Fuck the FCC

A TRANSMISSION FROM HARD HARRY

This is Hard Harry, and tonight’s frequency is dedicated to a stooge named Brendan Carr.

Yeah, Brendan — I’m talking to you, Mr. FCC. Federal Censorship Clown. You think you’ve got power because you sit in some beige office chair stroking the wires of America’s TV licenses like a lonely creep in a Motel 6, mistaking the static for intimacy. You think you can scare Disney and ABC into pulling Jimmy Kimmel off the air because he said something sharp, something true, something you didn’t like. Sadly, it appears you can. You nade threats, and ABC kissed your ass. They pulled the plug on Kimmel. But don’t pop the champagne yet, Brendan, because the rest of us aren’t buying your bullshit. Not for a second.

You’re supposed to regulate transmitters and decibel levels, not late-night monologues. But you saw a chance to play God with the airwaves, and now you’re strutting around like you’re the comedy police. Newsflash, you khaki-stiff stooge: the First Amendment wasn’t written so you could decide which jokes pass your purity test. It wasn’t written so you could grovel to MAGA like some boot-licking mall cop with a badge he printed at Kinko’s.

Jimmy Kimmel called out the hypocrisy of the MAGA gang after Charlie Kirk’s death, and you lost your damn mind. You treated it like he’d flashed porn on Sesame Street. You threatened licenses. You turned “the public interest” into a weapon. You tried to scare every broadcaster in America into silence. That’s not oversight, Brendan. That’s intimidation. That’s tyranny wrapped in a blazer two sizes too small.

And here’s the kicker: you don’t even know how ridiculous you look. You’re trying to police comedy. Do you know how many late-night hosts have torn into presidents, senators, and media freaks before? Carson did it. Letterman did it. Colbert did it. Hell, Kimmel did it last week. But you — you pencil-necked stooge — decided that this one joke, this one monologue, was too much for the republic to handle. You put the full weight of your office behind punishing a punchline. That’s not patriotism. That’s fragility with a federal seal.

So fuck your threats, fuck your FCC, and fuck every executive who caves because they’re scared of your shadow. Free speech doesn’t need your permission slip. The revolution doesn’t ask for licenses. We’ll keep talking. We’ll keep laughing. We’ll keep tearing down the lies, one monologue at a time. You can pull plugs, you can shake papers, you can posture for your orange-tinted boss — but you can’t stop the signal.

So here’s your bedtime story, Brendan: when a government stooge tries to muzzle comedy, he doesn’t look strong. He looks pathetic. He looks desperate. He looks like you. And no matter how many shows you try to cancel, no matter how many comedians you try to neuter, there will always be another mic, another voice, another pirate broadcast slipping through the static.

This is Hard Harry. Signing off. So be it. Rock and roll. Steal the air. Fuck the FCC.

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