Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
Just Think of Your Starving Child As an Apprentice Supermodel
Wow, this place has really gone to hell. Broken windows, moldy carpets, a dead roach floating in the toilet; mouse turds, cigarette butts, and used syringes scattered around the baseboards; and I see my keyboard is now slightly more dusty and cobwebbed than that haunted organ from The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone had rented this place out to a William S. Burroughs Fantasy Camp. But that's what I get for being an absentee landlord.
Anyway, many thanks to Bill S. for his annual column on Big, Bad Motion Picture Mamas -- it really brightened up the place -- and sincere apologies on my part for the mess and general air of Gothic decay I've allowed to overcome Stately Crap Manor. I promise to do better.
I haven't been completely idle during my convalescence; I've been watching bad movies and working on the sequel to Better Living Through Bad Movies (because I can do that lying down), but I really do need to get back to WO'C's raison d'être -- covering the wingnut beat. Unfortunately, wherever I clicked the past few days, all the right-bloggers were raving about Benghazi, which makes me think of Ben-Gay, which just reminds me that my back hurts. Then I saw this piece by Dennis Prager...
In the comments to this post, L'il Innocent observed, "What gets me about Sheri's writing (and don't stop me if you've heard this before) is her incredibly consistent tone of gently bemused reasonableness." And I agree, that tone is something I've always admired about s.z.'s work, and while I can only aspire to mimic it, I generally manage to avoid taking personal offense to whatever our subjects are blathering about.
But this National Review column by Dennis Prager about the moral imperative of weaning poor kids from food kind of pissed me off. In fact, it made me so mad that I had to refer to World O' Crap's patented Ma Joad-O-Meter to measure just how mad it made me...
...and the answer is that I am currently at Ma Joad Threat Level Four: Ambulatory Mean-Mad. But what the hell, Dennis founded his own online University, and though their football team is ranked relatively low this year, primarily because it consists of a Madden NFL '94 cartridge for the Sega Genesis someone found under the couch, I can't deny that his self-inflicted credentials are much more impressive than mine.
Dennis may not know how to cite his sources when writing an essay, and should maybe learn to more quickly recognize red flags during job interviews, such as when a prospective employee responds to the question "What would do you consider your greatest weakness?" by bashfully confessing "Well, sometimes I take on tasks personally that could easily be delegated to someone else, and I'm an apologist for Apartheid and a traitorous neo-Confederate" -- but he's clearly steeped in Academia and swollen with bona fides, so let's get to the meat of his argument -- which is that you can't have any pudding if you don't eat your meat, and if we don't give you any meat to begin with, you can just shut up about the pudding.
Now, I'm old -- not as old as Dennis, but old enough to remember when we admitted to having poor and working class people in this country, and not just moochers with microwaves and grocery store cell phones. I also seem to remember that the consolation prize for growing up poor in America was the American Dream, and its inherent promise of social mobility, the idea that your kids would be better off than you were, and that any boy (it was always a boy) could grow up to be President. Granted, we assumed that latter point was bullshit, even back then, but when it finally came true (mixed race child of a single mother is elected Leader of the Free World), people like Dennis instantly stopped telling us it was.
Anyway, many thanks to Bill S. for his annual column on Big, Bad Motion Picture Mamas -- it really brightened up the place -- and sincere apologies on my part for the mess and general air of Gothic decay I've allowed to overcome Stately Crap Manor. I promise to do better.
I haven't been completely idle during my convalescence; I've been watching bad movies and working on the sequel to Better Living Through Bad Movies (because I can do that lying down), but I really do need to get back to WO'C's raison d'être -- covering the wingnut beat. Unfortunately, wherever I clicked the past few days, all the right-bloggers were raving about Benghazi, which makes me think of Ben-Gay, which just reminds me that my back hurts. Then I saw this piece by Dennis Prager...
In the comments to this post, L'il Innocent observed, "What gets me about Sheri's writing (and don't stop me if you've heard this before) is her incredibly consistent tone of gently bemused reasonableness." And I agree, that tone is something I've always admired about s.z.'s work, and while I can only aspire to mimic it, I generally manage to avoid taking personal offense to whatever our subjects are blathering about.
But this National Review column by Dennis Prager about the moral imperative of weaning poor kids from food kind of pissed me off. In fact, it made me so mad that I had to refer to World O' Crap's patented Ma Joad-O-Meter to measure just how mad it made me...
No More Free Breakfasts
The Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD) announced last week that it will discontinue the free-school-breakfast plan it initiated last year.
Called “Food for Thought,” the plan provides school breakfasts to about 200,000 students.Mr. Prager (sorry, I guess that should be Chancellor Prager) doesn't provide a link or a source for this news; in fact, he doesn't provide any links at all in his piece, except in his author's bio at the end, which links to his latest book (marked down to $15.98 from $26.00 -- act now!) and Prager University (Go Fightin' Pharisees!) "a virtual university aimed at educating people through five-minute videos on conservative political and social views." The Political Science Department offers such courses as "Is The Right More Ideological Than the Left?" taught by visiting professor Jonah Goldberg:
It was funded by the LAUSD and the non-profit Los Angeles Fund for Public Education, whose goal is to raise the number of participants to about 450,000 students (out of a total of 645,000 in the entire district).
"According to popular myth, if you hold conservative political views, you're a rigid ideologue, unwilling to compromise. But if you hold liberal political views, you're practical and open minded. Best selling author, Jonah Goldberg, explains how this myth got started and why it's wrong in this Prager University course."...while students pursuing a degree in Life Studies are privileged to distance learn under celebrated academics such as "Comedian and podcaster extraordinaire, Adam Carolla," who holds the Distinguished Potty Chair in Senile Adolescence, and Dennis Prager, who brings his vast, real world experience as a twice-divorced, thrice-married man to courses such as "The Case for Marriage" and the completely not hilariously self-justifying "He Wants You":
Married or not married, men look at women. That's their nature. But is this fascination with the female body a threat to their spouse or the woman they are with? That's the question that best-selling author and nationally syndicated talk show host, Dennis Prager, deals with here. His answer will be a revelation to most women... and a relief to most menAnd a windfall to divorce attorneys.
Students majoring in history may select from up to six separate courses (for a total of 30 full instructional minutes!), taught by scholars such as Amity Shlaes ("Why Calvin Coolidge Was Awesome and Could Totally Have Beaten Up FDR, Even If You Factor Out the Polio"), and H.W. Crocker, III, who presents "The Moral Case for the British Empire." Mr. Crocker is a writer for the American Spectator (Hip, Hip, Hooray, It’s Rhodesia Independence Day!, Robert E. Lee: Icon of the South — and American Hero and How Would Jefferson Davis Vote?) and the author of The Politically Incorrect Guide to the Civil War, which asks the burning question:
"What If the South Had Won?" Along the way, he reveals a huge number of little-known truths, including why Robert E. Lee had a higher regard for African Americans than Lincoln did; how, if there had been no Civil War, the South would have abolished slavery peaceably (as every other country in the Western Hemisphere did in the nineteenth century); and how the Confederate States of America might have helped the Allies win World War I sooner.Ah...Paradise Lost. Anyway, students interested in applying to Prager University should contact the Admissions Office. Next Semesters at 2:45 and 3:30.
Dennis may not know how to cite his sources when writing an essay, and should maybe learn to more quickly recognize red flags during job interviews, such as when a prospective employee responds to the question "What would do you consider your greatest weakness?" by bashfully confessing "Well, sometimes I take on tasks personally that could easily be delegated to someone else, and I'm an apologist for Apartheid and a traitorous neo-Confederate" -- but he's clearly steeped in Academia and swollen with bona fides, so let's get to the meat of his argument -- which is that you can't have any pudding if you don't eat your meat, and if we don't give you any meat to begin with, you can just shut up about the pudding.
If you go to the fund’s website, you are greeted with these messages: “Learn to dream” (in English and in Spanish) and “Imagine your life without limits.” These are essentially meaningless messages.I guess to a Baby Boomer who grew up white and middle class, the idea of society putting any sort of limits on your life and ambitions would sound like gibberish, especially if you used Babelfish to translate it from English to Sociopath.
Now, I'm old -- not as old as Dennis, but old enough to remember when we admitted to having poor and working class people in this country, and not just moochers with microwaves and grocery store cell phones. I also seem to remember that the consolation prize for growing up poor in America was the American Dream, and its inherent promise of social mobility, the idea that your kids would be better off than you were, and that any boy (it was always a boy) could grow up to be President. Granted, we assumed that latter point was bullshit, even back then, but when it finally came true (mixed race child of a single mother is elected Leader of the Free World), people like Dennis instantly stopped telling us it was.
But, as we shall see, the Fund’s breakfast program is not only meaningless; it is quite destructive.What does feeding a child destroy? It destroys character. Specifically, the character of Oliver Twist, because who'd give a crap about him if he were fat, greasy, and complacent. Besides, why would any school need to, let alone want to, feed a child during the instructional day? As leading institutions of higher learning such as Prager University have shown, most classes only last five minutes, and anybody can wait that long to grab a Snickers out of the freezer.
