I wrote Kyle of the Valley as a satire. It’s vicious, deliberate and about the kinds of people who hold clipboards at the gates of power. In this scene, Kyle’s waiting for the bus to a gala where elites feast on literal babies. And not the cheap ones. Around him, the refuse: addicts, the broke, the broken. People who gave everything to the same system that now won’t let them in.
Kyle isn’t better. He’s just still trying. Still rehearsing. Still pretending that his job, a publicist, is redeeming.
I’ve been there. And from personal experience: the drinks are always watered down.
From the animated series Kyle of the Valley: satire for people who know the party is rigged, but show up anyway.
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