Ever wondered about the meaning of life? Me too. Usually around 2 a.m., staring at my popcorn ceiling, pondering why I haven’t done the deed yet—checked out, kicked the bucket. But then, like a divine intervention, Martha Stewart comes on TV, and suddenly, I have reasons to live—or at least reasons to laugh.
Martha, the iconic kitchen guru turned media savant, just unleashed a tsunami of truth about her new Netflix documentary, “Martha,” crafted by some guy named R.J. Thunderstorm (I think that was his name). Apparently, Martha had expected something epic, a visual monument perhaps, akin to the pyramids but in HD.
Instead, what she got, and we got, was… meh. During a delightful half-hour rant—which felt shorter than my last existential crisis—Martha shredded the documentary like old bank statements. “He had access to the entire pantry, and all he made was a bland soup!” she might as well have said.
R.J. Thunderstorm, bless his heart, probably didn’t see this storm coming. Just like I don’t see any of my life decisions clearly until it’s 3 a.m. and I’m questioning the nutritional value of eating cereal for every meal.
In conclusion, as I consider sending out invites to my eventual solo funeral—RSVP, bring your own beverages—I leave you with this: If Martha Stewart, at 83, can fearlessly face life’s bland soups and still dish out fiery feedback, maybe there's hope for my Tuesday nights after all. Or not. I’ll probably die alone watching reruns, a half-eaten cereal box my only legacy.
Based on the original article "Martha Stewart Gives Netflix’s ‘Martha’ a Scalding Review".