The reasons for the announced cancelation were that the program had drawn rodents and insects into classrooms and that classroom learning time was being wasted by students who were eating for long periods in class.Ah, I see the problem. Dennis is confusing the School Breakfast Program, which has been providing federally funded meal assistance to poor children since 1966, with LAUSD's "Breakfast in the Classroom," which allows students to eat after the first bell.
But the rodents, insects, and disruption of class learning time are nothing compared with the destructiveness of the free breakfast itself.
First, the program was created to solve a problem that does not exist.
You know, even when Dr. Diane Medved let her Freudian slip slow and bitched that homeless people were spoiling her view of Waikiki Beach ("Leave it to the homeless to dampen my enthusiasm for paradise"), her complaint stipulated the existence of the poor.
And Dennis, you can't conceive of there being five children in the the second largest public school district in the U.S. whose familes can't afford three meals a day? Really? When Mary taught at her previous inner city school (which had plenty of insects and rodents even without Breakfast in the Classroom), she had more than five hungry kids in her class alone.
Because money just appears, doesn't it? If you're down to your last $1.50, and you've got to make a choice between buying your child a French Toast Stick at Burger King (as recommended by WebMD) or sending her to school hungry so you've got bus fare to reach the minimum wage job that's the only thing between your family and homelessness, well -- you've obviously going about this living-in-America thing all wrong, because all you need to do is whine about high marginal tax rates on your radio show and some billionaire will cut you a check. It never fails.
Okay, five minutes are up. Where the hell's my diploma?
It is inconceivable that there are five, let alone 200,000 or the projected 450,000, homes in Los Angeles that cannot afford breakfast for their child.I don't think that word means what you think it means, Dennis. "In LAUSD, over 553,000 of our students qualify for a free/reduced price breakfast but only 29% of our total school population participates. This means that over 400,000 students may start their school days without breakfast, deprived of an important nutritious meal needed to succeed in class."
And Dennis, you can't conceive of there being five children in the the second largest public school district in the U.S. whose familes can't afford three meals a day? Really? When Mary taught at her previous inner city school (which had plenty of insects and rodents even without Breakfast in the Classroom), she had more than five hungry kids in her class alone.
A nutritious breakfast can be had for less than a dollar. For examples, go to the website “webMD” which lists five “Breakfast Ideas for a Buck.”My mistake, Chancellor Prager did include a link. Allow me to summarize these Ideas for the benefit of any poor people out there who haven't yet realized that they're extinct and no longer need nourishing but inexpensive meals: Go to McDonalds (Ideas 1-2); go to Burger King (Ideas 3-4); go to Jack in the Box (Idea 5).
Second, it both enables and encourages irresponsible, uninterested, and incompetent parenting.When what we, as a society, ought to be encouraging is irresponsible, uninterested, and incompetent teaching of online courses by lazy, unqualified hacks and febrile bigots. It's like that old saying about "feed a cold, starve a fever" -- or is it the other way around? Regardless, in the academic world, the best results and healthiest profit margins are obtained by observing that old saw, "feed a faculty and starve a student."
Given how inexpensive breakfast can be (not to mention the myriad public and private programs that provide food for poor households), any home that cannot provide its child with breakfast demands a visit from child protective services. Any parent who cannot give a child breakfast is not too poor; he or she is too incapable of being, or too irresponsible to be, a competent parent.
Third, even where decent parents are involved, free breakfasts at school weaken the parent-child bond.It makes much more sense for the mother to eat the last cup of Ramen noodles and then nurse her fourth grader -- that way nobody goes hungry, and it creates a bond like Krazy Glue!
Hundreds of thousands of parents who are able, and happy, to provide their child with breakfast have accepted the offer — because anything free is too enticing for an increasing number of Americans.Yeah, that's...bullshit. There are many more people eligible for the program than use it, which is what Breakfast in the Classroom was trying to correct. But I guess these moochers are too lazy to even take a hand-out.
But what they have done is made the proverbial deal with the devil. They have traded in one of the most fundamental definitions of parenthood — providing one’s children with food — for a dollar and for a little less work as a parent. As a result, these parents become less of a parent to their child."I dunno, Mom...I just respected you more when I had a distended belly and rickets."
And fourth, the free breakfast profoundly weakens young people’s character. When you grow up learning to depend on the state, you will almost inevitably — even understandably — assume that the state will take care of you. And you will grow up also assuming — as do Europeans, who give far less to charity than Americans for this very reason — that the state will take care of your fellow citizens, including your own children.On the up side, shortened lifespan is one of the dependable effects of childhood malnutrition, so a lot of these losers won't grow up to assume anything. On the downside, thanks to their weak character and reliance on social services rather than private charities, the Dutch are now taller than us.
These are the ways in which the Left has damaged children and families through free school breakfasts.This is the first time I have ever read an essay where the phrase "he wants to take food from the mouths of hungry children" is not a hyperbolic interpretation by the reader, but the author's actual thesis statement.
But it gets worse. “Canceling” the program does not mean ending it.
Remember, the program is not being canceled because of its destructive effects on students and family life. The reasons it is being canceled are that rodents and insects infest classrooms and that classroom learning time is wasted while the children stretch out breakfast-eating time.You should probably also remember that "canceling" doesn't mean "canceling" either, since LAUSD is expanding the program, not ending it.
Therefore, the program is being shifted to the schools’ cafeterias. The public-employee unions, which govern the state of California and the city of Los Angeles, have demanded that the program be shifted from the classroom to the school cafeterias so as to employ more cafeteria workers.Or because it was delaying the start of the instructional day, and teachers are more concerned with cramming in a little actual teaching time between all the standardized testing they're required to do than they are with featherbedding the Lunch Lady muster.
Virtually everything the Left touches is either immediately or eventually harmful. The free-breakfast program is only one, albeit a particularly dramatic, example.Left Must Wash Hands Before Handling Food Programs.
Why, then, do progressives advocate it?Because children are going hungry and we can easily do something about it?
Because it meets three essential characteristics of the left wing: It strengthens the state; it has governmental authority replace parental authority; and, perhaps most important, it makes progressives feel good about themselves. The overriding concern of the Left is not whether a program does good. It is whether it feels good.So progressives don't do good (such as feeding hungry children) simply because it's good, or even because it makes them feel good, but only because it makes them feel good about themselves. I'd be tempted to suggest that Chancellor Prager writes 750 word columns demanding that bread be dashed from the hands of orphans just because doing bad makes him feel good, but even I'm not cynical enough to believe that, because it would suggest that Dennis Prager is capable of human emotion.
Okay, five minutes are up. Where the hell's my diploma?
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Happy Mother's Day III: The Final Conflict
By World O' Crap's Movie Mothers Maven, Bill S.
Once again, Mother's Day is upon us, and it's time to pay tribute to the Moms who remind us how lucky we are to have the Moms we had (unless yours was worse than these, in which case, I'm deeply sorry).
Once again, Mother's Day is upon us, and it's time to pay tribute to the Moms who remind us how lucky we are to have the Moms we had (unless yours was worse than these, in which case, I'm deeply sorry).
Worst Movie Moms (Previous installments in this series may be found here and here.)
Petal (Cate Blanchett) in The Shipping News (2001)**** [suggested by Chris Vosburg]: Has sex with Quoyle (Kevin Spacey), her daughter's father, almost immediately, then after moving in with him, continues to pick up strangers, bring them to the house, and bang them with her daughter and husband in the other room. When Quoyle's father commits suicide, and leaves him broke, she takes off with her daughter and sells the child on the black market. Fortunately she kept a copy of the receipt and Quoyle was able to get the kid back.
BONUS BAD MOM -- Starr (Robin Wright Penn), Astrid's first foster mother. A born-again Christian who didn't quite live up to the teachings of Jesus. She drives her own daughter out of the house, and in a deleted scene included as an extra on the video, beats one son badly enough for him to land in a hospital. When her boyfriend Ray (Cole Hauser, which should have been a red flag), begins showing Astrid more attention than an adult should pay a teenage girl, Starr responds the way any ordinary adult would -- by shooting the kid. (Which kinda puts Lora Meredith in perspective).
Worst TV Moms
Lucille Bluth (Jessica Walter), Arrested Development. Two words: Mother boy.
Dallas Royce (Cheryl Hines), Suburgatory. "We don't allow Dalia to have hard liquor on a school night."
Mama Harper (Vicki Lawrence), the "Family" skits on The Carol Burnett Show. Repeatedly told daughter Eunice (Burnett) that she was a dumb, untalented loser who'd never amount to anything. Which was pretty much true, but, hey, that's no reason to keep rubbing it in.
