the opposite end of the stage, Beck positions an average-looking guy representing Anarchy. And then, in what has to be the most irresponsible use of titties in the history of media, Glenn Beck brings out a stunningly attractive (for a white chick) blonde with a super sweet rack, who he says represents freedom, or, as he explains with the focus and intensity of a seasoned sexual predator, "Sweet, sweet liberty."
And I haven't even gotten to the worst part. In this visual diagram, Glenn himself represents America, of course. But as he stands, his sweaty, pale arms draped sloppily around Lady Liberty, far from Tyranny and a respectful four feet from Anarchy, he mentions Roosevelt and gives an unfairly watered-down depiction of turn-of-the-century Progressivism, and takes a step away from Liberty's glorious rack. And the audience boos. They boo fucking Theodore Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt fought several important battles, gave us the Panama Canal, helped conserve the Earth's forests and kept us out of war despite the fact that the son of a bitch loved war more than food. And Glenn got the audience to see him as "that guy who moved us away from the titties."
Towards Rape Town? This man must be stopped.
Now, I'm no historian or anything, but I feel confident in saying that I am Cracked.com's Senior Authority on Motherfucking Presidents, and I certainly know enough to realize that, when you've got your audience booing Theodore Fucking Bullet-taking Fucking judo-mastering Fucking Bull Moose Roosevelt, then there is something profoundly wrong. Wrong with you, your audience and your bastardized perversion of history.
#8.