The Last Twenty Entries:

  • Saving Mythmas
  • Einsteism
  • Way Too Little, Way Too Late
  • Don’t Challenge Me
  • VagueBooking
  • This Is Everything Wrong with Modern America
  • Tweetshaming
  • Ghostbullies
  • Everything Is Horrible
  • Disruption
  • HobbyLobby
  • A Perfect World
  • How to Beat the Low Cost of Living
  • The Currency of the Realm
  • Politards
  • 4 Sequels Which Retroactively Ruined the Original Films
  • Today’s Webcomic Isn’t Funny
  • Somnabaddon
  • Technophobia
  • Opinionless
  • Static Pages:


    Saving Mythmas

    Friday 21st November 2014

    I know: I took a couple months off. Again. I’ve been busy with a few things. Including a book I’m supposed to be writing at the moment. Followed by another. And then two more. And various other things. All of which translates roughly to playing Minecraft a lot.

    But, this seems worth talking about. And in a larger way than posting something to social media. This film reportedly came out, about a week ago.

    I haven’t seen it, and don’t particularly aspire to; I’m not even sure where it’s playing, apart from not at the cinema a mile from here. If you’re looking for a review of the thing, this isn’t it. But I’ve seen the trailer:

    If you didn’t sit through that, I can sum it up for ya….

    Crimmiss is based on pagany stuff!

    No it isn’t.

    [white people dancing]

    [token black guy says something incomprehensibly ebonic, because minstrel shows are funny]

    This Film Is Not Yet Interesting

    From that alone, I’m not seeing any pressing need to lose eighty minutes to this thing.

    I already lost seventy-six to this boring thing, just twenty-one years ago.

    So. The question. Why even worry about it, if it’s some Direct to Video abortion with delusions of grandeur [albeit limited to 410 screens, and scheduled to run for only two weeks]. And the answer is this:

    superlow—from the Latin: above low

    Yeah: no. Being atheistic, I didn’t give a damn [kinda by definition, I suppose]; some childstar from a show in the eighties I’ve never seen, who once tried and failed to follow Michael J Fox to the silver screen, who’s since become Bananaman’s buttmuppet, got over Nic Cage remaking Left behind the Preposition by doing…this. I’m about as outraged as I was by whatever BrokebackMountain song it was that I was supposed to have been outraged over, last month. Because I don’t believe in deities, any more than I believe in goblins, I get strawmanned into being outraged about everything.

    Like this guy, screeching at two atheists in defence of islam.

    Really, if you want my sumtotal opinion on Kirk Cameron, I suppose it’s this:

    hovertext: The funniest thing, to me, about the arrogance of opening Saving Christmas today is that it’s pretty well guaranteed to have left the dollar cinemas by Thanksgiving.

    That’s where I should be on this—where anyone should be: Kirk Cameron is a minimally exceptional hasbeen marginally known for having plagiarised Alex Keaton before plagiarising Jodie Foster en route to becoming a trick question in Trivial Pursuit. But he didn’t wanna stay there.

    He showed up again around the turn of the century, playing an atheist in a Langoliers ripoff whose spoofy certainty—that this one single deity out of thousands didn’t exist—survived the apocalypse, but got undone by someone showing him a oneliner in the KJV. Because the only reason five billion people remain antichristine in the twenty-first century is that no one’s told us that John 3.16 is a thing. To which I say: fine; Fox was in TeenWolf [and for that matter Midnight Madness], so you’re probably allowed a few misfires.

    The difference was that Fox went on to do Light of Day and Bright Lights, Big City. Cameron went on to do this:

    The banana: in no way cultivated through eugenics from inedible plantains over the last ten thousand years.

    And this:

    We called it Anatosuchus minor, Dummy.

    And this:

    When Cenk Uygur annoys me less than you do, you’ve got some room for improvement.

    And that catches us up to 2014, when Buck Williams noticed that his lack of involvement was allowing the War on Christmas to continue.

    So, let’s talk about that for a moment….

