When my daughter was little, Hannah Montana was all the rage. She and her cousins all wanted to be Hannah Montana, and not just for Halloween. They had tramp costumes that they’d wear everywhere, makeup applied with a trowel, and you’d find pink tubes of glittery lip gloss with hearts and rainbows on them all over the fucking place. That was bad enough, but what was worse, they all started acting and talking like that horse-faced slut. When Hannah Montana hurled insults at Billy-Ray Cyrus, that was tolerable because that fucknut inflicted Achey-Breaky Heart on us, so fuck him. But when my daughter used the same line against me, the Disney channels were instantly blocked and remained so for the next six years.
I’m not kidding, either. I locked the channels myself and only gave up the code just recently because the boys wanted to watch Bolt, which was playing on the Disney Channel at the time. Since my daughter is now old enough to
sell to a consortium of Chinese knock-off Gucci purse-makers know better than talk back to us, I left the channels unblocked, and holy shit, did the bad memories come flooding back. For instance, here is every episode of Hannah Montana:
- Hannah Montana is warned not to do something by her father
- Hannah Montana talks shit to everyone, including her father
- Hannah Montana decides to
be a cuntassert her independence and does the forbidden thing anyway
- Hannah Montana and her gang of miscreants, hangers-on, and talking butt-plugs spend 15 minutes trying to hide her misdeed from her father
- Hannah Montana admits she made a mistake to her father, who not only doesn’t punish her, but rewards her for admitting her mistake by entering her in the Kentucky Derby
I admit I may have gotten the last part wrong, because by that point in the show I am seething with rage while my kids are taking notes and practicing their sass-back: “Daddy, say it to the hand!” Listen here, you little punk: You keep that shit up and my hand will say it to the back of your fucking head!
Another horrid show was the Suite Life of Zack & Cody, a title that I had to look up just now since I had only known the show as “That Show with the Two Annoying Rich Twins Who Act Like a Couple of Spoiled Fuckfaces, and I’d Like To Strangle Them But They Will Probably Die of Mutual Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation First”. If you have kids, you know who I’m talking about: The fuckers who star in commercials encouraging your kids to slurp yogurt in the most obscenely disgusting way possible. Fuckers.
Now, of course those kids have graduated from Disney to participate in more adult-oriented acting roles, such as allowing tabloids to take beaver-pics of them as they stagger out of the back of a limo that’s billowing pot-smoke and reeks of being a has-been by the age of 25. Todd Bridges is driving. So a new generation of young actors have taken over to entertain my kids and make me question the very existence of a God that would allow acting and assholery this awful to appear on an entertainment device of any kind.
There seems to be some key qualities that Disney looks for when hiring child actors:
- Overacting that would make William Shatner blush
- Ethnic diversity, with the ideal actor being of Latino/African-American/Asian descent, handicapped, transgendered, and with a haircut that looks like they lifted it from the place where Chewbacca gets a Brazilian. Unfortunately, the deaf-mute minority is woefully under-represented.
- The ability to work 21 hours a day on set, and lie to child labor law investigators the other three hours
- A willingness to work directly with Satan.
Also, Disney, stop with the fucking conversion of every kid you’ve ever gotten your hands on into a “pop-star”. Jesus, I can’t go to any family functions without a “concert” breaking out where a bunch of pre-pubescent girls shake their “money-makers”, warble off key to lyrics they don’t know, and strut around like a pre-hysterectomy Justin Bieber on quaaludes. This is because Disney makes it seem like anyone can become a pop-star, and so it guilts kids into thinking, “Well, shit, I just sit around doing homework and watching TV. I better get off my lazy ass and sing some songs or I’m a fucking failure.” I don’t need this shit in my life. No one does.
The other irritating thing about the Disney Channel is that my three year old now wants to watch Mickey’s Playhouse, or whatever the fuck they call that black hole of unfunny bullshit. He used to want to watch Spongebob, which was ok in my book because Spongebob is funny. Yeah, you may be sick of it if you have kids, but it is a funny cartoon that harkens back to the days when cartoons appealed to both kids and adults: Dogs chased cats, cats chased mice, mice hit cats in the neck with a garden rake, and subtle jokes were inserted to let the adults know that the dog would totally fuck the lady of the house, given a chance.
But Mickey Mouse is the most tragically unfunny thing I’ve ever witnessed. Here is Mickey Mouse’s idea of something funny. “Hi kids! Ha-ha!” That’s it! He doesn’t do pratfalls, sexual double entendres, scat-humor, or anything! You call that kid’s programming, Disney? What the fuck? These are 21st century kids we’re talking about. If you want them to glance away from the double-fisting tranny videos they’ve got going on their smart phones, you’re going to need to show Mickey doing needle drugs at the very least.
I can’t abide Disney TV. It’s bad enough that the Disney corporation is so money-grubbingly materialistic that they fucking sued the Oscars for using an image of Snow White without their permission, or that they price to gouge knowing damn well that they don’t need to hire a sales staff: Their sales staff just shit their pants and is bawling on the floor of the Disney Store, begging you to buy them a plush Lightning McQueen doll for $79.99. But you add a couple of douchebags hawking slurpable yogurt, a yodeling horse with a wig, and a lab rat who is less funny than George Will at a funeral, and I call bullshit. Fuck you, Disney Channel. Eat a giant bag of dicks.