Remembrance of Dicks Past

Dick Clark, as you've probably heard, has passed on to a better, Ryan Seacrestless place, and at the risk of speaking ill of the dead, we thought we'd take a look back at Dick's brief movie career, with this review culled from the Teenage Wasteland chapter of Better Living Through Bad Movies.

Because They’re Young (1960)
Directed by Paul Wendkos
Written by James Gunn, based on a novel by John Farris.

Tagline: “Whoever you are, you’re in this picture! Because this tells of youth’s challenge to grown-ups who can’t understand!”

Based on the tagline, this film was a seminal influence on the early works of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince.

But let’s meet our cast of characters:

Dick Clark is a new history teacher, a “firebrand” who believes in really talking to teens, asking them meaningful questions like what they think of the new single by The 1910 Fruitgum Company. But this school doesn’t allow gum, so Dick is in for trouble.

Joanne, the principal’s secretary, is an uptight, sexless spinster known around campus as “The Snow Queen.” She’ll be Dick’s love interest.

Shy, awkward Buddy. He worships his mother, who, unbeknownst to him, is a blowsy drunk who “dates” guys for a bottle of tequila. Buddy will be having some emotional problems in this movie.

Ricky is a cute, wholesome cheerleader who can’t wait to get married to boyfriend Doug McClure, while Doug is a red blooded, boneheaded football player who can’t wait to get into Ricky’s pants. “Don’t give me that malarkey about cold showers,” he says. Doug will be learning a few things about sex in this movie.

Tuesday Weld has already learned a few things about sex. Her shrewish mom thinks she’s a slut, but Tuesday avers, “I am not going to be a scarlet woman! I made a mistake! It won’t happen again!” Or will it?

Griff has a bad reputation, a worse attitude, and a history with Tuesday (she used to be his regular Tuesday night thing). He’s your typical suburban JD, a rebel without a brain.

So, let’s begin our movie. It’s the first day of school and already Dick has been called to Principal Woodman’s office because he doesn’t like Dick’s casual way of dealing with the Sweathogs. Secretary Joanne begs Dick to do things by the book, that book presumably being “Blackboard Jungle.” While it looks like something is brewing between Dick and Joanne, the kids give the romance a “3,” saying that it doesn’t have a good beat, you can’t dance to it, and Joanne is frigid.

Dick shows his heroic idealism at the big event of the year, the Honor Society Dance. First, he makes them admit all the students, not just the ones with honor. Then, when some young toughs from Hoodlum High try to crash it, Dick won’t let the football players trounce them. Joanne offers to call the police, but Dick nixes that too—he will handle it. And he does, by telling the hoods to leave. They
sneer “Says who?”

“I do,” Dick answers firmly. So, the gang departs, intimidated by the stern dance-show host. Or maybe they realized that James Darren was about to burst into the title song now and were afraid he might get through the entire thing, without being Raptured in mid-chorus by the Time Tunnel.

Later than night, Doug McClure gives Ricky his school ring, and then kisses her. Ricky pushes him away and flounces off—she is not the kind of girl who goes to first base, and especially not when it’s a base on balls. When Doug returns to the gym, Dick can see something is wrong—but he tactfully averts his eyes from Doug’s groin. Doug whines that Ricky is supposed to love him, but she won’t,
and stuff. Dick tells him to think about it from her perspective—and to take a cold shower.

Joanne is jealous of all the attention Dick is paying to Doug’s…problem, and warns Dick that he can’t give so much of himself to his students. At least not with the authorities pressing charges. But Dick says he can’t change, because being a teen messiah is just who he is.

Now it’s report card time. Griff got good grades, and it’s the talk of the school! Doug and all the cool kids are really impressed with how nicely Griff’s conforming these days. We learn why when he tells Tuesday he modeled himself on Eddie Haskell just for her. He turns off the lights, throws her on the couch, and kisses her passionately. Sleazy music plays and he says hungrily, “Let’s take that ride
now!” But Tuesday doesn’t want to ride Griff’s Wild Mouse, since it’s cheap, tawdry, over in two minutes, and leaves her feeling nauseous. She pushes him off and orders him out. Griff is furious to have fake-changed his life for her. He immediately goes to Chris, the butcher at Safeway, and the town’s criminal mastermind and signs up for a life of crime.

