Caillou Is A Fucking Asshole

I’ve never been a huge fan of television. I’m not one of those pretentious pricks who prides themselves on not owning a television, mind you. I own one, and even occasionally turn it on when I feel the need to hate mankind a little more than I do already. Because, let’s face it, television is a vast, cultural cesspool. It’s like a digital version of Cleveland. Nothing good’s going to come out of it, and after visiting you feel the intense need to take a shower.

And yet, somehow, television still has the ability to surprise me. For instance, I learned, after I had children, that it’s way, way, WAY worse than I had ever imagined. I’m speaking, of course, about children’s programming. When I was a kid, there were two types of children’s programming. There was the type of programming in which people or animals got punched in the face. And there was the type of programming that helped you learn how to read. That was it, and I’m not really sure which was more educational. I mean, Sesame Street taught me how to read and all, but Tom & Jerry taught me that there are no consequences to violence, and that inhaling a lungful of bees is hilarious. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, I guess.

But these days, children’s programming is much different. And it’s fucking horrifying. Have you ever seen Blue’s Clues? This is a show that encourages children to develop problem solving skills by treating them like goddamn idiots. Hmm, I’m not sure what comes from a lemon tree and makes delicious lemonade. Why don’t we ask a fucking dog to help us out on that?

Blue’s Clues also has characters with names like Mailbox, Salt, and Pepper because (and I actually read this) young kids get confused when you give names to common objects. If you ask me, I’d much rather spend time teaching kids that things aren’t always what they seem because I think a little bit of cynicism is in order when Mr. Goodbuddy drives his panel van through the neighborhood offering kids free candy and puppies.

Kids are fucking stupid. Oh, parents out there will say, “Not my kid!” Yes, your kid. Your kid is stupid. Let me ask you something: Do you hide shit in your house because your child would, given the chance, drink bleach for breakfast and then slip his head into a dry cleaner bag for kicks? Of course you do, because kids are fucking stupid. What you mean to say is that your kid is smart for a child, and while that may be true, it’s also relative. My dog is smart as far as dogs go, but you won’t see him performing complex tasks like flying a 747 any time soon. It’s really hard to land one of those things when you spend 50% of the flight time licking your own asshole.

So because kids are stupid, we have to deal with shows like Blue’s Clues, or even worse, Caillou. If you’re unfamiliar with Caillou, oh dear God, how I envy you. Caillou is this fucking bald four year old asshole who lives with his parents, and little sister, and he’s almost terminally boring. For example, one episode of Caillou centers around him not liking vegetables. That’s it.

(And Jesus Christ, it’s bad enough that parents have to deal with that shit at the dinner table, and this bald kid is reinforcing this idea? Fuck you, Caillou!)

Dad: Son, eat your vegetables!

Son: I don’t like vegetables. Caillou doesn’t like them either!

Dad: Yes, but did you notice that Caillou tried them and discovered that he liked them?

Son: That’s because Caillou is a goddamn moron. You say so all the time!

Dad: You got me there. Here, have some ice cream.

Another, horrifying aspect of the show is the voice over narration, which sounds like its delivered by Angela Lansbury with an advanced case of Parkinson’s:

And that old bag always says shit the same way: It’s always, “Caillou felt (emotion). He (reason for feeling this emotion).” This is so kids will learn that emotions are the direct result of actions that people take and things that happen in the environment, unless we’re talking about mommy’s emotions, and those are mainly caused by a refusal to take her meds coupled with an underlying love of alcohol.

But none of this would be a problem, except for the fact that Caillou is fucking DULL. After a while, you find yourself inserting your own, more interesting narration just to keep yourself sane.

“Caillou felt sad. He didn’t like it when mommy’s tricks flicked lit cigarettes in his face.”

If there was an episode of Caillou like that, it would run non-stop in this household as a demented sort of deprogramming device meant to teach my kids that while the world can be magical and full of wonder, it’s also full of sick fucking individuals. “Yes, son, Caillou’s mom is what we call a hooker. And she’s very popular because she lets her johns ride bareback and doesn’t complain when they explode in her hair.”

The only part of Caillou that I used to enjoy was the theme song, which lends itself quite well to improvisation.

I’m just a kid who’s four
My mom’s a giant whore
My dad’s in prison, I’m Caillou

Dirty needles on the floor
Cops pounding on the door
CPS on speed dial, I’m Caillou

My world is turning, changing each day
Can’t wait till I’m five, so I can run away

Voices inside my head
Say they want the mailman dead
They make me burn things, I’m Caillou, Caillou, I’m Caillou!

Luckily, my kids have outgrown Caillou, but television has adapted to ensure that I am still annoyed. My sons watch Kickin’ It, a show about teenage martial arts enthusiasts who preach a message of non-violence by viciously pummeling bullies, while my daughter watches Glee, which teaches us that it’s ok to be gay, as long as you sing show tunes.

I fucking hate TV.

From Season 2, Episode 3: Caillou Teaches His Friends About Handjobs