-Bill S
Lora Meredith (Lana Turner) and Annie Johnson (Juanita Moore) in Imitation of Life (1959): I hesitated before putting the heroines of this classic tearjerker on the list, because they aren't really bad people, in that they aren't mean or unloving or stupid. In fact, Annie's one of the nicest people imaginable (although in the 1934 version, the mothers -- played by Claudette Colbert and Louise Beavers -- aren't nearly as screwy). But nice people can still make bad decisions, and neither of these moms is a good role model. Lora spends so much focus on her career she keeps boyfriend Steve (John Gavin) at a distance, and doesn't keep a good eye on daughter Susie (Sandra Dee). Her priorities are misplaced, so she takes Susie's crush on Steve way too seriously. Which is silly -- we know nothing's going to happen because, A.) her boyfriend's a decent guy, B.) her daughter's just a kid, and Lolita won't be made for another three years, and C.) she looks like Lana freakin' Turner.
As for Annie, she means well but is clueless about her daughter's racial identity problems, and doesn't teach her to have any pride in her race -- the most she says is that it's nothing to be ashamed of (Seriously?) Heck*, she doesn't even get that ANY kid would be mortified to have her mom show up at school with her galoshes.
The unnamed Stepmother (Vera Altayskaya) in Jack Frost (the 1965 Russian fantasy, not the unwatchable Christmas flick from the '90's): To the heroine, Nastenka, she's the familiar wicked stepmother of fairy tales, treating her like a slave and threatening to tear out her braids if the girl disobeys. ** But she's just as terrible to her biological daughter Marfushka. She's so eager to see her married off she arranges a date with a man who resembles Mortimer Snerd (Aw, thanks, Mom!), but still has so little faith in Marfushka's chances she hides her prettier stepdaughter (Really, thanks, Mom!). When the day ends in disaster, with Marfuska humiliated and reduced to tears, her mother slaps her. (Really, thanks!) and, finally, having exhausted all other possibilities, has her husband drag her daughter into the woods to risk hypothermia, in the hopes a wizard will happen by and conjure up a fiance. Sheesh, who knows what crap Marfushka put up with before her mom remarried and found a new target? Child abuse doesn't create docile, obedient angels like Nastenka, it produces wounded animals, which is how Marfushka comes across.***
Catarina Silveri (Jill Clayburgh) in Luna (1979) [suggested by Scott]: I've never seen Bernardo Bertolucci's '70's drama, but I do remember the controversy it generated with its tale of an opera diva who attempts to rid her son of his drug habit by, um, having sex with him. That is the exact wrong definition of a MILF. Also, I'm not sure incest is a medically sound treatment for herion addiction. But maybe the kid was allergic to methadone.
Mama Fratelli (Anne Ramsey) in The Goonies (1985): Kept her deformed, mentally challenged son chained up, and raised her other boys to becomes ruthless thieves and murderers (but since they were Robert Davi and Joe Pantoliano, it probably couldn't be helped). On top of which, did you see how filthy and unsanitary that lair was? I don't care if you are a vicious hoodlum who threatens to mutilate a boy's hand if he doesn't rat out his friends, you could still fill a bucket with suds, get some rags and give that place a scrubdown. I mean, heavens, woman, even Lady MacBeth found time for a little housework.
Celeste Talbert (Sally Field) in Soapdish (1991): When you bear a child out of wedlock and try to pass the child off as your niece, and keep the charade up for 20 years, you should probably tell the truth BEFORE something awkward happens -- like your daughter accidently dating her father. But hey, Celeste wasn't a genius, just a working actress.
"I'm guilty of love -- in the first degree!"
Vera Cosgrove (Elizabeth Moody) in Braindead AKA Dead Alive (1992) [suggested by Doc Logan]: Not content to merely make her son's life miserable while she was alive, Vera then rudely turned into a zombie, and then converted the neighbors into the walking dead. Which really brought down the property values in that neighborhood.
Rose Chausseur (Glynis Johns) in The Ref (1994): Just how mean, controlling, and miserly was she? Well, lemme put it this way: when an escaped convict (Denis Leary) who's holding the family hostage, threatens to shoot her...nobody objects.
Mary Brown (Cathy Moriarty) in But I'm a Cheerleader! (1999): What would motivate housewife Mary to open up a camp to "cure" gay teens, especially when she has no training as a counselor? Perhaps she felt her own experience as a mother more than qualified her to set those kids on the righteous path. After all, her own son, Rock (Eddie Cibrian) turned out COMPLETELY het...
...oooooh! Okay, mystery solved. Moving on...
Ingrid Magnussen (Michelle Pfeiffer) in White Oleander (2002) [suggested by trashfire]: Abandoned daughter Astrid (Alison Lohmann) for a year when the child kept cutting into her "Me" time with selfish demands for food and baths and love and attention. But, as she explains, "You're misssing the important part -- I came BACK!" She then pays a visit to her lover and poisons him, while Astrid waits for her in the car (at least she remembered to crack the window). She later drives Astrid's second foster mom -- a perfectly nice woman -- to suicide. Her life philosophy is, "Love humilates you. Hatred cradles you, it's soothing." I guess she wanted to soothe Astrid completely out of her life.
BONUS BAD MOM -- Starr (Robin Wright Penn), Astrid's first foster mother. A born-again Christian who didn't quite live up to the teachings of Jesus. She drives her own daughter out of the house, and in a deleted scene included as an extra on the video, beats one son badly enough for him to land in a hospital. When her boyfriend Ray (Cole Hauser, which should have been a red flag), begins showing Astrid more attention than an adult should pay a teenage girl, Starr responds the way any ordinary adult would -- by shooting the kid. (Which kinda puts Lora Meredith in perspective).
Worst TV Moms
Lucille Bluth (Jessica Walter), Arrested Development. Two words: Mother boy.
Dallas Royce (Cheryl Hines), Suburgatory. "We don't allow Dalia to have hard liquor on a school night."
Mama Harper (Vicki Lawrence), the "Family" skits on The Carol Burnett Show. Repeatedly told daughter Eunice (Burnett) that she was a dumb, untalented loser who'd never amount to anything. Which was pretty much true, but, hey, that's no reason to keep rubbing it in.
"Aw lay off her Ed! Poor baby, cain't you see she's FAILED agin!"
*Annie's so nice I can't even swear around her.
** The first couple times I saw this movie, I thought they were saying "brain", not "braid", which made her even scarier.
***I don't think the filmmakers saw it that way. They pile on one last humiliation for Marfushka after the poor girl finally snaps and opens a can of whoop-ass on Jack Frost when he tries to pull that creepy "Are you warm, my little one?" crap that worked so well on her more trusting sibling.
****expect to see this movie turn up in next month's Father's Day column.
So, that's this year's crop of bad Mamas. Please leave any suggestions for next year's harvest below. And here's wishing all the great Moms -- and you know who you are, and more importantly, so do your kids (I hope) -- a Very Happy Mother's Day!
*Annie's so nice I can't even swear around her.
** The first couple times I saw this movie, I thought they were saying "brain", not "braid", which made her even scarier.
***I don't think the filmmakers saw it that way. They pile on one last humiliation for Marfushka after the poor girl finally snaps and opens a can of whoop-ass on Jack Frost when he tries to pull that creepy "Are you warm, my little one?" crap that worked so well on her more trusting sibling.
****expect to see this movie turn up in next month's Father's Day column.
So, that's this year's crop of bad Mamas. Please leave any suggestions for next year's harvest below. And here's wishing all the great Moms -- and you know who you are, and more importantly, so do your kids (I hope) -- a Very Happy Mother's Day!
-Bill S
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Sundays With S.Z.: I Led Three Lives
Due to popular demand (well, Weird Dave nudged me in the comments below, but I understand he's really popular and kind of demanding), here is this week's edition of Sundays With S.Z., one day early, featuring the first in her multipart undercover series on the underbelly of the ubermenschen.
Originally published October 13, 2003:
World O'Crap! Surfing the entire world wide web, to bring you crap wherever it may occur.
Today our usual suspects didn't have anything that inspired us, so, in a desperate attempt to find SOMETHING to write about, we tried clicking on their ads and links. And now we bring you the results:
I Was an Undercover Conservative for World O'Crap!
I started my journey into the heart of darkness ("The Horror! The horror!") by checking out some of the The Official Ann Coulter Site links. The first stop was the horrifying Young America Foundation (WARNING: every time I visit this site, my computer freezes. I suspect they have liberal-detecting software in place).
Anyway, YAF is an organization founded to help students promote conservative values and time-honored traditions like patriotism, morality, and segregation on their campuses. The most noteworthy feature of this organization for George Bush Babies is "Club 100".
Well, mainly by pressuring my university to invite (and pay) conservative speakers to indoctrinate my peers. But Club 100 also offers me cell leaders . . .I mean, mentors, who will guide me in my efforts to return this country to the good old days.