    I don’t care. I don’t care about any holidays. Not Crimmiss; not Ganksthieving; not Independence from Everything but Chinese Bailouts Day. To me, any given holiday is just a bothersome, conceited, nationalistic, chauvinistic obstacle between me and my mail. People are catching on to the idea that Columbus Day is a reprehensible distraction which doesn’t even fit the paradigm of holidays [the other is MLK Day, celebrating some other goof who was never elected; less people are opposed to that one]; but, America being a nation of lazy lumps, of course people are into anything which gets them a paid sickday off from work. No one cares why really: no one cares that July the Fourth is a hilariously authoritarian way to get fined for setting off fireworks in celebration of Yankee Independence from Tyranny; no one cares that Hallowe’en is Samhain Rebranded; and no one cares that Christmas is Saturnalia with 64Bit VideoSystems Made outta Wood:

    And nevermind the whimper that kids are believing in Santa over Jesus burying the needle on the ironometer.

    Seriously. No one cares. No one, being honest, gives a damn whether the reason for this obnoxious season is an obese elven philanthropist from the Canadian Province of Freezing or the celebration of your weird vampire bloodcult lord; the reason for the season is getting a day or three off from work or school and seeing a gaggle of people you can’t help being related to in an annual reminder of why you don’t do that more often. It’s like going to a highschool reunion, every year, with bad food instead of an open bar when it’s too cold to go outside to smoke. It’s a Festival of Loving That You Don’t Live at Home Anymore.

    Sure: there’s the commercialism, which has officially jumped the shark into satire. I actually saw an advert last night—in November, of course—for Fingerhut: who will—and I quote—give me ‘the credit [I] deserve’ for ‘stuff’. Probably the most honest thing I’ve ever seen.

    Okay: second most honest.

    Is there a War on the Class Reunion of Every Year? Sure; why not. But it’s not we atheists who are waging it. And it’s not Kirk Cameron who’s winning it. Your enemy—and possibly mine—is the everpresent greedy lump who sees it as a day off with food and free stuff. And a receipt, so he can go trade it in for something good in Red January.

    It’s not some theopolitical thing. I get why you want it to be: you’ve invented an easy enemy. Atheists who, by our own existence, shame you for believing in whatever superheroes; evolution which, by occurring, repudiates purposebuilt rib people, and by implication the action of original sin, and by further implication the need for a vampire to be nailed to a telephone pole to absolve you of original sin and throw you into Valhalla Lite after you finally get too lazy to be alive anymore. It’s a LARP—within a LARP—in which you get to almost vanquish a simple, strawmanned enemy…except that we actually do exist, minus the proclivities you annoyingly ascribe to us, so you can’t actually win at Dungeons&Dragons after all.

    We, as atheists, don’t care. Which is your real problem: like everyone the hell else, we’ve got nothing but apathy for your invented little war. We’re not fighting back; a hint is that, if we were, we’d win over the weekend. Because we’re smarter than you; and we actually do things instead of stopping to beg for handouts from imaginary friends.

    And then there’s still everyone else. People who, if asked a simple, binary question, would claim to be theistic. They mark Christian on the census and reportedly make up about eighty percent of the nation [partly by arbitrating that their kids believe in Jesus over Santa]. That’s your actual enemy: four in five people who, despite lying when the alternative is confessing that they don’t know or care or go to church, are officially on your side in this thing. There’s dissent in your ranks; to date, they mostly sigh and roll their eyes at your hysteria. Remember that all it takes to become an official christworshipper is to say that you are. And it takes even less than that to become a mormon; apparently, you can just die, or something.

    So, no: Kirk Cameron isn’t saving dick. He’s a boring, borderline retarded goof with a net worth of twenty million bucks filming Dance, Dance Revolution in a sevenfigure house in order to connect with the interests of people whose largest gripe about Crimmiss is that they’re expected to wear shirts with sleeves on them and, in your better neighbourhoods, take off their truckercaps at the table. That’s your demographic: Larry the CableGuy being hassled into acting like someone getting dressed up to go to WalMart, because DollarTree is closed for the night. Those are the people who don’t really care whether Jesus replaces Santa Claus or Mithra as the Reason for the Reunion.

    But maybe you knew that. Maybe that’s the actual purpose of this meaningless film. Imply that, if only some gomer in Rural Alabama cared why he had to go eat tofurkey up in Chicago, he’d soon find himself living in a mansion with a spiral staircase because reasons.

    But I’m probably being optimistic again.

    Have a webcomic:

    More later….

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    <— Einsteism

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