Chris invites Griff to a felony scheduled for that weekend. Chris and teen henchman Patcher have a big heist planned, and Griff can be the getaway driver. But when Chris sets off the alarm at the wiener and cold cuts warehouse, Griff gets scared and runs, leaving the ruthless Chris and the homicidal Patcher to
trudge home with link sausages draped around their necks.

Meanwhile, Buddy comes home unexpectedly and finds Mom entertaining Otis, the town drunk. Buddy is horrified to learn that any man can have his mother for a bottle of cheap wine, so he runs away from home. He winds up at play rehearsal, where he weepily confides in Tuesday that mom really isn’t a saint.

She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, causing him to yell, “Don’t touch me! You’ll get dirty, just like me! Just like my mother!” Griff, who was hiding in the shadows, pops out to tell Buddy that Tuesday is already as grimy as Buddy’s mother, and it’s a ground-in grime that leaves her with Ring Around the Hymen.

This totally destroys Buddy’s faith in virginity, so he pummels Griff, then throws him down the stairs and runs away. Again!

Dick is suspended for having taught Buddy history, which is probably what caused him to go berserk. The FBI initiates a shoot-to-kill search for Buddy, but just then, a student rushes in with vital evidence: it’s Tuesday’s library book, and it has blood on it! DNA testing reveals that Tuesday went all the way with Griff, and so Buddy was justified in beating the crap out of him. Joanne tries to get Tuesday to come forward and save Buddy, but Tuesday hysterically explains that her mother thinks she’s a tart so she has to get away to drama school! But if anyone knows she’s impure she will never be admitted, since the acting profession has very strict moral standards.

Griff, jealous of Buddy’s and Tuesday’s bad mothers and the opportunities they provide for big, dramatic scenes, shouts at his father, “You never did care about me!” and storms out of the house.

Dick finds Buddy and tells him sympathetically that it’s always a shock to find out that your mother is the town’s cheap floozy, but hey, nobody’s perfect. Mom and Buddy hug and cry, and Buddy gets a contact high from her breath.

Tuesday resolves to confess and save Buddy from the death penalty, even if it means she’ll never get her SAG card. But when she and Dick arrive at the principal’s office, they find that Griff has already cleared Buddy. So, Tuesday’s reputation is safe and she can play a virgin in Dobie Gillis without anyone being the wiser.

Doug and Ricky reflect that they have learned a valuable lesson from all this: never have sex, because it only leads to violence, shame, and overacting. Doug says half-heartedly, “We can still have fun,” as he and Ricky sublimate through weenie roasts or something.

But just when everyone’s problems are solved, Patcher shows up and tries to kill Griff. The two boys have a knife fight in the biology lab, considerately avoiding the big aquarium that modern movie teens would feel compelled to break.

Patcher stabs Griff, but Dick, who was a football star at Neurasthenic University, tackles Patcher, thus proving that while history is all well and good, it’s sports that really matter. As the police take Patcher away, Principal Woodman calls an ambulance for Griff, causing him to say in amazement, “What you do you know? You guys give a damn!” Even better, the knife-fight cured Joanne’s frigidity, and she symbolically embraces Dick, and all that Dick stands for. The End.

Thanks to Because They’re Young, we now know that back in the early Sixties teenagers were all in their thirties, so normal adolescent angst was often complicated by erectile dysfunction, or osteoporosis. But perhaps a more eye-opening element is the filmmakers’ conviction that the proper way to treat erotophobia is with a shiv-wielding rumble.

 Our understanding of human sexuality is still incomplete, but it is clear that Because They’re Young was largely responsible for inspiring the Sexual Revolution. Its influence was apparent the very next year, when West Side Story was released, and countless potential spinsters found their career plans to be cold and unresponsive ruined by the musical’s climactic knife fight. No longer able to effectively sublimate, America’s sour-faced secretaries and purse-lipped librarians found that the merest suggestion of an attempted stabbing rendered them moist and febrile, and before the decade was out, these same prissy, bun-wearing killjoys were doffing their cat-eye spectacles and rolling around naked in the mud at Woodstock. There are even some who claim Because They’re Young paved the way for the Voting Rights Act of 1964 when its bold therapeutic approach was adopted by The Black Rebels, made later that same year, and released with the tagline, “Switchblade fights and civil rights!”

So while Because They’re Young may not have much to offer in the way of handling teens, it does have much to teach us about curing vaginal dryness and eliminating the poll tax.

