On Coming to Terms with Seth MacFarlane’s Talent

Two for each of Jennifer Lawrence’s breasts MacFarlane didn’t get to see.

Much of my self-identity is derived from my dislike (nay, hatred) of Seth MacFarlane and his empire.

I’ve spent the better half of my life shouting (literally shouting) at anyone with two ears that Family Guy is, in fact, not funny at all, and if you think so, you probably don’t even understand why Reaganing is such a hysterical concept. Family Guy is not funny; it’s obnoxious. My limited exposure to The Cleveland Show and American Dad produced the same conclusion.

“But Courtney,” you might say, “Why is it so important to you to tear down Seth MacFarlane? Does shitting on his success make you feel better about yourself?” The answer to that question is unequivocally YES. Of COURSE I feel better when I tear down MacFarlane  – the guy is one of the most successful comedians of the modern age, so when I shit on his sense of humor, I’m essentially screaming, “I’M FUNNIER THAN THE MODERN KING OF COMEDY, GUYS!”

Maroon 5: The Ultimate Orgasm Enabler

This band is determined to sex you up at least seven different way from Sunday

Thursday, June 30th seemed like such a normal day. I woke up with a digestive system full of well-fermented anguish, after hours of dreaming about talking yaks. I proceeded to head to my workplace – the inspiration for Dante’s Divine Comedy – and by the time the late afternoon rolled around, I had nothing to anticipate for the evening other than a ham and turkey sandwich and several hours of internet stalking. It was then, at this point of despair, that I received a call from a friend – a call that would change my life. It consisted of two questions:

Friend: “Are you busy tonight?”

Me: “Well, not unless getting my time for Sporcle’s “Capitals of the World” quiz below 4 minutes somehow qualifies as busy. Why?”

Friend: Do you want to come to the Maroon 5 concert with me?

Me: [3 to 5 minutes of unfiltered expletives]

So there it was. My average evening of memorizing the hometowns of everyone in the Northwestern University Class of 2015 Facebook group had suddenly turned into what I knew would be a night more than worthy of a Sherman Ave review.

In a word, Maroon 5 was: SO FUCKING AMAZING I CAN’T EVEN COMPREHEND IT THEY WERE EXCELLENT LIVE PERFORMERS TOO BUT THEIR MUSIC IS JUST SO FUCKING GOOD I LOVE THEIR STYLE SO MUCH BECAUSE THEY VERY EFFECTIVELY PUT JAZZ INTO POP MUSIC AND ADAM LEVINE’S VOICE IS LIKE A STICK OF BUTTER WRAPPED IN BACON HANDED TO YOU ON A WARM GOLDEN PLATE BY PIPPA FUCKING MIDDLETON.

Average fan 6 seconds into "Harder to Breathe"

Okay, so I exceeded the word limit. But given the number of times I’ve failed to meet it (e.g. college essays), I can make an exception. There is really no way to put “one word” to such an amazing performance – the closest one could come would be a wombination, like “orjazzmic.” Did I discover some noticeably non-platonic feelings for Adam Levine? Probably. But more importantly, I finally learned what the ‘5’ in Maroon 5 signifies: the number of dozens of orgasms that any given audience member will have at one of their concerts.