Described by a critic as “one of those rare movies you can say is perfect in every way,” “A Christmas Story,” directed by Bob Clark, debuted in 1983. Set in the 1940s, the film depicts a series of family vignettes through the eyes of 9-year-old Ralphie Parker, who yearns for that gift of all gifts: The Daisy Red Ryder BB gun.
This was boyhood before the Nerf gun and “bang-bang you’re dead” were banned; family life prior to “One Dad Two Dads Brown Dad Blue Dads,” and Christmas before Saint Nicholas was denounced for his whiteness, and “Merry Christmas” condemned for its exclusiveness.
If children could choose the family into which they were born, most would opt for the kind depicted in “A Christmas Story,” where mom is a happy homemaker, dad a devoted working stiff, and between them, they have zero repertoire of progressive psychobabble to rub together.
Although clearly adored, Ralphie is not encouraged to share his feelings at every turn. Nor is he, in the spirit of gender-neutral parenting, circa 2020, urged to act out like a girl if he’s feeling … girlie.
Instead, Ralphie is taught restraint and self-control. And horrors: The little boy even has his mouth washed out with soap and water for uttering the “F” expletive. “My personal preference was for Lux,” reveals Ralphie, “but I found Palmolive had a nice piquant, after-dinner flavor—heady but with just a touch of mellow smoothness.” Ralphie is, of course, guilt-tripped with stories about starving Biafrans when he refuses to finish his food.
The parenting practiced so successfully by Mr. and Mrs. Parker fails every progressive commandment. By today’s standards, the delightful, un-precocious protagonist of “A Christmas Story” would be doomed to a lifetime on the therapist’s chaise lounge—and certainly to daily doses of Ritalin …
Without question and with deep conviction, the moron media repeat the storyline about kids being ripped from their parents’ arms, and caged on entering the US illegally (by a president who—OMG!—enforced US immigration law, for the benefit of the American People):
Federal court filings made this week by the American Civil Liberties Union and the Justice Department say that the parents of some 545 migrant children who are currently in the United States have not been found. These parents were separated from their children at the U.S. border by border officials under President Trump’s zero tolerance policy from 2017 to 2018, and the filing says the parents are now unreachable.
Kids are not what they are cut out to be (joke alert #1).
And these particular kids? I don’t know. I’ve searched the Internet for images of tender toddlers caged. All I found are images of large, hirsute young adults, who look like they can stand on their own feet, maybe even join a gang.
Besides, what kind of parent can’t call a US government agency to locate his kid? An incompetent parent or, joke alert #2 for the mirthless, a parent who is not too keen on getting that “kid” back, a sentiment I understand. Completely.
In “Why Are Unfit Parents Fit To Become Americans?” it was pointed out that “bad parents will continue to deploy children as human shields to gain entry into the US”; and that “it’s unfortunate that children are born into disorganized, chaotic families. But a child is either the responsibility of his parents or of the state.”
The judicial trend of the state as parens patriae has seen the family usurped by the state as the primary socialization agent. The state-as-parent is the purview of progressives, not conservatives.
This question was posed: “Parents who put kids is such precarious a predicament are unfit. Why, then, are unfit parents fit to become Americans?”
I’m with the Mexican parents. You win some, you lose some–kids, that is (joke alert #3).
Once upon a time, American writers shared this sense of humor (wow; I am apologizing for wit). Remember the classic short story by William Sydney Porter, aka O. Henry’s (1862-1910)?
Looks like Kamala Harris botched Emma Lazarus, whose construction of the sentence is probably grammatical. Not Kamala’s: “None us are free until all of us are free.” As I see it, it’s: “None of us is free until all of us are free.” None=Not One of us …
Looks like #KamalaHarris botched #EmmaLazarus, whose construction of the sentence is probably grammatical. Not #Kamala's: "None us are free until all of us are free." As I see it, it's: "None of us is free until all of us are free." None=Not One of us … https://t.co/mWVH3W7mxH
#Kamala's Jamaican father, an economics professor, was angry that his daughter blackened his ancestors' “name, reputation and proud Jamaican identity," by connecting it "jokingly with a fraudulent stereotype" …https://t.co/GJDa4ZQlFa
Hello and welcome to the 77th annual Golden Globe Awards, live from the Beverly Hilton Hotel here in Los Angeles. I’m Ricky Gervais, thank you.
You’ll be pleased to know this is the last time I’m hosting these awards, so I don’t care anymore. I’m joking. I never did. I’m joking, I never did. NBC clearly don’t care either — fifth time. I mean, Kevin Hart was fired from the Oscars for some offensive tweets — hello?
Lucky for me, the Hollywood Foreign Press can barely speak English and they’ve no idea what Twitter is, so I got offered this gig by fax. Let’s go out with a bang, let’s have a laugh at your expense. Remember, they’re just jokes. We’re all gonna die soon and there’s no sequel, so remember that.
But you all look lovely all dolled up. You came here in your limos. I came here in a limo tonight and the license plate was made by Felicity Huffman. No, shush. It’s her daughter I feel sorry for. OK? That must be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. And her dad was in Wild Hogs.
Lots of big celebrities here tonight. Legends. Icons. This table alone — Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro … Baby Yoda. Oh, that’s Joe Pesci, sorry. I love you man. Don’t have me whacked. But tonight isn’t just about the people in front of the camera. In this room are some of the most important TV and film executives in the world. People from every background. They all have one thing in common: They’re all terrified of Ronan Farrow. He’s coming for ya. Talking of all you perverts, it was a big year for pedophile movies. Surviving R. Kelly, Leaving Neverland, Two Popes. Shut up. Shut up. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Many talented people of color were snubbed in major categories. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about that. Hollywood Foreign press are all very racist. Fifth time. So. We were going to do an In-Memoriam this year, but when I saw the list of people who died, it wasn’t diverse enough. No, it was mostly white people and I thought, nah, not on my watch. Maybe next year. Let’s see what happens.
No one cares about movies anymore. No one goes to cinema, no one really watches network TV. Everyone is watching Netflix. This show should just be me coming out, going, “Well done Netflix. You win everything. Good night.” But no, we got to drag it out for three hours. You could binge-watch the entire first season of Afterlife instead of watching this show. That’s a show about a man who wants to kill himself cause his wife dies of cancer and it’s still more fun than this. Spoiler alert, season two is on the way so in the end he obviously didn’t kill himself. Just like Jeffrey Epstein. Shut up. I know he’s your friend but I don’t care.
Seriously, most films are awful. Lazy. Remakes, sequels. I’ve heard a rumor there might be a sequel to Sophie’s Choice. I mean, that would just be Meryl just going, “Well, it’s gotta be this one then.” All the best actors have jumped to Netflix, HBO. And the actors who just do Hollywood movies now do fantasy-adventure nonsense. They wear masks and capes and really tight costumes. Their job isn’t acting anymore. It’s going to the gym twice a day and taking steroids, really. Have we got an award for most ripped junky? No point, we’d know who’d win that.
It’s the last time, who cares? Apple roared into the TV game with The Morning Show, a superb drama about the importance of dignity and doing the right thing, made by a company that runs sweatshops in China. Well, you say you’re woke but the companies you work for in China — unbelievable. Apple, Amazon, Disney. If ISIS started a streaming service you’d call your agent, wouldn’t you?
So if you do win an award tonight, don’t use it as a platform to make a political speech. You’re in no position to lecture the public about anything. You know nothing about the real world. Most of you spent less time in school than Greta Thunberg.
So if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent, and your God and f*** off, OK? It’s already three hours long. Right, let’s do the first award.