This all sounded so good that I submitted my application to join Club 100. If I'm admitted, I can share my stories of smiting liberals and having cake bakes for Cheney with the other Club members. But if Bob Novak blows my cover and YAF realizes I'm not really an eager young conservative named Muffy attending Oral Roberts University, I fear for my life. I'll keep you updated on this.
The next Ann-endorsed link I tried was American Patriots for True Equality, a site dedicated to honoring the victims of 9/11 by getting rid of diversity (it's what they would have wanted).
So, the APFTE isn't going to let any more of these foreigners into our country, because if Americans have to listen to another language on voice mail, then it means the terrorists have won.
And for our last journey into the weird, bizarre, and unbalanced world of Ann's friends, we stop off at WorldNetDaily ("A Free Press for a Stupid People"), which Ann lists as a news source. It's top story today:
Ex-welfare queen exposes 'Uncle Sam's Plantation'
It's about Star Parker (one of the mentors to the Karl Rovenkinder at Club 100), who has written a book blowing the lid off welfare, which "seems to keep the poor enslaved to poverty while the rich get richer." We can believe what Star is telling us about how state-sponsored plans harm the poor, because she used to be a lying, cheating crack 'ho! Here's her story:
WorldNetDaily also gives us Barbara Simpson, "The Babe in the Bunker" (okay, so she's got a little more meat on her bones than Ann Coulter, but I'd hardly compare her to the beloved animatronic movie pig). Today she gives us the thought piece, "Liberals Love Limbaugh's Pain." Her thesis is that liberals (whom she defines in her article as "Democrats") were so angry about Schwarzenegger being elected governor (even though said Democrats are all "celebrity whores", and so were actually glad that he won), that they are now dancing in the streets upon learning that Rush is a drug addict. Well, not a DRUG ADDICT, but just someone who's addicted to drugs. Barbara says that Rush confessed all, and asked for support and prayers.
And speaking of WorldNetDaily and being understanding of others, we loved yesterday's top story:
Well, since my church doesn't have a cross, I guess it would be just okay. But what I'm interested in is how WorldNetDaily (and the Pulitzer-winning Charleston Daily Mail, which is where WorldNet got their info), knew that the inspector was a cross-dressing Wiccan.
Apparently, the first clue was that he filed his report, because "Nobody, unless they had an agenda, would do this," claims the lawyer. Well, maybe a Fair Housing inspector would, if that was his job.
But somebody did a web search and found that the investigator had a website. And on that site was a piece he had written "which criticizes religious institutions for creating a culture that punishes non-traditional definitions of masculinity and femininity." Um, okay--he's a Wiccan, all right.
But how did his cross-dressing come to light? Per WorldNetDaily, "The Daily Mail said Napier occasionally dresses in women's clothes and performs as a drag queen under the stage name Miss Ilene Over." So, I guess somebody from the mission must have caught Ilene's act -- while ministering to the homeless, of couse. We await further stories about the dangers posed by cross-dressing Wiccans, and urge all of you to be on the lookout for Badly-Dressed Atheists.
So, Ann's neighborhood. A scary place to visit, but we wouldn't want to live there.
Tune in tomorrow when we infiltrate Consertative Matchmaker.com, EHarmony.com, and National Review for Kids. If YAF hasn't terminated us by then.
Originally published October 13, 2003:
World O'Crap! Surfing the entire world wide web, to bring you crap wherever it may occur.
Today our usual suspects didn't have anything that inspired us, so, in a desperate attempt to find SOMETHING to write about, we tried clicking on their ads and links. And now we bring you the results:
I Was an Undercover Conservative for World O'Crap!
I started my journey into the heart of darkness ("The Horror! The horror!") by checking out some of the The Official Ann Coulter Site links. The first stop was the horrifying Young America Foundation (WARNING: every time I visit this site, my computer freezes. I suspect they have liberal-detecting software in place).
Anyway, YAF is an organization founded to help students promote conservative values and time-honored traditions like patriotism, morality, and segregation on their campuses. The most noteworthy feature of this organization for George Bush Babies is "Club 100".
Club 100 "Where activism counts!" is the conservative movement's first and only campus activist rewards program. This unique program thanks YOU for constantly striving to promote conservative ideas to your fellow students.And just how do I subvert my fellow students?
Well, mainly by pressuring my university to invite (and pay) conservative speakers to indoctrinate my peers. But Club 100 also offers me cell leaders . . .I mean, mentors, who will guide me in my efforts to return this country to the good old days.
Club 100 Activist Mentors
Have you ever wanted to ask a Conservative Movement leader how to attract more members to your club or how to effectively promote conservative ideas on campus? As a member, you will have opportunities to talk with some of the Movements best strategists and tacticians. Club 100’s Activist Mentors Bay Buchanan, Reginald Jones, Star Parker, Kirby Wilbur, and Floyd Brown will offer you the chance to participate in special strategy sessions and members-only receptions."Strategy Sessions", "evil scheming," "plotting how to turn others to the dark side": Club100 has it all! But the best thing about Club 100 is the rewards! It's like a Frequent Flyer program for Fascism!
As you host Foundation speakers and attend Foundation programs, you will receive points for your activities. As you accumulate points throughout the year, you will receive rewards for being active. Some of these rewards include books from noted conservative authors including Ann Coulter, David Horowitz, Peggy Noonan, plus conservative videos, and exclusive Foundation merchandise.
Members who tally 100 points each academic year will be invited to attend a one-of-a-kind event, the Club 100 Reagan Ranch Retreat in April 2004! Held at the El Capitan Canyon north of Santa Barbara, this all-expenses paid event brings together the nation's leading conservative student activists with the Club 100 Mentors for a unique weekend of training, discussions, and an opportunity to explore the experiences Reagan enjoyed when he spent time on his ranch.Wow, a week of conservatism training at Reagan Ranch Retreat, where you will have an opportunity to explore the experiences Reagan enjoyed! But don't let them keep you in the BrainWashaTron too long or you'll be enjoying the experiences Reagan currently enjoys.
This all sounded so good that I submitted my application to join Club 100. If I'm admitted, I can share my stories of smiting liberals and having cake bakes for Cheney with the other Club members. But if Bob Novak blows my cover and YAF realizes I'm not really an eager young conservative named Muffy attending Oral Roberts University, I fear for my life. I'll keep you updated on this.
The next Ann-endorsed link I tried was American Patriots for True Equality, a site dedicated to honoring the victims of 9/11 by getting rid of diversity (it's what they would have wanted).
It seemed to begin as a result of 9-11-01 that a new appreciation was brought to every Americans attention, that being, the value and worth of our freedoms in this wonderful country of ours.
Even the most apathetic individual was slapped in the face with reality on that day. A day that anyone cognizant of their surroundings, will be able to recall exactly what they were doing and where they were ... on that terrible morning that was to effect all our lives in one way or another.Truer words have never been spoken, as it WAS a day that anyone cognizant of their surroundings will be able to recall where they were. And what better way to show we value and appreciate our freedoms than by keeping others from enjoying them, by restricting immigration.
Remember when families that immigrated into our great country wanted to speak "American English" and become part of our great society? When you could telephone somewhere and not have to listen to another language before picking the "English" option? When "The American Dream" meant raising a family, securing a home and piece of property and live the American Way? There was one American culture and it was the guideline that people lived and worked and raised their Children by until beginning late in the last century when for some, "Coming to America" meant grabbing all you can, sharing a habitat with several others and "Going Back Home" with all you could loot. A majority of the immigrants today, have no respect for America, and have gotten that opinion from their own government in the countries they are emigrating from. And the sad thing is we allow it! We have to stop the illegal flow of immigrants, and drastically cut the immigrants we allow in our country legally.Yes, remember back to prior to 1980 or so, when there was one American culture? There were no Little Italys or Chinatowns or restricted country clubs back then, dammit, for we taught our Children by the guideline of that one culture. But that all started changing when we got this new breed of immigrant who disrespects America by speaking a foreign tongue. See, the Patriots conducted a scientific survey and determined that a "majority of immigrants today have no respect for America." They're just in it for the less-than-minimum-wage jobs and the crowded living conditions! Then, when they've looted America by picking our fruit, washing our dishes, and doing our other backbreaking, smelly jobs, they'll return to their home country and talk about us in their outlandish, non-American languages. The bastards!
So, the APFTE isn't going to let any more of these foreigners into our country, because if Americans have to listen to another language on voice mail, then it means the terrorists have won.
Americas Sworn Enemies Are Usually Past or Current Recipients of "Foreign Aid" From U.S. Taxpayers, Why Do We Help Them Hate Us? The APFTE wants ALL Foreign Aid Stopped To ANY Country That Has Not Sworn An Alliance to Our Country. We must heal our wounds, and unite and fight the fanatics and those that support their actions. It is they, who are the real enemy of America - Terrorists and terrorism and let's not forget to remember the false Friends that America has generated. Those that are totally ungrateful that without our help, they would have no country to call their own. France hardly misses an opportunity to stab us in the back, and was given back to them by American Blood not once, but TWICE in the last century!If other nations want our aid, they must swear a binding oath in which they promise to do whatever we tell them to, be properly grateful, and to love us forever. Because it is terrorists and ingrates who are the real enemy of America--so France, next time you're invaded by Germany, well, we're helping the Nazis!
