That being said, it would have been a miracle if some deluded sap didn't rush to Lynn's defense. Said poor, benighted slob not only misspelled the name of my home town, he made pious noise about how miraculous it was that Lynn shared her supposedly unique gift for appreciating life with her audience. First off, Lynn only got her platform to ram her blinkered vision of the world down our throats because she was the married female artist who scared the Suits the least owing to the fact that her vision of the world was most like their own. Second, any imbecile can make the same banal and obvious commentary about the world that Lynn does. As a matter of fact, a right twit is doing so right now. Third, the Pattersons happen to be the blandest, dreariest, sorriest sacks of crap that ooze their way across the stage.
Oh, wait. I tell a lie. I can think of people who are more wretched than they are: the people who go on Coffee Talk to boast about how proud they are that they're more slug-like and God-awfully bland, beige and lifeless than the Pattersons. You want miracles? Read Coffee Talk and you'll find one: a man who thinks of Anthony as a dynamo who doesn't wake up every morning wondering why people keep putting dimes on his eyes.