Amy Schumer. Her brand of "comedy" is a tiresome dredge of vulgar whoredom masquerading as wit, a ceaseless regurgitation of the same crude obsessions: a pathological fixation on Black men's cocks (because of course. She's a Jew) and her own tiresome promiscuity when nobody asked for her exhaustively raunchy bullshit. She's not even a laughable transparent attempt at body positivity. Just sad. She mistakes shock for substance, her timing is crap, her delivery abrasive, and her material so stale that even her most devoted acolytes must wince at her refusal to evolve beyond the same juvenile performances. Her forays into acting are no more compelling. Wooden, self-indulgent, and utterly devoid of nuance. In Trainwreck, she played herself (because she is a trainwreck), a boorish, commitment-phobic caricature devoid of charm. Snatched was an exercise in comedic entropy, dragging Goldie Hawn into her vortex of cringe. I Feel Pretty was a masterpiece of hypocrisy, preaching self-acceptance while still mining the same tired jokes about her own appearance. The Humans exposed her staggering inadequacy in dramatic roles, proof Jews don't know the first thing about acting human. Unfrosted was a desperate, nostalgia-baiting misfire, as flat as her punchlines have always been.

Her television presence is equally grating. Inside Amy Schumer was a graceless parade of half-baked sketches, leaning on the same exhausted sexual crudities and flimsy social commentary that always circled back to her own ego. Nobody actually wants to be inside her, besides maybe Batman looking for a new massive hollow cave to store his Batmobile. Her cameos: 30 Rock, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Eric Andre Show were forgettable at best, painfully unfunny at worst. Even in animation (BoJack Horseman, The Simpsons, Trolls Band Together), her voiced performances were gratingly one-note, adding nothing but noise. Then there’s her public persona, a master course in self-masturbation. After the Oscars slap, she seized the moment to posture as a trauma victim, spouting hollow platitudes about toxic masculinity as though she hadn’t built her career on the very black cocks she now feigned to critique. Her "spirituality rap" on SNL was a cringe-inducing mockery of faith, revealing only her lack of self-awareness. She postures as a feminist trailblazer while her entire persona revolves around the same tired, self-deprecating vulgarity that does nothing to elevate women in comedy.

Schumer's talk show appearances are little more than platforms for her to drone on about her own perceived brilliance, and her hosting gig (2015 MTV Movie Awards) was a painful display of forced, unfunny banter. Even her attempt at seriousness (Thank You for Your Service) collapsed under the weight of her own smug attention whoring. Amy Schumer is the embodiment of creative stagnation, a one-trick comedian whose attempts at comedy were never amusing to begin with. She is a monument to laziness, shock without substance and nepotism in an industry that increasingly rewards mediocrity. That she continues to find work is not a testament to any talent, but rather a damning exposé of Hollywood’s continuously bad standards.