Emergency! II: The Evictioning

I'm sorry, but this lifestyle isn't really all it's cracked up to be.  Me and Maru is gonna have words. 

There is no Joy in Mudville. Nor any other leading brand of dish detergent, because Anntichrist S. Coulter (our dear friend Joanna) has lost her appeal, and is being forced to go the opposite of Galt (Tlag, I suppose, which sounds like a city in the former Soviet republic of Georgia -- and I bet they have decent public housing, even if it does come with a moss-covered statue of Stalin in the breezeway).

In other words, Annti is down to her last few days with a roof over her head, and will soon be living in and around her truck.  Thanks to your generosity, she was able to move her worldly goods into storage and buy some camping equipment, the very thought of which chills my blood (I can just imagine trying to live in a vehicle or sleep on the ground with my back problems, let alone hers).

I know she's extremely grateful (as are Sheri, Mary and I) for the very kind donations she's already received, but if you've discovered a few extra coins under the couch cushions, she could really use them, for gas, food, campground fees, rent on her storage unit, and medications for her and her surviving dependent, Biddy.  There's a button for Payments to Pals on the right-hand side of her blog, and if you're able, please click here to give.  Anything -- literally, at this point, anything -- will help.

Sorry to be a downer, and sorrier still that I live in a country where the wicked prosper, while a person like Joanna -- who is always the first to care for the least of us -- can be casually, thoughtlessly, and cruelly hobo-ized.

UPDATE:  Fellow blogger and author Debbi Mack very kindly linked to the Evict-a-thon over at her blog, Random and Sundry Things.  Debbi is a lawyer and award-winning mystery writer, a lover of Perry Mason and a connoisseur of fine Della Street cheesecake photos -- in other words, she's our kinda folks, so drop by and say hi.

Making a Metaphor Out of a Molehill

When politicians talk about tipping tax policy in favor of the "job creators," I'm tempted to observe that, even if they're inclined to, there is a limit to the number of jobs they could create in our present economy, because there's a limit to the size of the human bladder -- i.e., there are just so many Frappuccinos we can drink.

But Dr. Gina Loudon reminds us that, despite the loss of our industrial base, there are three things we still manufacture in America: outrage, orgasms, and suspect doctorates.

Dr. Gina, just to catch you up, is a talk radio host from St. Louis, whose Id is broadcast over 8 Midwestern states.  Here's a sample:

The land surrounding Ground Zero is a war memorial. The proposal of an Islamic mosque there is synonymous with a Nazi war memorial in downtown London. How would the world react to that proposal? Wouldn’t Western Europe just about leap off the map if that were proposed? Where is the outrage from our European “friends?”

So like a lot of farm league Limbaughs, Dr. Gina's mouth resembles that plywood  machine on the old Hobo Kelly show, which would vomit toys when the host turned the crank.

Dr. Gina Loudon, Ph.D., dispensing her opinions during midafternoon on KJSL TRUTHTALK, 630 AM (artist's conception).

But she's more than that.  The wife of "Senator John Loudon (R-MO, ret.)" -- actually, State Senator -- she's also a "Policologist (the nexus of politics and psychology)."  At first, I assumed that meant her Ph.D is in either political science or psychology, but that's simply because my own intellectual scope is as cramped and limited as the dimensions of the human bladder, because it turns out her degree is in Humanity Itself:

Fielding Graduate University is a"distributed learning" institution, which in previous decades would have been called a "correspondence school," but it's on the Internet, so we have to make up a new bullshit, jargony term for it, 'cause of l33tspeak.  FGU focuses on the student who wants the college experience delivered to his couch like a Domino's pizza...

• Do you wish to pursue your PhD, EdD, Master's or a certificate without moving from your home?

...and is looking for a doctorate in a just barely plausible field, like "Human and Organizational Development," "Evidence Based Coaching" and "Sustainability Leadership," all of which would obviously qualify one to go on AM radio every day and bitch about homos.  Their course catalog reminds me of a bit from What's Up, Tiger Lily?:

High Macha Of Rashpur: Good afternoon. I am the Grand Exalted High Macha of Raspur, a nonexistent but real-sounding country.
Phil Moscowitz: Uh-huh.
High Macha Of Rashpur: Yes. We're on a waiting list. As soon as there's an opening on the map, we're next.

