Thursday, November 18, 2004
Back when America's Team wore hot pants. And other chilling "outrages!"
The multimillion dollar celebrity cable nooze wowsers and their right wing think tank pilot fish are of course whooping up the big wind over the recent airing of some silly assed television commercial for some silly assed television program which depicts some silly assed towel drop and a white huntstress leaping like some ravenous minx into the muscular arms of a blackamoor sports warrior! Oh the outrage! Oh, as Aaron Brown dramatically testified (really, they actually say this kind of shit on cable TV.), on behalf of a sixteen year old: "they are taking our childhood away!"
Whew. Jeepers.
Recall here also the Great Nipple Super Scare of 2004. Oh, the outrage! Oh, the fragile foundations of western civilization itself are quivering under the onslaught of such monstrous deparvity. The mind reels. Not since the white goddess Edwina Booth, mostly almost nekkid and surrounded by mostly almost nekkid pygmies - and plunked in a jungle clearing as drums thunder in the background and the great white hunter Trader Horn is summoned to the rescue and so on and so on... has western civilization balanced on the brink. The outrage.
Oh sure.
Hey, remember back in the good old days when "they were taking our childhood away" that time? Before we had gone "stark raving mad!", as some scoldpottle dolt from the Heritage Foundation explained to Aaron Brown on CNN.
Remember back when spartan hot-pants clad Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders were shaking their sunny southern exposures and bodacious Sunday afternoon super-dupers before our collective boing-eyed TV glazed beamers? Bursting forth with bulging cleavage dazzling enchantment and leggy high kicking Calvinist Cowboy verve? Remember them good ol' days?
And every good ol' boy Baptist-dunked football whoopster from Texarkana to Texico was declaring such gaudy displays of Lone Star red blooded Christian born and hair-sprayed American sideline cheesecake an inspirational spoke in the great wheel of our national cultural life. And by extension a televised celebration of manly virility and Super Bowl victory and the glory of God itself. And every rutting testosterone doped sixteen year old red blooded Gawd-ferrin' young'n worth his salt struck out for the glamourous bright lights of the shiny new shoppin' mall to fantasize about the pantyhosed department store manikins and ultimately lay claim to his very own 24x36 inch full-bleed color poster-photo tribute to the purity of feminine essence and the full bosomed bleach blond champions of "America's Team". Which was proudly tacked like a glossy trophy to the back of a bedroom closet door. Oh the outrage. By God and country and motherhood and the NFL -- oh the outrage.
Remember? (snicker wink snicker) Remember that televised climax of "Red State" patriotic Cowboy Americana? Way back when. Remember that great theft of our "childhood" (oh the outrage!) by the darlings of Dallas? Before we all went "stark raving mad!" Back when boys will be boys and hey...hows a little sporting peek at some smooth glistening milk-fed thigh or silicone ta-ta gonna hurt little junior anyways? Huh? Take a hike whiny liberal feminist political correctness types. Remember all that then? Golly Jesus, almost makes a patriot long for the good old days now don't it?
And how about mommy's disturbingly weird TV soap operas? How about those slutty idiotic yarns? When are the cable TV nooze wowsers and think tank culture war harpies going to swoop down on that bordello of daytime smut? Huh? Soon I hope.
Meanwhile, somewhere on the fringes of forgotten moral reality:
Well, fuck... who cares about that ugliness? As long as they don't show it on our glowing virtue spewing fully clothed TV screen. Afterall, Aaron Brown, you sniveling cable-hag girly mandated coward, we wouldn't want to rob some sixteen year old of their childhood - now would we? Aaron?
Oh the outrage.
*
Whew. Jeepers.
Recall here also the Great Nipple Super Scare of 2004. Oh, the outrage! Oh, the fragile foundations of western civilization itself are quivering under the onslaught of such monstrous deparvity. The mind reels. Not since the white goddess Edwina Booth, mostly almost nekkid and surrounded by mostly almost nekkid pygmies - and plunked in a jungle clearing as drums thunder in the background and the great white hunter Trader Horn is summoned to the rescue and so on and so on... has western civilization balanced on the brink. The outrage.
Oh sure.
Hey, remember back in the good old days when "they were taking our childhood away" that time? Before we had gone "stark raving mad!", as some scoldpottle dolt from the Heritage Foundation explained to Aaron Brown on CNN.
Remember back when spartan hot-pants clad Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders were shaking their sunny southern exposures and bodacious Sunday afternoon super-dupers before our collective boing-eyed TV glazed beamers? Bursting forth with bulging cleavage dazzling enchantment and leggy high kicking Calvinist Cowboy verve? Remember them good ol' days?
And every good ol' boy Baptist-dunked football whoopster from Texarkana to Texico was declaring such gaudy displays of Lone Star red blooded Christian born and hair-sprayed American sideline cheesecake an inspirational spoke in the great wheel of our national cultural life. And by extension a televised celebration of manly virility and Super Bowl victory and the glory of God itself. And every rutting testosterone doped sixteen year old red blooded Gawd-ferrin' young'n worth his salt struck out for the glamourous bright lights of the shiny new shoppin' mall to fantasize about the pantyhosed department store manikins and ultimately lay claim to his very own 24x36 inch full-bleed color poster-photo tribute to the purity of feminine essence and the full bosomed bleach blond champions of "America's Team". Which was proudly tacked like a glossy trophy to the back of a bedroom closet door. Oh the outrage. By God and country and motherhood and the NFL -- oh the outrage.
Remember? (snicker wink snicker) Remember that televised climax of "Red State" patriotic Cowboy Americana? Way back when. Remember that great theft of our "childhood" (oh the outrage!) by the darlings of Dallas? Before we all went "stark raving mad!" Back when boys will be boys and hey...hows a little sporting peek at some smooth glistening milk-fed thigh or silicone ta-ta gonna hurt little junior anyways? Huh? Take a hike whiny liberal feminist political correctness types. Remember all that then? Golly Jesus, almost makes a patriot long for the good old days now don't it?
And how about mommy's disturbingly weird TV soap operas? How about those slutty idiotic yarns? When are the cable TV nooze wowsers and think tank culture war harpies going to swoop down on that bordello of daytime smut? Huh? Soon I hope.
Meanwhile, somewhere on the fringes of forgotten moral reality:
Our warplanes spew fire on the heads of old men, women, and children. We are turning cities into ashes. Meanwhile, what offends us is the Anglo-Saxon word for what people do when they are lonely or in love. - see: Protecting 'Innocent' Ears, Boston Globe - by James Carroll
Well, fuck... who cares about that ugliness? As long as they don't show it on our glowing virtue spewing fully clothed TV screen. Afterall, Aaron Brown, you sniveling cable-hag girly mandated coward, we wouldn't want to rob some sixteen year old of their childhood - now would we? Aaron?
Oh the outrage.
*
