Undiagnosed, disconnected thoughts of the week
The Star Wars Holiday Special
As you know, Obama is a Muslim and insists that the decorated fir in the White House be called a “holiday” tree, not a Christmas tree. It must be true; I got it from an email forward with large font size, all caps, and many bright colors for the important parts. I’m from good ol’ American Oxford, Mississippi, so I haven’t heard of this “Snopes” someone tried to tell me about—and don’t want to hear about it. I’ve got more important things to do, such as picket outside local grocery stores to make sure they don’t sell Pop Rocks and Coke to our children. I got an email about the catastrophic results of that combination just yesterday. It’s this kind of stuff the mainstream media just isn’t telling you.
It was much harder to figure out the truth before Glenn Beck commandeered the chalkboard and chalk out of our schools, where they were being used to teach math and history, so he could really educate us about what is going on.
I’m sure Glenn knows what I am about to tell you: the depraved-heart evil campaign against Christianity goes back a long time in America. Soulless, inhuman monsters have long labored to destroy America from within—acting not just in the shadows, but right out in the daylight on TV and on actual music records. From jazz music to science fiction, these sinister forces pretend to innocently entertain us and take our discretionary money during the Christmas season, but the real goal is to transform America as we know it into a horrific hellscape for the damned.
And Obama’s not the only one to use executive power to do it. Anyone remember a blood-guzzling hun named Jimmy Carter? Under his watch, and clearly at his instruction, the Democratic Party used Hollywood as a glitzy Goebbels to force its beliefs on us all. Why, if it weren’t for Ronald Reagan righting the ship for a while, we might be celebrating Happy Life Day (I just threw up in my mouth) and giving testimonials about our faith in something called the Force. That’s right: in making The Star Wars Holiday Special, Jimmy Carter (unbilled executive producer, I’m sure) supplied Carrie Fisher enough cocaine (probably a “holiday” gift from Carter pal Gregg Allman in the first place) to get her to participate in the brainwashing of a nation—back when “Barry” Obama was burning his birth certificate and filing down his fangs to appear human, so he could pursue a career in politics.
The Star Wars Holiday Special attempted to cram Chewbacca‘s non-traditional “family” (I mean, I can’t even tell if his “wife” Paula is male or female) down our throats (see video below, but be warned that it contains graphic, disgusting images of a happy family). Chewy’s father Itchy must be soooo proud. His poor son Lumpy has no real role model we can rely on. I will at least assume that in this multi-cultural “holiday” celebration they at least had the good taste not to invite any Sand People—who constantly demand special treatment, wanting to be called “Tusken Raiders,” but I’m no pushover for the PC left. Whatever you call them, if you invite them for dinner, we all know they steal silverware. I honestly got too sick at my stomach to keep watching long enough to find out.
And to see that they somehow drugged wholesome Art Carney and Harvey Korman into guest-starring makes me simply want to puke up my Chick-fil-A chicken sandwich. Bea Arthur is no surprise, fresh from stirring up our womenfolk via Maude, the effects of which are still impacting hapless husbands everywhere. All three are now dead. Draw your own conclusions.
I’ll give the Jefferson Starship a pass. This is the least egregious of their many sins. And in fairness to Obama, I have confirmed as false earlier reports that our president secretly plans to build cities on rock ‘n’ roll.
Christmas in the Stars
Oh, but the indoctrination didn’t end with The Star Wars Holiday Special. Don’t let the title fool you; a record called Christmas in the Stars: the Star Wars Christmas Album continued the insidious Force-feeding of un-Christian thoughts by use of hep, catchy music—just the kind of thing that will make our youth do anything. In particular, “What Can You Get a Wookiee for Christmas When He Already Owns a Comb” envisions a godless world in which humans and droids not only share the same water fountain but conspire about actually doing something thoughtful for—eeewww— a wookiee.
Instead of doing the right thing and telling Chewbacca and his pantsless family to “speak English or get out of the universe” — and checking their papers and sending these illegal aliens back to Kashyyyk—I’m sure if Obama had his way, our kids would go to the same schools as droids and wookiees. They just aren’t like us, people. They won’t wear galoshes or even a hat upon their furry domes. The slippery slope toward caring for others started in 1978 with this seemingly fun but subliminally diabolical song:
Jon Bon Jovi
The recording studio during the making of Christmas in the Stars became a veritable training camp for at least one key player in the government’s war on not just Christ but on anything good Americans enjoy. A 17-year-old John Bongiovi was working sweeping floors at the studio, owned by his cousin Tony Bongiovi, who recommended him for the song “R2-D2, We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” It was his first professional recording. Big Evil would reward him handsomely, changing his name to Jon Bon Jovi and giving him a five-star general’s commission in the charge to drive anything resembling good music off the airwaves. His claim to be “Livin’ on a Prayer” was a mere ruse to lure preteen girls into a life of evil; he was livin’ on directives rolling off a forked tongue from deep inside the Earth’s fiery core.
In his performance on the Star Wars album, the young Bon Jovi worships not our Santa Claus, but a diminutive, bleeping robot, who he invites into his home (!!!) down the very chimney you and I would reserve only for the Supreme Kringle. I trust that my readers will be able to listen to it for academic reasons and resist being drawn into Satan’s spell, but be sure not to share this with your more weak-minded, gullible friends—or by December 25, they might eschew milk and cookies and instead leave a can of WD-40 out on the hearth:
What was really going on between confirmed droid bachelors C-3PO and R2-D2? The former made Tony Randall seem like Sam Elliott, and they sure had some time to themselves in that escape pod that one time. I’m sick of protocol droids trying to force their beliefs on me. I am sure, however, they can be reprogrammed. As far as Star Wars goes, I always thought at least Jabba the Hutt had a lot of good ideas.
And I have to admit that I wouldn’t mind someone giving me a light saber for Christmas. Those space fruits really had something there. I’d love to take one deer hunting after seeing it cut open a tauntaun like a Buck knife through warm butter. But I’m sure Obama will be taking our light sabers away soon, too.
Editor’s Note: This is all pure satire and not to be taken seriously. I can’t believe I had to include this line.