Luigi Mangione Feet Pics
Some thoughts on everything right now.
For the past few years, Boston College High School, the all-boys, Jesuit prep school in Boston that I attended, has been advertising on the MBTA. The ads show a bunch of smiling teenage boys, wearing their blue blazers and ties, and staring off into their bright futures.
One of the boys looks so much like Luigi Mangione that, when they showed Luigi’s yearbook photo, and the video of his valedictorian speech, on the news, I had a sense of deja vu. But it wasn’t just the ad. Most of my BC High classmates were either Irish- or Italian-American. Handsome. Athletic. Bros, but nerdy, too. Luigi would have fit right in with us.
I had plenty of classmates and friends like Luigi at Georgetown, as well. Smart and good-looking guys with ambition, confidence, and charm. They came from good families with money. They were always just coming from the gym and carrying a Nalgene. They seemed to have boundless energy. I was a little jealous of those guys, to be honest. And yeah, I did want to fuck them.
Traveling, especially around Asia, you tend to meet a lot of guys like Luigi, too. His love of anime, easy sociability, spiritual seeking, and thirst for adventure all feel very familiar. I didn’t check, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a few Haruki Murakami novels shelved on his Goodreads account.
You know who Luigi makes me think of the most, though? Myself.
Hot people tend to make us uncomfortably aware of ourselves. Fawning over them and their many attractive qualities inevitably leads us to self-conscious comparison and the anxiety that we might not measure up to their standards. This is why it can be so stressful to be around a hot person.
But when I think about myself vis-a-vis Luigi, I’m not wondering if he would like me back. I’m thinking about how hard things were for me when I was his age.
In my mid-20s, I was trying to figure out who I was, and how to make my way in the world. I didn’t know if I would ever figure things out and be happy, or even if I would find a way to muddle through. I was dealing with addiction, anger, and self-destructive behavior. My friends were panicked I was going to join the 27 Club. I almost did.
When I was Luigi’s age, I made a lot of really stupid mistakes, which unequivocally fucked up my life. A lot of guys go through this, actually. Flailing in your 20s isn’t exactly uncommon.
What separates me and most men from Luigi, though, is that our mistakes weren’t murder. Most of us, even in the wake of our worst mistakes, still had the chance to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, change, and grow. Luigi won’t have that opportunity.
Sure, he’ll be able to create some sort of life for himself in prison. But it won’t be the same. He won’t have the life of freedom, of privilege and opportunity, that he would have had, if he hadn’t make that mistake. He won’t be a dad. He won’t have a career. There will be no more travels, no more surfing, no more snuggly movie nights, no more mochi.
It’s a tragedy, and he has no one but himself to blame for it. For the record, I don’t support insurance companies, or people who vaguely look like James Corden. But I also don’t condone murder. Everything else aside, what Luigi did was evil, violent, and unhinged. He deserves to spend the rest of his life in prison.
But I still mourn his shattered life. I’ve spent the night in jail a few times. I don’t think Luigi’s gonna like it in prison. The penal system is not dorm life. It’s not an open or friendly place. I’m sure he’ll have no problem finding guys to suck his dick, if that’s what he wants. And that’s not nothing. But companionship? Conversation? Intellectual stimulation? You girls and gays better send him plenty of books and letters.
Another sad fact for Luigi is that interest in him already seems to be waning. A few days of unbridled lust have given way to more muted conversations about his mental health.
Of course, the trial will juice interest in him again, but there will come a day when we’ve all forgotten about Luigi Mangione. And on that day, he’ll still be sitting in a jail cell, looking absolutely incredible in orange.
Who looks good in orange?
**
For the past few years, America’s vibe has been consistently bad. Things have been steadily shitty—Trump, Covid, Bidenflation. But over the last few months, I’ve noticed that things have begun to change.
I’m not saying the vibes are suddenly good. Far from it. Instead, perma bad vibes have been replaced by rapid, wildly-disorienting vibe shifts.
What do I mean? Well, let’s think about how things have gone since the summer.
First, they told us President Biden was just fine presidenting, even though we could all see him rapidly deteriorating. Then, we watched him die on the debate stage. Then, we were told it didn’t matter, that the blue wall states were still going to help him Weekend at Bernie’s his way to a second term. Then, he was suddenly dropping out and endorsing Kamala, who we had previously been told was goofy, and a bad politician, who had no chance of becoming president.
And then? Out of nowhere, Kamala was suddenly brat. She had Taylor! Her crowd sizes were being compared to Obama’s in ‘08. She owned a gun. She was connecting.
Trump started the summer as an insurrectionist, felon, and sexual assaulter, who was maybe going to jail, but also maybe going back to the White House. Then, someone almost killed him, and he became a fighter and an icon who was going to crush Sleepy Joe. Then, after Biden dropped out, Trump’s fortunes changed once again, and he became a fading fascist who was running a comically shitty (and racist) campaign.
