Recently, Pat Robertson claimed that if gay marriage is legalized, it won’t be long until we legalize sex with ducks. We all rolled our eyes, maybe got a couple laughs out of it, and then went on with our lives.

Then this happened:

This video’s been making the rounds for the last week, so there’s not much I can add in the way of commentary. Nonetheless, I have two thoughts on the matter.

One: I’m incredibly happy that all the funny people are in favor of gay marriage. To be fair, it’s entirely possible that someone’s trying to make an anti-gay marriage comedy video right now, but I’m having a hard time caring. I can’t even muster the energy to Google it.

Two: I am conflicted. I agree with this song’s message. I support legalizing gay marriage, and I definitely support using satire against idiots like Pat Robertson. And yet, I could easily throw away all my progressive credibility by writing a single sentence.

Specifically, “This video makes me wish I was a duck.”

On Tuesday, Barack Obama will be sworn in as president, and George W. Bush will go the fuck home. Sixteen years ago, another George Bush had to go the fuck home as well, and comedian Bill Hicks wrote the definitive rant on the matter.

Bill Hicks died in 1994, and as sad as that was, it means he didn’t have to endure the second Bush administration. And yet, with the exception of the first line (”Bush fuckin’ loses!”), the routine requires no updates.

Hooray for gradual progress?

Edit: For some reason, this post was originally listed under the wrong date. This has been fixed. I assure you, it is January 18th.

I don’t need to write anything today. You know why?

Because the list of 50 Most Loathsome People In America came out today!

The list is an annual tradition of the Buffalo Beast (former home of Matt Taibbi), and provides some much-needed New Year’s catharsis for everyone who has ever wondered if people get dumber with each passing year. Plus, despite its decidedly outraged-liberal perspective, it’s perfectly happy to go after members of our own team; Barack Obama kicks off the list at #50.

Just go read it. It is beautiful, and there is only death here.

It’s a basic holiday fact that for every truly wonderful and original Christmas song, there are about a thousand horrible ones. But in the right hands, even the worst Christmas music has high comedic potential. And in the realm of turning coal to gold, few hands are more capable than Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer, creators of the excellent Adult Swim series, The Venture Bros. Every Christmas since 2004, Publick and Hammer have crafted special Venture Bros. Christmas songs for Quick Stop Entertainment. The songs are covers of dubious classics, performed by characters from the TV show. This year’s song just went online today, and it does not disappoint.

(Note: If you’ve never seen an episode of The Venture Bros., I’m in no mood to summarize it for you. Instead, here are some episodes you can stream.)

This year, Henchmen #21 and #24 sing a cover of Paul McCartney’s 1979 classic, “Wonderful Christmastime.” They butcher the song terribly, and ad lib when McCartney’s original lyrics start to get repetitive, and it’s all quite hilarious and fun.

But there’s a deeper subtext here, relating to the broader plot of the show. As anyone who’s seen the finale of season 3 knows, 24 dies at the end, his head flying out of an exploding car in the final moments of the episode. So how does this song fit in with the canon? As 21 explains in the introduction, they recorded the song in June so that they’d have it out of the way when Christmas came, in order to focus on the plans for their big Christmas Break vacation to Cancun. Their spirits are high, and all seems well for The Monarch’s two most unkillable minions. But, alas, shortly after this recording, 24 is indeed killed, robbing 21 of his best buddy in the world. And then Christmas rolls around, and because Quick Stop Entertainment demands satisfaction, 21 is forced to send in the song anyway, the shipping envelope’s adhesive sealed with his own tears. That, dear readers, is some unquestionably rich and brutal subtext to a seemingly goofy holiday song. I hope you’re taking notes.

Publick and Hammer’s previous holiday forays are equally brilliant. In 2004, The Monarch and Dr. Girlfriend reenacted a 1977 sketch performed by David Bowie and Bing Crosby. Verbatim. With The Monarch taking the part of Bowie and Dr. Girlfriend taking the part of Crosby, they sing “The Little Drummer Boy,” banter, and even replicate all of Crosby’s cheesy jokes about how ancient he is. Not only is it surreal, but it also has this wonderful, “holy shit they’re really going to do the whole thing,” quality.

