Quoth The Raven, "Bullshit."

« October 2011 »

Memo to Club36: YOU ARE DUMB.

I don't care if it makes me a bad person. There are few things in this world more entertaining than watching thick-browed, mush-brained Jesus-freaks go on and on about something on a low-budget local cable show. It's one of the few unadulterated guilt-free pleasures left in the world of stupidity enjoyment.

Basically, these shows, like Club36, part of the Watchmen Broadcasting Network in Georgia, are a lot like Herman Cain. They don't know what the fuck they're talking about, they refuse to let that stop them, and they'll expound at length, making shit up or repeating shit they heard as if it were the fruits of actual expertise, while an audience at least as dumb as they are nod their heads and tut accordingly.

But they are not like Herman Cain, in that their audience is tiny and nobody actually thinks they should run the fucking country. So it's OK to just point and laugh at them without the fear that you have to take them just seriously enough to keep them from getting into power.

Which brings me to the clip fro Club36 that caught my eye. In it, our host - one Dorothy Spaulding, who appears to be wearing a light brown beehive wig that doubles the height of her head, takes a question from a caller. The question is directed at Harry Lewis, a man who is the earthly embodiment of slump. The top of his head slumps into his face, his face slumps into his chin, his chin slumps into his next chin, his next chin slumps into his chest, his chest slumps into his midsection, which slumps into his butt, which slumps into the chair. His arms are somehow performing parallel acts of slumpery. And the question is, "Is Pokemon demonic?"

Now, before we continue, I must assert one thing to you. This clip is recent. You can't tell from the video quality, the clothes, or the actual question, but there's a hint later on that tells you this clip is from the last year or so. And what is Harry Lewis' answer to that question? You can guess. And you can come close. But your guesses will not approach the glory that is ACTUAL QUOTE TIME!

"The answer to that is yes, they are all Oriental demons. And as you read in the Pokemon, in order for Pokemon to advance in power, it has to evolve into another level. And each evolution, he becomes more demonic in appearance. And eventually, he gets to a point where he's totally demonic. And these are all Oriental demons, the names are actually names of demons."

OK. There are, at current count, 649 different Pokemon. I suspect that, if you added up the names of named demons in all religious and cultural traditions in the world, you might get more than 649. If you cut that list down to what Harry Lewis quaintly calls "The Orient", you might, if you dug deep enough, be able to scrape together 649. But if there's a demon named Wobbuffett, I'll eat my red-and-white hat. Hell, you can call that the Wobbuffett Rule, if you're so inclined.

Our hostess then jumps in to demonstrate her depth of cultural knowledge:

"Isn't there a guitar that was called something Hero?"

I love that because she knew it was "Something Hero", she knew it involved a guitar, yet could not come up with Guitar Hero, which has only been around for six goddamned years. And while Lewis acknowledges the addictive nature of Guitar Hero, he's about to drop some serious video game science on Spaulding:

"There's another game out that we just recently found out, very addicting, is Minecraft.

Minecraft! And he's not even thinking of World of Warcraft and getting the name wrong, he actually means Minecraft, which you can sort of tell from his description.

"You go into this thing and build a world of your own, and these kids, we had to step in on my own grandsons, because they're getting addicted to it, you build these worlds, and you put these different things in it that you want, and these children will play it for hours and they'll compete against each other."

See? That's Minecraft... sort of. I mean, the gist of it is there, which I think you'll admit, for people who think Jigglypuff is a demon name, is pretty fucking impressive. And the problem with Minecraft? Is it also of demonic origin?

"It's not necessarily occultic, but it's distracting."

Look here, Slouchy T. Bethlehem. I've seen Minecraft. And as distracting as it may be, it cannot possibly be as distracting as (a) your use of the non-word "occultic", and (b) your caveat that Minecraft is "not necessarily" of the occult. Hedging your bets on the off chance Internet Legos turn out to be all elzebub. Anyway, apparently the problem is that the kids are spending seven days making worlds, leaving them no time to read about how God spent seven days making the world. It seems there's a solution there, but it's one that would involve learning to code, so it's probably right out for this crew.

They then leave the world of video games to explain that "Magic Quest" (in reality the combination LARP/day care centers Magiquest) teaches children how to actually use actual magic wands. This is where we are introduced to the third person in the video, who is clearly Lewis' Slumpth apprentice. The clip doesn't give her name, so I am forced to dub her Annabelle Couchslumper.

Ms. Couchslumper, you see, wants to create a competing game to MagiQuest, one that teaches children to "use the sword of The Word, sword of The Spirit". Which would be awesome, because unlike magic wands, swords are real things that exist and work, so by all means, teach a bunch of preteens how to use deadly bladed weapons right before you're about to repress the ever-loving shit out of them upon puberty. That'll go GREAT.

Now, this is all patently ridiculous, and therefore hilarious, but they close on the best thing ever. Here's what Harry Lewis, Dark Lord of the Slumpth, claims happened as a direct result of his appearance on a cable-access religious broadcast in Georgia.

"We had in our front yard, we had a big pecan tree, and they had hung over 100 ravens by the neck on the tree... as a warning to us to keep our mouths shut."

That's the greatest lie I've ever heard. It's even better than the one right after that, where they took in 28 wayward witches, distraught after one of them got stabbed, and turned them to Jesus by giving them coffee.

Harry Lewis would like us to believe that the FORCES OF THE OCCULT IN GEORGIA monitor Club36 so closely, and in such numbers, that they can acquire over 100 ravens, kill them, tie ropes around their necks, and hang them from the Lewises' (it is clear at this point that Annabelle Couchslumper is likely Mrs. Lewis, but I've stopped caring) pecan tree while they drove home from the studio.

Even assuming the existence of occult magic, those logistics are completely fucking unbelievable. I mean, who would hang ravens by the neck? YOU CAN'T LYNCH BIRDS. And when Spaulding asks, as any reasonable person would, about who the Lewises called to take care of the mess, Harry says he cut them down himself and put them in trash bags. Over 100 ravens. Cut down by a man who would have his third stroke if he ever even SAW a ladder.

See? You put that kind of unfounded, irrational assertion of cause and effect in the hands of Michelle Bachmann, and you've got a two-week conversation about vaccines. But keep your occult raven-corpse yard work stories where they belong, on cable access Jesus TV, and everyone's happy.