Foreign and sometimes domestic Islamic "Fanatics" teach their followers that ALL Americans are "Infidels" (Unless you happen to be an American of Islamic Faith that is...) and we and our American culture is the work of the Devil, and killing us is not a sin. [snip] This terrible divisive influence on our American Culture has to be brought to light, and addressed, before the cost gets too great to pay. Freedom of religion does not give a Zealot the right to infringe on others beliefs.
The APFTE believes that No group of Americans should promote hatred towards another group of Americans.You know, we're glad to hear you say that, APFTE, because we know of a Zealot who promotes hatred towards another group of Americans, feels that everyone who doesn't believe the way she does is an infidel (or "traitor"), and who believes that killing us is not a sin. Yes, she even said "My only regret with Timothy McVeigh is he did not go to the New York Times Building." And it was her link that brought us to your page, APFTE. Maybe you should stop linking back to her site, since you're all about unity and love and stuff.
And for our last journey into the weird, bizarre, and unbalanced world of Ann's friends, we stop off at WorldNetDaily ("A Free Press for a Stupid People"), which Ann lists as a news source. It's top story today:
Ex-welfare queen exposes 'Uncle Sam's Plantation'
It's about Star Parker (one of the mentors to the Karl Rovenkinder at Club 100), who has written a book blowing the lid off welfare, which "seems to keep the poor enslaved to poverty while the rich get richer." We can believe what Star is telling us about how state-sponsored plans harm the poor, because she used to be a lying, cheating crack 'ho! Here's her story:
Once caught up in the miserable world of welfare fraud, sex, drugs and abortion, she underwent what many have called a miraculous transformation into what she is today – one of America's leading advocates for true, faith-based success and empowerment of the nation's poor.She recommends "personal initiative, faith, and responsibility," as a way for the underclass to "release the hold poverty holds over their lives." And since her plan will allow the Bush tax-cuts to stay in place by doing away with all that money we currently waste on social programs, WorldNetDaily is all for it! I'm sure it will work for everybody else as well as it worked for Star, and anybody who isn't well-off after reading her book just isn't trying, and so doesn't deserve any help.
WorldNetDaily also gives us Barbara Simpson, "The Babe in the Bunker" (okay, so she's got a little more meat on her bones than Ann Coulter, but I'd hardly compare her to the beloved animatronic movie pig). Today she gives us the thought piece, "Liberals Love Limbaugh's Pain." Her thesis is that liberals (whom she defines in her article as "Democrats") were so angry about Schwarzenegger being elected governor (even though said Democrats are all "celebrity whores", and so were actually glad that he won), that they are now dancing in the streets upon learning that Rush is a drug addict. Well, not a DRUG ADDICT, but just someone who's addicted to drugs. Barbara says that Rush confessed all, and asked for support and prayers.
So what does he get from the liberal media? Attacks. There's no sympathy for his medical ordeals. He's equated with street junkies and his addiction is compared to that of a guy in the alley mainlining heroin. Yes, chemically, street drugs and prescription drugs are similar and yes, the effect of opiates on the body may be the same, but liberals just miss the point. Lots of points.The points are several of the items from my handy "Being There for Rush" list for pundits (see Saturday's entry), but chiefly the "Rush only got addicted to opiates because he used them for his PAIN, unlike the street junkie who sought out opiates for his pain one. Then Barbara delivers this stinging rebuke:
The same people who have compassion for the dregs of humanity on the street and for animals and insects cannot find an ounce of compassion for Rush. And we know why.Because they just like animals and insects better than Rush.
And speaking of WorldNetDaily and being understanding of others, we loved yesterday's top story:
Cross-Dressing Wiccan Official Sparks Christian Mission Probe
A Christian mission serving homeless people since 1939 is under investigation for discrimination because its walls are adorned with crosses and other religious imagery. The probe was prompted by a city fair-housing investigator, who also happens to be a cross-dressing Wiccan.See, this West Virgininian cross-dressing Wiccan did his investigation and now Charleston's Human Relations Commission is looking at the mission:
The commission voted last month to scrutinize the mission's policies, which include barring drugs and alcohol and not allowing unmarried couples to sleep in the same room. The panel, which enforces the state's fair-housing laws, is looking at allegations the mission discriminates according to religion and gender. The accusations include requiring people seeking help to reveal their spiritual beliefs, serving non-Christians in facilities with Christian imagery and making married men spend two nights under "observation" in the men's dorm before joining their spouse in the family dorm, the Daily Mail said.The mission could wait and see what the Commission's final findings and recommendations are, and then either change their policies or stop taking Federal funds. But instead they're suing to stop the probe, which their lawyer says seeks to "put a cork in the First Amendment rights" of their pastor. The lawyer asks, "How would you like them to come into your church and tear the cross down?"
Well, since my church doesn't have a cross, I guess it would be just okay. But what I'm interested in is how WorldNetDaily (and the Pulitzer-winning Charleston Daily Mail, which is where WorldNet got their info), knew that the inspector was a cross-dressing Wiccan.
Apparently, the first clue was that he filed his report, because "Nobody, unless they had an agenda, would do this," claims the lawyer. Well, maybe a Fair Housing inspector would, if that was his job.
But somebody did a web search and found that the investigator had a website. And on that site was a piece he had written "which criticizes religious institutions for creating a culture that punishes non-traditional definitions of masculinity and femininity." Um, okay--he's a Wiccan, all right.
But how did his cross-dressing come to light? Per WorldNetDaily, "The Daily Mail said Napier occasionally dresses in women's clothes and performs as a drag queen under the stage name Miss Ilene Over." So, I guess somebody from the mission must have caught Ilene's act -- while ministering to the homeless, of couse. We await further stories about the dangers posed by cross-dressing Wiccans, and urge all of you to be on the lookout for Badly-Dressed Atheists.
So, Ann's neighborhood. A scary place to visit, but we wouldn't want to live there.
Tune in tomorrow when we infiltrate Consertative Matchmaker.com, EHarmony.com, and National Review for Kids. If YAF hasn't terminated us by then.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Beefcake or Death?
Let me state upfront that I like Italy. I’ve spent time there, I enjoy the cuisine, the culture, the landscape and architecture, and I find their politics more entertaining than Bravo’s entire lineup of reality shows. So I don’t mean to perpetuate any stereotypes when I say that if you’re a Greek small businessman who operates a Mom ‘n’ Pop pantheon, you really shouldn’t allow more than three Romans inside at a time, or they will shoplift the crap out of your gods. And not just the major, big ticket deities either – they’ll swipe the demi-gods and heroes off the impulse rack near check-out, too.
Hercules, of course, is a Roman knockoff of the designer demi-god Heracles (you’ll note that when filching intellectual property, the Romans are smart enough to change the names a bit so they don’t get a takedown notice from Viacom). But they don't confine themselves to taking the Greeks’ theological sloppy seconds; no, they even knocked off their own knockoffs, as witnessed by the long and undistinguished film career of Maciste.
Created for the epic Italian film Cabiria (1914) and played by a moonlighting longshoreman, Maciste was a super-strong slave who just got stronger and more super and less slavey as the decades wore on, until by the 1960s his physical prowess was the equal of Hercules. But despite his enormous popularity in Europe (okay, Italy), in the U.S. Maciste remained the moral equivalent of a regional store brand of soda – the Shasta Cola to Hercules’ Diet Rite.
Which is why Embassy Pictures, which started the whole greasy beefcake craze with its release of the Steve Reeves Hercules, bought up all the Maciste films after the craze cooled and slapped on new titles, giving the off-brand demi-god a variety of assumed names (Samson, Colossus, Goliath) and making it very difficult for Maciste to qualify for even a subprime mortgage. They packaged the whole mess for syndication under the rubric “The Sons of Hercules” and added a kickass theme song, an earworm so fiendishly catchy that once heard, it is never forgotten:
The mighty Sons of Hercules,
Were men as men could be!
These men of steel,
Had curb appeal,
And skin-tight Beefy-Ts!
Okay, maybe I don’t actually remember it all that well…Let’s just get on with our feature presentation, originally titled Maciste, l'uomo più forte del mondo (Maciste, the Strongest Man in the World).
Mole Men Against the Son of Hercules (1961)
Directed by Leonviola
Screenplay by Marcello Baldi and Giuseppe Mangione, Based on a Story by Leonviola
Maciste stands at the shore and pulls on a big rope, grunting and squatting and flexing as he plays tug of war with the ocean. Eventually he hauls in a blue whale, which is pretty good for surf casting, particularly since he’s using fairly light tackle – 11-foot rod, Penn Spinfisher reel, and a 4/0 circle hook with a sliding egg sinker on 40 lb test line.