In 2005, The Monarch and Henchmen #21 and #24 sing the song “Hard Candy Christmas,” from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, made famous by Dolly Parton. At this time in the series The Monarch is incarcerated in a prison full of supervillains, and Dr. Girlfriend has left him for Phantom Limb. The Monarch is thus at his lowest point, and easily matches the despair of Parton’s prostitute. 21 and 24, taking on the roles of all the other whores, provide comic relief.

Focus shifted from the villains somewhat in 2006, when Dr. Thaddeus Venture assembled his family, friends, and enemies for Venture Aid 2006 and performed “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” The original song was performed by Band Aid, a fundraising group created by Bob Geldof and featuring a large section of the best pop musicians 1984 had to offer. In 2006, instead of Freddie Mercury, Simon Le Bon, George Michael and Bono, Venture Industries assembled the likes of Dr. Byron Orpheus, Pete White, Master Billy Quizboy, Hank and Dean Venture, and the entire Monarch Horde. Far from the well-meaning post-colonial famine-induced sympathy of the original, Venture’s version highlights the sinister implications of the song’s lyrics. One feels distinctly uneasy as Orpheus sings of “the clanging chimes of doom,” and delightfully horrified when Dean Venture enthusiastically shouts, “Thanks, God!” that it’s the Ethiopians, and not him, who are starving.

In 2007, The Monarch and Dr. Girlfriend treated us to a rendition of The Pogues’ beautiful and tragic holiday song of love, entrapment, and desperation, “Fairytale of New York.” The song tells the story of a young Irish couple who emigrate to New York City, fall in love, and make each other’s lives miserable. The pain and devotion mirror The Monarch and Dr. Girlfriend’s own storyline, as they (at the end of season 2), reunite and get married.

Taken as a whole, the annual Venture Bros. Christmas songs are both delicious fan candy and a welcome departure from the sentimentality typically found in most holiday music. Hopefully they’ll keep it up, at least as long as the series runs on television. At any rate, enjoy these songs, and enjoy the genius of The Venture Bros. in general. But keep an eye out on Christmas Eve, lest the Krampus appear at your house to punish the wicked:

We’ve been naughty, too. Oh, and if you want to see “A Very Venture Christmas” in its entirety, click here for a free stream courtesy of Adult Swim.

We forgot to do a Beak holiday advent calendar. See, the 1st door could have frustration, and the 2nd could have cynicism, also chocolates.

-Horatio, via Twitter

Holy shit, he’s right! We’ve been passing up a practically-writes-itself opportunity here! Sure, we missed a day or fourteen, but it’s not a big deal. Anyone who’s ever had an advent calendar can tell you that the first two weeks always suck. The best you ever get is a Bible verse or a little plastic jar of frankincense to stick in your Nativity scene. Fuck that! The real action doesn’t start until week 3! That’s where you get your candy, your toys, and probably a little plastic baby Jesus or something.

So, click through to see your amazing Day 15 gift!

Read on »

If you somehow missed growing up in the U.S. in the 1980s, then you may have missed out on the most surreal and brilliantly subversive children’s television show since the original Bugs Bunny cartoons: Pee-Wee’s Playhouse.

The brainchild of comedic genius, vintage erotica collector, and alleged public masturbator Paul Reubens, Pee-Wee’s Playhouse ran on Saturday mornings from 1986 to 1990, and I’m not exaggerating about the surrealness. A normal Pee-Wee episode is fucking insane. Pee-Wee Herman is a strange little man in a gray suit who capers about madly in a psychedelic nightmare he calls the Playhouse. The Playhouse exists in a sort of brightly-colored gateway vortex between multiple universes, including Puppet Land, a claymation jungle-forest, and our own world. Not to mention the extra pocket universe inside Pee-Wee’s friend Magic Screen (a sort of cheerful robotic television monster).

