It’s family movie night in our household.
I spoke up too late and Madagascar 3 didn’t make the cut. Instead we’re watching Tinkerbell 3: Secret of the Wings.
It’s no secret this is a movie of questionable content. I’m watching fairies emote over broken wings and unknown sisters and all sorts of improbable fantasy… I want to bang myself in the eye with a rubber mallet in hopes it will distract me from this storyline.
My kids are eating it up and giggling over perversions of the English language like “smoochety-smoochety” instead of “kissing,” all except the Tres who is trying to touch Bubby’s eyes.
Maybe I’ll start calling it smoochety-smoochety, too. Or maybe I’ll throw up in my mouth instead. Too close of a race to call.
I want to meet the adult that writes the script for Tinkerbell movies. There is an adult, functioning member of society who wrote a storyline that involved complete panic that a frost could kill the Pixiedust Tree. I want to meet them and ask them if they were sober when those words flowed from their fingertips onto the keyboard.
The same goes for Barbie movies. Yes, I know Matel has been working hard to change Barbie’s image from a buxom bimbo into a career woman complete with a pencil skirt and briefcase, but somehow Barbie still isn’t appealing to my demographic.
There is a person, probably with a college degree, writing story lines about “Thumbelina Barbie” and “Aqua Barbie” and “I don’t just want to hook up with androgynous Ken, I want to be the President Barbie.”
How do you look yourself in the face after that?! (They probably wash their face with the same hands that take the check to the bank for implanting desperation in the hearts of little girls across America at the thought that a skateboarding competition might be lost or a forest leveled by bulldozers.)
I know I’m part of the problem, because I’m letting my kids watch this stuff. I’m sponsoring it with pizza and a family movie night.
I don’t know how I look at myself in the mirror.
I’ll have to figure that out later, however, because the freeze is upon us and we must take cover. The Pixiedust tree is at risk and if I’m not mistaken the Queen of the summer fairies and the King of the winter fairies are about to smoochety-smoochety.
I don’t want to miss that.
On another note, I think for awhile — at least until it stops making me giggle hilariously — I’m going to end every blog post with Phil’s fabulous Duck Dynasty quote:
”It’s Over. Time to pee on the campfire and call in the dogs.”
How do you keep from tearing your eyeballs out when you watch horrible children’s movies?