He stares dumbly at the leviathan for a moment, trying to figure out how to stuff it into his creel, when two groups of horsemen approach. Group A are typical Greeks – swarthy men in micro-mini tunics, while Group B are mysterious masked figures dressed in white robes (which I understand were widely available in 1961), who are busily shooting arrows into Group A.
With no clue what’s going on, Maciste pulls his blade from the whale (and is rightwise declared King of Sea World) and just decides to start killing, stabbing one from Column A, and one from Column B. But before he can work up a decent body count, the sun rises and the Klan members shield their eyes. moan histrionically and writhe around before collapsing into the whale-flavored surf. So, these drama queens are the Mole Men, eh? I wouldn’t have expected a burrowing species to wear white, especially after Labor Day, but perhaps they’re big Tom Wolfe fans.
Maciste goes to Group A’s village, and finds that the Mole Men have razed it to the ground and abducted the inhabitants. He resolves to hunt down the bloodthirsty albinos and punish them for getting top billing.
He finds his quarry standing around in a clearing at high noon, which is confusing, because we’ve already established that sunlight makes Mole Men melt, but the filmmakers would appreciate it if we’d pretend it’s night time even though they couldn’t be bothered to put a blue filter on the lens and shoot day for night because jeez, do they have to do everything around here? Maybe we’d like them to tie our shoes and wipes our butts too, huh?
Anyway, the M&Ms have got a big, brawny black man tied to a tree, and are prancing around him in their white robes. Maciste cuts their victim free before squaring off against the Dancin’ Klansmen, so we can get a gladiatorial twist on The Defiant Ones, a delicious and ass-kicking chocolate-vanilla layer beefcake. Despite his muscular, well-oiled physique, however, the black dude just pops his eyes like Mantan Moreland and shinnies up the tree.
Oh well, that just means more Mole Men for Maciste to manhandle, and he proceeds to drive them off, but not before their leader loses his mask, revealing that he’s actually David Bowie from the Thin White Duke era.
Maciste coaxes the frightened bodybuilder out of the tree, and the man promptly flings himself on the ground and tenderly places Maciste’s foot on his own neck, whimpering, “I will be your slave forever.” Hmmm. You know, I should probably check the Freshness Date on this thing, because I’m beginning to think there was a typo on YouTube and it was actually made in 1861.
Anyway, the black guy is named “Bangor.” I’m a little disappointed by his lack of an authentic Down East accent, but I’ll meet the filmmakers halfway and just imagine all his lines being spoken by that guy from the Pepperidge Farm commercials. Bangor, by the way, is played by Paul Wynter, who was crowned Mr. Universe in 1960 and immediately cashed in his fame for a role in this piece of shit, a decision which later made Vanessa Williams feel much better about her bumpy reign as Miss America.
Next morning, Bangor serves Maciste breakfast in bed. Bangor has obviously been up for hours, because he’s had time to split a coconut and apply a fresh coat of glistening body grease. The two engorged specimens eye one another over the rims of their respective nuts as they gulp down the milky contents.
Okay, sorry, just had to get that out of my system. I should be fine for the rest of the movie.
The Mole Men have cleverly disguised the secret entrance to their hidden base, but they made one fatal error: they left all their still-saddled horses tied up next to it, so even a lead shot-for-brains like Maciste can figure it out. He immediately hatches a brilliant plan to get inside, which involves taking a nap.
Meanwhile, the Thin White Duke’s dad performs surgery on him without anesthetic, while Bowie screams and writhes and drips poster paint. It’s supposed to be harrowing, but I was too distracted by dad’s headdress, which eerily resembles the hat worn by the Grand Poobah of Fred Flintstone's lodge.
The cameraman finds the blue filter so it can be night again, and the M&Ms sneak up and surround Maciste, who lies on his back, pretending to be asleep, confident for some reason that these guys won’t all just stab their swords into him like so many ruffled toothpicks plunging into a chafing dish of Vienna Franks and cheese fondue.
Instead, they tie up Maciste and Bangor and take them underground, where they find Group A being forced to work in the M&M mines, and to listen to that one Midnight Oil album.
The prisoners castigate Bangor, who was supposed to be guarding their ruler, Princess Salubrious, and not practicing Japanese rope bondage with photophobic Klansmen, or sucking coconut milk with his beefy new friend.
Maciste and Bangor are put to work with the others. For the purposes of this film, “mining” means pushing around a giant wooden merry-go-round while screaming with excitement like you’re on a rollercoaster. Unsurprisingly, there isn’t a long line for this ride, and even without a Fast Pass the wait is often less than half an hour.
Meanwhile, Queen Bouffant, the evil but shapely monarch of the Mole Men makes a pass at Princess Salubrious, then snaps, “Put this girl in chains!” and suddenly I couldn’t love this movie more. Who needs Persian Kitty?
Queen Bouffant is betrothed to the Thin White Duke, but spends most of her time peeping through the drapes and watching Maciste and Bangor sweating, bulging, and glistening as they run around the merry-go-round. This comes as a surprise, because she doesn’t look like the kind of chick who would date normally carnies.
Later that night, the Queen’s black handmaiden, Sophocles Jones, goes to the prison cells and tells our heroes that the Queen plans to sacrifice Princess Salubrious, then make Bangor and Maciste fight to the death, because apparently achieving orgasm was a lot more involved back then.
Cut to a gravel quarry, where Queen Bouffant unveils a cage which contains a huge and savage ape (and the worst gorilla suit this side of the Nairobi Trio), and announces that anyone who defeats it gets to be her husband. I'm sorry, but this is the wackiest episode of The Bachelorette I’ve ever seen, and I’m seriously tempted to switch over to Ice Road Truckers.
Bowie can’t fight the monster because he’s still on the 15-day DL, so Queen Bouffant tells Maciste and Bangor they can fight each other, and the winner gets ten minutes in the cage with the monkey. Suddenly it’s the end of Spartacus, where Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis are forced to duel, each trying to spare the other a long painful death by crucifixion by stabbing him. Except here Bangor and Maciste are fighting over the right to wrestle J. Fred Muggs, and they don’t really fight so much as they just sort of squat there and repeatedly trade light slaps, like they’re auditioning for a Skin Bracer® commercial while suffering from a bout of diarrhea. Hilarity ensues, however, when Bangor takes a fall, and rises with sand sticking to every inch of his baby oiled body, making his pecs resemble two panko-encrusted chicken breasts.
It all finally ends when Bangor head-butts Maciste, and knocks himself out. Maciste realizes his friend was only trying to save his life, and he honors this beau geste by squatting on the unconscious man’s chest like he’s about to deposit a Cleveland Steamer.
After the implied German fetish video, our hero gets in the cage, kills the gorilla costume, and is declared the rightful fiancé of Queen Bouffant. But Maciste is a confirmed bachelor, and he runs off with the comatose Princess Salubrious in his arms and escapes on a surprised horse who didn’t really want to get involved, and was just there to watch the primates wrestle.
Maciste takes Salubrious to Cypress Gardens, Florida, where they shower under the waterfall and watch The Go-Gos perform a precision aquaplaning exhibition. Then he heads back to the Mole Men’s subterranean empire, where he plans to stick a garden hose down their hole and drown them.
Meanwhile, the Grand Poobah wants Bouffant to punish the Mole Man who let Maciste escape. The Queen sentences him to lay on a beach towel until dead, and sure enough, the condemned guard doesn’t get through even one Top 40 hit on his Panasonic Toot-A-Loop transistor radio before the rays of the sun burn all the flesh off his bones, leaving nothing behind but the great smell of Sea ‘N’ Ski.
Hey, anyone hungry? Because we’ve got a steam tray full of plot nuggets over here. Grand Poobah tells David Bowie that Queen Bouffant isn’t actually a Mole Man – she was born on the surface, which means she’s got melanin, so the Thin White Duke has to breed with her, so his children will grow up to frolic on the beach and get their pants pulled down by a Scottish terrier.
Bowie baits a trap for Maciste by tying Bangor to a tree again. And again, Maciste arrives to free his steroidal sidekick, except this time he falls into a Malay Mole Mancatcher, then he gets hoisted up in a net, and then presumably minced and canned in spring water.
We cut to a Mole Man hitting a giant gong, and experience a brief surge of hope that we might have somehow switched over to TCM in time to catch a Rank Organisation film.
Nope. Queen Bouffant wants to see if Maciste is actually the strongest man in the world like it says in the title, and fortunately, Mole Man Land has a machine designed to test that very thing. It’s kind of a Rube Goldberg device, and the only thing I remember about the scene is the part where Sophocles Jones runs to give them water, and we get to watch two muscle men tongue a sea sponge.
But Maciste busts out some awesome feats of strength, and the Queen gets so turned on we suspect her throne could benefit from a few sea sponges. She frees Maciste so he can be her husband, because Bouffant doesn’t know she’s actually an above ground model, like a Doughboy Pool, and figures if she mates with our hero, then her kids will be able to tolerate sunlight. And if not, at least they'll look good in skin bronzer.
