Tuesday, July 08, 2003


(One draft, no stops for smoke breaks. A few minutes with the creative speedbag to get my chops in order. Any lack of coherence and/or cohesion is therefore neatly excused for once. Cool, eh?)

Apologize? Admit culpability? No way, mister. No way. Everyone knows that whatever caused those kids to do what they did, as often as they did, to as many elderly women, invalids and traffic cones as they did, is the result of faulty upbringing, too much fluoride in the water, or a missed bracket somewhere deep in their genetic code, not the little movies and products my insignificant little multinational conglomerate puts out. I don't know how many more times I have to say it - it's just entertainment. It has no effect on people's behavior. Sure, the clerical error at the ad agency that changed Zap Cola's slogan from "Zap Cola: It's Like a Party in a Can" to "Zap Cola: Say You Love Satan" was unfortunate, but those cans that turned up at the site of all those ritual killings in the Midwest can be, at worst, considered a misguided attempt at freelance product placement. You don't see your kids, uh, hanging out with androids just because they saw that space movie, right? So why all this fuss over Dude, Where's My Carbine? And no, those high schoolers in Montana, Nebraska, Maryland, Arkansas, Guam and Puerto Rico weren't quoting the movie when they slaughtered all those underclassmen with those weapons that coincidentally were constructed out of the same wine-cooler-bottle and peat moss mixture that Seann William Scott devised in the film - "Dude, I totally ventilated his torso with this easy-to-construct makeshift weapon!" has been in the zeitgeist for years now. We're just holding up a mirror to society. Don't blame me if you're not "hip." And now we're gonna get upset because the latest teen idol has a tattoo? And don't give me that "the swastika is a hate symbol" garbage - what obscure fact are you gonna dig up next? I mean, c'mon, give our kids some credit - or maybe I should say your kids since I don't have any, not anymore. They can read, at least almost a third of them can, and you know they pay attention to the strongly-worded disclaimer we run in every other episode of Stoliclicious Vodka-Flavored Bubblegum presents Cripplewhackers! "It looks fun, and it is, but don't try this at or anywhere in the immediate vicinity of your home." I think that makes things abundantly clear - certainly our lawyers think so. All I'm saying is that, when you point your finger at someone, you have three fingers pointing back at you, and a thumb looking off to one side, hoping not to get involved or something. Examine your own consciences (that is what they're called, right?) - maybe you spoke sternly to your children a couple of times, or denied them a second helping of cake for dessert, or encouraged them to study. Children are sensitive to these things, so naturally these things are bound to turn back on you. Maybe you should think about your inadequacies as parents, teachers, neighbors and pedestrians a little bit before laying all the blame on Captain Wacky's Whites-Only Funhouse. Or Carbo-Crank 72-Hour Energy Drink. Or the Micro-Glock. I mean, my company produced a Jesus biopic last year, and you don't see kids running around, nailing Jews to trees, do you? Aside from those three in Wisconsin, I mean.

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