Rules Is Rules
According to a phone poll, 11% of the viewers thought he shouldn't have been booted.
People, they're called RULES. He egregiously broke them. What seems to be the problem here? Who are you, you 11%? Can you spot a pathological narcissist when you see one?
You must be all the parents who thought that when I said your kid had a research paper due on Thursday at the beginning of class, I really meant that the paper was due at the end of hockey season, because I couldn't possibly have known that the team would do so well.
You must be the bride and groom who insist on having a 2-year old flower girl when I explicitly state in my materials that I won't work with children under the age of 5.
You must be the driver who zooms past the yield sign on the way to the highway and cuts me off, and gives me the finger when I honk at you. Hey, if a traffic law is inconvenient, it's optional. I understand.
You must be the mother who comes into the store licking ice cream cones with her filthy, chocolate-covered child, swinging in past the sign that says, "No food or drink" while Johnny or Jilly runs through the place leaving fudge on everything. Aren't children so beautifully irrepresible?
You must be the guy standing on the T platform smoking under the sign that says "No Smoking," and tossing his smoldering butt on the platform, because the world is just one big ashtray to you.
Hey, you're special. The rules don't apply to you. Because, you know, this whole world is so fockin' UPTIGHT and REPRESSED, and you're a free spirit. Just like Keith said. "It's a tough competition here, and there's always going to be a scapegoat."
You're all victims. I understand.
Maybe in that alternative universe you all live in, Keith can design your little scapegoat wardrobes. Meanwhile, the rest of us will bid that smirking little prince auf wiedersehn with great relish.