The Grand Poobah is pissed, and sets “the sacred lions” on them. But Maciste grabs the mallet from the gong and bonks the lions on the head, knocking them silly and dealing the worst blow to leonine dignity until Daktari.
Saved from certain death, and even more turned on by his ability to stun large cats, Queen Bouffant commands her minions to conduct Maciste to the Royal Booty Call Suite. But Poobah and Bowie slip him a roofie, then dump his body on that conveyor belt that Lucy and Viv worked at in the chocolate factory, except this one leads to a Bronze Age auto press.
Finding her booty call is getting a busy signal, Bouffant fears that Maciste has run off to be with Princess Salubrious (remember her?) and she decides to ride to Busch Gardens. But the other Mole Men (except for Bowie) refuse to accompany her because it’s almost dawn and they have to get up and go to work in the morning.
Back at the conveyor belt, Maciste regains consciousness and throws a spear through four guys who were walking single file because he woke up hungry and in the mood for shish kebab. Then he frees all the slaves. But it turns out that Mole Man Land is a gated community, because the Grand Poobah locks all the exits, trapping them underground, and this is the signal for Maciste and Bangor to hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes.
It goes on for quite a long time, but they seem really comfortable with it, so who am I to judge? Suddenly, Maciste gets the idea to use a chain and the merry-go-round to pull down the ceiling, and everybody escapes.
Meanwhile, back at Bouffant, Bowie dies from third degree dawn (and it’s a prolonged and overacted death, according to ancient Mole Man tradition), while Bouffant realizes that she’s not actually an albino, and probably will be fine with just a little Bain de Soleil. She sees the world flooded with sunlight for the first time in her life, and it is glorious. A rainbow arches overhead as the awestruck queen walks to the edge of a waterfall, her once stern features softening into a child-like look of wonder. Then the sun gets in her eyes and she falls to her death.
The end.
So what have we learned from all this? Hell if I know – I’m too heavily medicated. What do you guys think?
Hercules, of course, is a Roman knockoff of the designer demi-god Heracles (you’ll note that when filching intellectual property, the Romans are smart enough to change the names a bit so they don’t get a takedown notice from Viacom). But they don't confine themselves to taking the Greeks’ theological sloppy seconds; no, they even knocked off their own knockoffs, as witnessed by the long and undistinguished film career of Maciste.
Created for the epic Italian film Cabiria (1914) and played by a moonlighting longshoreman, Maciste was a super-strong slave who just got stronger and more super and less slavey as the decades wore on, until by the 1960s his physical prowess was the equal of Hercules. But despite his enormous popularity in Europe (okay, Italy), in the U.S. Maciste remained the moral equivalent of a regional store brand of soda – the Shasta Cola to Hercules’ Diet Rite.
"You ever considered manscaping?"
Which is why Embassy Pictures, which started the whole greasy beefcake craze with its release of the Steve Reeves Hercules, bought up all the Maciste films after the craze cooled and slapped on new titles, giving the off-brand demi-god a variety of assumed names (Samson, Colossus, Goliath) and making it very difficult for Maciste to qualify for even a subprime mortgage. They packaged the whole mess for syndication under the rubric “The Sons of Hercules” and added a kickass theme song, an earworm so fiendishly catchy that once heard, it is never forgotten:
The mighty Sons of Hercules,
Were men as men could be!
These men of steel,
Had curb appeal,
And skin-tight Beefy-Ts!
Okay, maybe I don’t actually remember it all that well…Let’s just get on with our feature presentation, originally titled Maciste, l'uomo più forte del mondo (Maciste, the Strongest Man in the World).
Mole Men Against the Son of Hercules (1961)
Directed by Leonviola
Screenplay by Marcello Baldi and Giuseppe Mangione, Based on a Story by Leonviola
Maciste stands at the shore and pulls on a big rope, grunting and squatting and flexing as he plays tug of war with the ocean. Eventually he hauls in a blue whale, which is pretty good for surf casting, particularly since he’s using fairly light tackle – 11-foot rod, Penn Spinfisher reel, and a 4/0 circle hook with a sliding egg sinker on 40 lb test line.
He stares dumbly at the leviathan for a moment, trying to figure out how to stuff it into his creel, when two groups of horsemen approach. Group A are typical Greeks – swarthy men in micro-mini tunics, while Group B are mysterious masked figures dressed in white robes (which I understand were widely available in 1961), who are busily shooting arrows into Group A.
With no clue what’s going on, Maciste pulls his blade from the whale (and is rightwise declared King of Sea World) and just decides to start killing, stabbing one from Column A, and one from Column B. But before he can work up a decent body count, the sun rises and the Klan members shield their eyes. moan histrionically and writhe around before collapsing into the whale-flavored surf. So, these drama queens are the Mole Men, eh? I wouldn’t have expected a burrowing species to wear white, especially after Labor Day, but perhaps they’re big Tom Wolfe fans.
Maciste goes to Group A’s village, and finds that the Mole Men have razed it to the ground and abducted the inhabitants. He resolves to hunt down the bloodthirsty albinos and punish them for getting top billing.
He finds his quarry standing around in a clearing at high noon, which is confusing, because we’ve already established that sunlight makes Mole Men melt, but the filmmakers would appreciate it if we’d pretend it’s night time even though they couldn’t be bothered to put a blue filter on the lens and shoot day for night because jeez, do they have to do everything around here? Maybe we’d like them to tie our shoes and wipes our butts too, huh?
Anyway, the M&Ms have got a big, brawny black man tied to a tree, and are prancing around him in their white robes. Maciste cuts their victim free before squaring off against the Dancin’ Klansmen, so we can get a gladiatorial twist on The Defiant Ones, a delicious and ass-kicking chocolate-vanilla layer beefcake. Despite his muscular, well-oiled physique, however, the black dude just pops his eyes like Mantan Moreland and shinnies up the tree.
Oh well, that just means more Mole Men for Maciste to manhandle, and he proceeds to drive them off, but not before their leader loses his mask, revealing that he’s actually David Bowie from the Thin White Duke era.
Maciste coaxes the frightened bodybuilder out of the tree, and the man promptly flings himself on the ground and tenderly places Maciste’s foot on his own neck, whimpering, “I will be your slave forever.” Hmmm. You know, I should probably check the Freshness Date on this thing, because I’m beginning to think there was a typo on YouTube and it was actually made in 1861.
Anyway, the black guy is named “Bangor.” I’m a little disappointed by his lack of an authentic Down East accent, but I’ll meet the filmmakers halfway and just imagine all his lines being spoken by that guy from the Pepperidge Farm commercials. Bangor, by the way, is played by Paul Wynter, who was crowned Mr. Universe in 1960 and immediately cashed in his fame for a role in this piece of shit, a decision which later made Vanessa Williams feel much better about her bumpy reign as Miss America.
Next morning, Bangor serves Maciste breakfast in bed. Bangor has obviously been up for hours, because he’s had time to split a coconut and apply a fresh coat of glistening body grease. The two engorged specimens eye one another over the rims of their respective nuts as they gulp down the milky contents.
Okay, sorry, just had to get that out of my system. I should be fine for the rest of the movie.
The Mole Men have cleverly disguised the secret entrance to their hidden base, but they made one fatal error: they left all their still-saddled horses tied up next to it, so even a lead shot-for-brains like Maciste can figure it out. He immediately hatches a brilliant plan to get inside, which involves taking a nap.
Meanwhile, the Thin White Duke’s dad performs surgery on him without anesthetic, while Bowie screams and writhes and drips poster paint. It’s supposed to be harrowing, but I was too distracted by dad’s headdress, which eerily resembles the hat worn by the Grand Poobah of Fred Flintstone's lodge.
The cameraman finds the blue filter so it can be night again, and the M&Ms sneak up and surround Maciste, who lies on his back, pretending to be asleep, confident for some reason that these guys won’t all just stab their swords into him like so many ruffled toothpicks plunging into a chafing dish of Vienna Franks and cheese fondue.
Instead, they tie up Maciste and Bangor and take them underground, where they find Group A being forced to work in the M&M mines, and to listen to that one Midnight Oil album.
The prisoners castigate Bangor, who was supposed to be guarding their ruler, Princess Salubrious, and not practicing Japanese rope bondage with photophobic Klansmen, or sucking coconut milk with his beefy new friend.
Maciste and Bangor are put to work with the others. For the purposes of this film, “mining” means pushing around a giant wooden merry-go-round while screaming with excitement like you’re on a rollercoaster. Unsurprisingly, there isn’t a long line for this ride, and even without a Fast Pass the wait is often less than half an hour.
"This is so bogus."
Meanwhile, Queen Bouffant, the evil but shapely monarch of the Mole Men makes a pass at Princess Salubrious, then snaps, “Put this girl in chains!” and suddenly I couldn’t love this movie more. Who needs Persian Kitty?