The Playhouse itself is home to dozens of sentient talking objects with names like Chairry, Clocky, Mr. Window, Globey, Floory and Mr. Kite. It’s difficult to describe if you haven’t seen it, but think of the Playhouse as the first Smart Home, loaded with voice-activated appliances possessing artificial intelligence, and even a G.P.P. feature. This sounds like quite a nice idea that you might want to introduce into your own house, though the final result is that every single fucking object in Pee-Wee’s house has a face, talks to him, and constantly demands that he play with them. At which point it all becomes moderately terrifying. Anyway, Pee-Wee also has a robot, a pet pterodactyl, a magic genie, a refrigerator full of sentient food, and various and sundry other elements on the what-the-fuck-o-meter.

The Pee-Wee’s Playhouse Christmas Special takes it up a notch with a barrage of B-list (for 1988) celebrity guest stars including Little Richard, Whoopi Goldberg, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Cher, Oprah Winfrey, and K.D. Lang. Since this year is the twentieth anniversary of the special’s original airing, I will attempt to review it here. But, look, it’s fundamentally impossible to encapsulate this entire spectacle in a 900-word review, so I’ll just cover the highlights. Deal? Deal.

Early on in the program, Reba the Mail Lady (Law & Order’s Lt. Anita Van Buren) shows up with an enormous human-sized crate. Pee-Wee opens it without hesitation, and out pops Grace Jones. Jones deadpans, “Hey, you’re not the president!” A quick check of the box’s label reveals that the box was in fact addressed to the White House, not the Playhouse. Now remember that this was first broadcast on December 21, 1988, and it becomes apparent that Grace Jones was mailing herself to President Ronald Reagan for Christmas. The implications of this are staggering, but Pee-Wee has no goddamn time for anything but dangling innuendo, so Grace sings a quick song, and then it’s back in the box.

Pee-Wee goes for a sleigh ride in the cartoon hell deep within the Magic Screen, only to find basketball star Magic Johnson, who explains that he’s Magic Screen’s cousin. Fine. After escaping a polar bear, Pee-Wee discovers that 1960s beach movie stars Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon are in his house making Christmas cards with a toothbrush and a potato. This quickly descends into the most sinister portion of the special, as Pee-Wee becomes verbally abusive, demanding that Frankie and Annette shut the fuck up and make him a thousand cards by sundown. Pee-Wee’s abuse of the pair is a running gag throughout the program.

But again, there’s no time to dwell, because Pee-Wee needs to go outside and play in the snow with jheri-curled Cowboy Curtis, a cheerful western gunslinger who later broke free from the Matrix and changed his name to Morpheus.

Back inside, Pee-Wee’s pal Ricardo shows up with a Christmas piñata.

Ricardo: Children in Mexico celebrate Christmas by breaking the piñata.
Pee-Wee: You get to break things for Christmas?
Ricardo: It’s filled with sweets and toys!
Pee-Wee: How are we gonna get it down?
Ricardo: Well that’s the fun part, Pee-Wee! I’m gonna blindfold you, and then you’re gonna break it open with this stick!
Pee-Wee: This is gonna be fun! Now the only thing missing is Charo!

And while in your own universe, saying things like, “Now the only thing missing is Charo,” is just a clever retro reference that might elicit a chuckle from your pals, in the Playhouseiverse, this means that Charo is sitting two feet away with a guitar. Conky the robot accompanies on maracas.

Later, Pee-Wee hires a pair of musclebound hunks to build a room made entirely out of fruitcakes, and then it’s time to finish decorating the Christmas tree. Randy, a ghastly marionette puppet reminiscent of Howdy Doody pulls the plug on the lights and declares,

“Christmas? Bah humbug! Christmas is just a commercial exploitation for big business trying to capitalize on consumer guilt.”

This falls on deaf ears, however, when Magic Screen manages to distract everyone with Jesus.

There’s a lot more crammed into the program’s 48 minutes, all of it groundbreakingly original, weird, and responsible for the installation of a subversive and surrealist element into my childhood. If you have children, you should make them watch this. If you don’t have children, go borrow some for an hour. And if you’re too cheap to go out and buy the DVD, somebody’s put it on YouTube.