Kelly Richardson, contributor
Oscar the Grouch is your asshole brother. You love him. You hate him. But eventually you realized he is simply an asshole. And OSCAR IS EVERYTHING.
He is honest and upfront. He won’t bullshit you. You know exactly what you are getting. A goddamn Grouch. It’s his species. It’s in his DNA. He gets off on negativity. In a world of “Sunny Days” and “kindness,” Oscar is the breath of stale air. He’s like an atheist in Salt Lake City. He introduces the dark, seedy underworld we all want to be a part of in the upcoming teen years. He actually makes a “rusty trombone” reference in his hit song “I Love Trash.”
There’s a lot of debate about what the inside of his trash can/home looks like. He’s bragged that it contains a pool, ice skating rink, and a portal to Grouchland. But if your asshole brother is any indication, the truth is his can includes issues of Sports Illustrated from 1998, a worn out recliner chair, and a lot of microwave food.
He’s there for you when you do not want him around, and never there when you need him. He will never like you, though everyone continues to seek his approval.
Know your alphabet? Shut up.
Graduate high school? Ugh.
Find the cure for cancer? Scram.
It’s simple, direct, and mostly angry. He only finds joy in garbage. And even though you may be trash, it’s not enough.
Oscar teaches America’s youth that they will never be good enough. So you have two choices:
- Break your back striving to be the best possible version of yourself every day seeking praise and approval from an impossible judge.
- Or simply be trash.
I choose the latter, and SO CAN YOU.