Queen Bouffant is betrothed to the Thin White Duke, but spends most of her time peeping through the drapes and watching Maciste and Bangor sweating, bulging, and glistening as they run around the merry-go-round. This comes as a surprise, because she doesn’t look like the kind of chick who would date normally carnies.
Later that night, the Queen’s black handmaiden, Sophocles Jones, goes to the prison cells and tells our heroes that the Queen plans to sacrifice Princess Salubrious, then make Bangor and Maciste fight to the death, because apparently achieving orgasm was a lot more involved back then.
Cut to a gravel quarry, where Queen Bouffant unveils a cage which contains a huge and savage ape (and the worst gorilla suit this side of the Nairobi Trio), and announces that anyone who defeats it gets to be her husband. I'm sorry, but this is the wackiest episode of The Bachelorette I’ve ever seen, and I’m seriously tempted to switch over to Ice Road Truckers.
Bowie can’t fight the monster because he’s still on the 15-day DL, so Queen Bouffant tells Maciste and Bangor they can fight each other, and the winner gets ten minutes in the cage with the monkey. Suddenly it’s the end of Spartacus, where Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis are forced to duel, each trying to spare the other a long painful death by crucifixion by stabbing him. Except here Bangor and Maciste are fighting over the right to wrestle J. Fred Muggs, and they don’t really fight so much as they just sort of squat there and repeatedly trade light slaps, like they’re auditioning for a Skin Bracer® commercial while suffering from a bout of diarrhea. Hilarity ensues, however, when Bangor takes a fall, and rises with sand sticking to every inch of his baby oiled body, making his pecs resemble two panko-encrusted chicken breasts.
It all finally ends when Bangor head-butts Maciste, and knocks himself out. Maciste realizes his friend was only trying to save his life, and he honors this beau geste by squatting on the unconscious man’s chest like he’s about to deposit a Cleveland Steamer.
After the implied German fetish video, our hero gets in the cage, kills the gorilla costume, and is declared the rightful fiancé of Queen Bouffant. But Maciste is a confirmed bachelor, and he runs off with the comatose Princess Salubrious in his arms and escapes on a surprised horse who didn’t really want to get involved, and was just there to watch the primates wrestle.
Maciste takes Salubrious to Cypress Gardens, Florida, where they shower under the waterfall and watch The Go-Gos perform a precision aquaplaning exhibition. Then he heads back to the Mole Men’s subterranean empire, where he plans to stick a garden hose down their hole and drown them.
Meanwhile, the Grand Poobah wants Bouffant to punish the Mole Man who let Maciste escape. The Queen sentences him to lay on a beach towel until dead, and sure enough, the condemned guard doesn’t get through even one Top 40 hit on his Panasonic Toot-A-Loop transistor radio before the rays of the sun burn all the flesh off his bones, leaving nothing behind but the great smell of Sea ‘N’ Ski.
Hey, anyone hungry? Because we’ve got a steam tray full of plot nuggets over here. Grand Poobah tells David Bowie that Queen Bouffant isn’t actually a Mole Man – she was born on the surface, which means she’s got melanin, so the Thin White Duke has to breed with her, so his children will grow up to frolic on the beach and get their pants pulled down by a Scottish terrier.
Bowie baits a trap for Maciste by tying Bangor to a tree again. And again, Maciste arrives to free his steroidal sidekick, except this time he falls into a Malay Mole Mancatcher, then he gets hoisted up in a net, and then presumably minced and canned in spring water.
We cut to a Mole Man hitting a giant gong, and experience a brief surge of hope that we might have somehow switched over to TCM in time to catch a Rank Organisation film.
Nope. Queen Bouffant wants to see if Maciste is actually the strongest man in the world like it says in the title, and fortunately, Mole Man Land has a machine designed to test that very thing. It’s kind of a Rube Goldberg device, and the only thing I remember about the scene is the part where Sophocles Jones runs to give them water, and we get to watch two muscle men tongue a sea sponge.
I think I had a dream like this in Junior High...
But Maciste busts out some awesome feats of strength, and the Queen gets so turned on we suspect her throne could benefit from a few sea sponges. She frees Maciste so he can be her husband, because Bouffant doesn’t know she’s actually an above ground model, like a Doughboy Pool, and figures if she mates with our hero, then her kids will be able to tolerate sunlight. And if not, at least they'll look good in skin bronzer.
The Grand Poobah is pissed, and sets “the sacred lions” on them. But Maciste grabs the mallet from the gong and bonks the lions on the head, knocking them silly and dealing the worst blow to leonine dignity until Daktari.
Saved from certain death, and even more turned on by his ability to stun large cats, Queen Bouffant commands her minions to conduct Maciste to the Royal Booty Call Suite. But Poobah and Bowie slip him a roofie, then dump his body on that conveyor belt that Lucy and Viv worked at in the chocolate factory, except this one leads to a Bronze Age auto press.
Finding her booty call is getting a busy signal, Bouffant fears that Maciste has run off to be with Princess Salubrious (remember her?) and she decides to ride to Busch Gardens. But the other Mole Men (except for Bowie) refuse to accompany her because it’s almost dawn and they have to get up and go to work in the morning.
Back at the conveyor belt, Maciste regains consciousness and throws a spear through four guys who were walking single file because he woke up hungry and in the mood for shish kebab. Then he frees all the slaves. But it turns out that Mole Man Land is a gated community, because the Grand Poobah locks all the exits, trapping them underground, and this is the signal for Maciste and Bangor to hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes.
It goes on for quite a long time, but they seem really comfortable with it, so who am I to judge? Suddenly, Maciste gets the idea to use a chain and the merry-go-round to pull down the ceiling, and everybody escapes.
Meanwhile, back at Bouffant, Bowie dies from third degree dawn (and it’s a prolonged and overacted death, according to ancient Mole Man tradition), while Bouffant realizes that she’s not actually an albino, and probably will be fine with just a little Bain de Soleil. She sees the world flooded with sunlight for the first time in her life, and it is glorious. A rainbow arches overhead as the awestruck queen walks to the edge of a waterfall, her once stern features softening into a child-like look of wonder. Then the sun gets in her eyes and she falls to her death.
The end.
So what have we learned from all this? Hell if I know – I’m too heavily medicated. What do you guys think?
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Cane And Able
Shout out to all my Crappers. Just dropping in to thank everyone, again, for the well wishes, friendly advice, adventures in opioids, and Christopher Walken trivia, and to update you on the Great Spinetacular of '13. It's been two weeks since the injury, and while I'm still confined to the apartment (and sometimes the bed), there has been some progress, which I would cautiously describe as "baby steps" (in that I can now take baby steps without the cane). I'm still only semi mobile and quasi modo, but I try to remind myself that I've been through this before, and eventually recovered.
In the meantime, Mary is trying to lighten the mood by emailing me Facebook ads, which apparently means we've reached that inevitable scene from a marriage in which the two parties are reduced to communicating entirely in memes. (I'm no expert, but I believe this typically occurs after the point when a wedded couple begins to resemble their pets, but before they start to march around the mall every morning in matching velour track suits.)
Anyway...Are you a waifish, hydrocephalic refugee from a Walter Keane portrait? If so, then you may be qualified to (become a) SOCIAL WORKER!
Have you ever wondered what happened to former United Press correspondent Helen Thomas after she was forced to retire following some impolitic remarks on Palestine? Well, you'll be happy to learn that the one time dean of the White House Press Corps has landed on her feet. Ms. Thomas is now working the Anal Hygiene beat for Facebook, breaking stories and wind and explaining how toilet paper is like Alta Vista or HotBot, while Moist Flushable Wipes more closely resemble Google:
In the meantime, Mary is trying to lighten the mood by emailing me Facebook ads, which apparently means we've reached that inevitable scene from a marriage in which the two parties are reduced to communicating entirely in memes. (I'm no expert, but I believe this typically occurs after the point when a wedded couple begins to resemble their pets, but before they start to march around the mall every morning in matching velour track suits.)
Anyway...Are you a waifish, hydrocephalic refugee from a Walter Keane portrait? If so, then you may be qualified to (become a) SOCIAL WORKER!
Have you ever wondered what happened to former United Press correspondent Helen Thomas after she was forced to retire following some impolitic remarks on Palestine? Well, you'll be happy to learn that the one time dean of the White House Press Corps has landed on her feet. Ms. Thomas is now working the Anal Hygiene beat for Facebook, breaking stories and wind and explaining how toilet paper is like Alta Vista or HotBot, while Moist Flushable Wipes more closely resemble Google:
(click to embiggen, if you dare)
Finally, via the Fabulous Stacia of She Blogged By Night, a series of newspaper ads for the NBC fall line up from 1973, courtesy of Scenes From The Morgue (Banacek! Police Surgeon! Chase! The Magician! Diana Rigg in a sit com!)
And please check back in a day or so -- I hope to have some new movie stuff for you.
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