Things went topsy-turvy. Trump was campaigning with a Kennedy. Kamala was campaigning with a Cheney. She was running a flawless campaign. She was going to win. There was joy. Trump was getting senile, just wanting to listen to music and talk about Hannibal Lecter. The Republicans were creepy. People were eating the cats and dogs. Or weren’t.
Then, the race was a nail-biter again.
And finally, of course, Trump won. Big. And now? He’s not such a threat to democracy. He’s an icon, and everyone is doing the Trump Dance! He’s going to give us all money and get rid of the illegals!
Except maybe now, the economy is fine, inflation isn’t that bad, immigration is under control, and none of that is going to happen?
Democrats were allegedly the responsible ones, defending democracy. Now, they are being called snobs and scolds. They were just fearmongering about Trump. And it’s not that Kamala was campaigning with a war criminal that caused her to lose—it’s that she wanted to give undocumented prisoners free sex changes on the government’s dime.
The convulsions were not limited to the presidential campaign. #MeToo and Black Lives Matter started off by asking long-overdue, uncomfortable questions, trying to change society for the better. Then, they morphed into instruments of fear, of out-of-control wokism and unforgiving cancellations. And now, we’re back to a state of affairs where the president-elect is an adjudicated sexual assaulter, who is appointing multiple other sexual assaulters to his Cabinet, and almost made a sex trafficker his attorney general.
Also: climate change is real. We’re all going out in a blaze, or drowning in Greta Thunberg’s tears, and soon. But also, we’re going to drill baby, drill! We’re gonna frack the fuck out of it, and it’s gonna be glorious. We’re gonna gut Biden’s climate law, but we’ll be totally fine, polar ice caps be damned.
We’re fatter than ever, but also, Ozempic. TikTok’s getting banned. Oh wait, no, it’s not. But actually, maybe it is? Or not.
You can’t take anything for granted today. Can’t believe anything. Who really knows what the facts are, and what is fake news? There is no stability, no certainty, no straight line. No singular theory; nothing safe to hold onto. Where is here today might be gone tomorrow, and mysteriously hovering over New Jersey the day after that.
At some point, society will probably stabilize again. But there’s no reason to believe that things are going to go back to the way they were before. The truth is, we have no idea what the future is going to look like, good or bad. Right now is not a good time to be rigid or too certain. It’s no time for bold commitments.
Now is our time to look inward, to work on ourselves. To focus on the fundamentals, things like our habits, routines, and friendships. Everyday life. Because one day, there will be a new normal, and we want to be ready for it. It’s way past time for America and Americans to start thriving again.
Right now, so close to the New Year, is a perfect time of year to think about this kind of self-invention. I’m the kind of person who is always working under the hood. A new and better Mike is always in the offing. The past couple of years in particular have seen huge strides, hard work leading to massive change.
For the next six months, I’m going to put my head down and work even harder, so I can put the finishing touches on all these changes. Because I want to emerge, in June, when I turn 39, gloriously transformed, and have my very own brat summer.
And I hope you will all be there to join me.
**
Will our 2025 feature a second season of English Teacher, though? There’s some more uncertainty for you.
I was super bummed to read the Brian Jordan Alvarez allegations last night. Nothing about them shocked me, though.
Every gay man knows this situation, beat by beat. A gay guy lusts after a straight dude? Check. The straight guy enjoys the attention (for whatever reason), sends mixed signals, and fails to draw clear boundaries? Check. The gay guy wishfully interprets this ambiguity and tension as mutual attraction, and makes an ill-fated move on the straight boy? Check! We’re almost there. Straight guy has all sorts of feelings about this and freaks out, there’s a huge scandal, and it’s all the evil gay’s fault? Bingo! There it is!
And the rest of it? The part about everyone else being in thrall to the star, catering to them, kissing their ass, and generally doing anything they have to to stay in the star’s good graces, consequences be damned? Everybody in Hollywood knows that part. Just ask Matthew Perry’s former assistant.
I’ll give it to the Caleb Gallo crew, though. The redheaded love triangle gaslighting stuff was kind of a fun new twist on everything.
I don’t know what the truth of the situation is. I can see either story being true. It’s more likely that the answer is murkier than yes or no, right or wrong, good or bad, though. And if you ask me, that is not enough to cancel someone over. Or their very funny show.
The one thing that I know for sure? That I’m tired of being made privy to all this shit. Really—why did we need to know this all? Why are we being asked to have an opinion on this extremely messy love triangle? Because it involves a TV show? It’s enough already. Go to the police about if you want. Go to a prosecutor. Go to a producer. Throw a punch! Get a lawyer. Get a settlement.
But for the love of God, please don’t go to fucking E. Alex Jung at New York Magazine about it. We’ve all been through enough already.
**
Anyway. I wasn’t lying when I said Luigi Mangione feet pics.
Thank you, Wikifeet.
I wonder what ol’ Luigi is up to right now.
Do you think he knows about our crush on him?
Do you think he likes us back?
What do you think his armpit smells like?
Do you think he would he let me smell it?
It would be nice to know something for sure.
