Michael Rapaport Must Die

It was dark in the Brooklyn apartment Felix Mullen calls home. The only light emanating in the entire rent-controlled flat came from a television, its warming glow illuminating faintly the visage of its only resident, huddled under a blanket, watching intently one show, the only show he'd bothered to keep up with that wasn't the news.

The Traitors

His eyes were wide like saucers as he intently gazed upon the reality show's machinations. It transfixed his attention away from the world turning into a burning garbage heap. It kept him off social media sites where the right, center, AND left wings all hated him because he dared tell them inconvenient truths. Those who slandered... libeled? I always get those two words mixed up. Anyway, those who talked trash about him would say that he was just an endless stream of ad hominem attacks and gifs from The Office that rarely had anything to do with the conversations or arguments in which he was engaged, but no, the real reason was that he was too blunt, too abrasive, too real for their collective tastes.

It was doing a number on his mental health. So he did what any normal person would do, which is funny because few people would describe Felix Mullen as normal.

He retreated into television.

He retreated into The Traitors.

And it kept him happy.

So happy.

Until one scene popped up. Yes, one scene.

That scene.

The nerve.

How could he?

Eating like that, putting the entire plate up to his mouth?

Felix threw the blanket off, face red with rage.

"HOW DARE HE?!?!?! THAT'S HOW I EAT!!!! THAT'S HOW I EAT!!! HE'S STEALING MY STYLE!!!"

Full of venom and rage, he sprung to his feet and clicked on his phone.

"I must make Michael Rapaport PAY for his transgressions!"

Then he realized the last time he tried to get close to a celebrity. No matter how many times he'd been pepper-sprayed in the past, he could never get used to it. Then, he realized one thing.

"Ah, well, I'll just have to take it out on Keith Castle then."

He sat back down on his couch and huddled back under his blanket, his mood 100 percent worse than it was when he turned the show on.