Among the achievements she's proud enough to include in her bio, "Dr." Gina and her husband also claim to be the original organizers of the St. Louis Tea Party, from which they were subsequently and summarily ejected (by Dana Loesch and her husband, Chris) after Gina called marriage equality "a big gay mistake," and (State) Senator Loudon (R-MO, ret.) remarked:

If you want gay marriage, keep the federal government out of it. Move to a State of your choosing, and live happily gayly married ever after. This crap of you leftists getting one judge to make laws really irritates the heck out of people who believe in the rule of law. It is disgusting that you people cannot learn from the past. Live by the sword, die by the sword. You leave no choice but a US Constitutional Amendment.

It seems that naked homophobia doesn't sell as well as it used to, and even Missouri Teabaggers prefer the figleaf of "religious freedom," just as many of the most virulent racists in the 1950s and 60s would rather be seen speaking of "states' rights" than "segregation."  Plus, with the weird, lopsided, Frankensteinian way her head sits on her body, most people are probably frightened by the thought of seeing her naked.

And that brings me to perhaps the most interesting thing about the Distance Learning Doctor -- that even though she's a far right wing conservative, she made the cheeky, subversive decision to use a photo collage for her official headshot (see above).  Very post modern.

Anyway, let's get to the doctor's column, in which we learn why we liberals should stop persecuting Ann Romney for the crime of wealth, and instead, simply admire the ease and frequency with which she is made moist by Mitt.

More Obama Manufactured Outrage at Women

Remember when Grandma warned you not to “make a mountain out of a mole hill” or it would get you into trouble? 

Actually, I don't really remember my grandmother ever using that phase, and certainly not as a threat.  Apparently your Grandma considered you a self-dramatizing little twit.

The Democrat machine might have crashed into the side of their own manufactured mountain.  They manufactured the war on women that never took place, and drudged up the sexually promiscuous Sandra Fluke as their hero. 

I hate when our machine crashes into imaginary mountains.  We should spend less time manufacturing and drudging, and more time listening to the GPS -- unfortunately, it's got a woman's voice, so we're at war with it.

Anyway, this is a good a time as any to clarify some common misconceptions.  The Republicans (and I think even our liberal friends can agree with this) are not at war with woman!  They're only waging war on one part -- the vagina -- and all they're asking for is the right to regulate what goes into it (nothing!) and what comes out (babies!, which should be constantly popping their heads through the labia like a game of Whack-A-Mole).

Then they manufactured a race war, and they have all the love and beauty of Sharpton, Farrakhan, and Jackson on the face of that mountain.

So our machine crashed into Imaginary Mount Blackmore, which replaced Mount Rushmore when Obama and Holder suspended the Constitution and handed the reins of power to the jackbooted thugs from Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation video?  Or is Dr. Human Development just quoting one of the more memorable passages from The Turner Diaries?

But their favorite manufactured mountain is that of class warfare.

Actually, mine is Space Mountain, followed a close second by Big Thunder Mountain. What's your favorite manufactured mountain?

This one works well for them, even in a tough economy of their own creation.  But Americans are waking up to an election on the horizon, and they are not seeing themselves reflected in the chosen heroes of the left.

We need to spritz our heroes with a little Windex.

Hilary Rosen, a Democrat strategist took a turn at the wheel of the class warfare train last night, and crashed it right into the side of the carefully constructed class warfare mountain.

I don't know if the police in Missouri can arrest one for Metaphoring while Under the Influence, but I think Gina just blew a 0.19.

Ann Romney, however blessed because of her family’s dedication to hard work, good business acumen and budgeting

...and rapine.

...has raised 5 boys.

Well, she's raised 5 boys once removed, thanks to the governesses.  And the tutors -- so twice removed.  And the chauffeurs who drove them back and forth to school, and the mall, and soccer clinic, and...Okay, let's just agree than Ann Romney raised 5 boys with no more than 6 Degrees of Separation.

She chose to stay at home and raise them, even after she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and Cancer. 

I don't mean this as a joke, but I'm not sure how her health problems reflect on her courageously empty resume, because a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis and Cancer is not usually the signal to run out and get a stressful full-time job.  Unless, unlike Ann Romney, you desperately need the medical insurance (and good luck getting it with a pre-existing condition, let alone two).

She has campaigned alongside her husband for decades (that is work!)

Agreed!  I've had a few gigs in my life that involved manual labor, and none of them were as hard and backbreaking as the job of trying to convince people to like Mitt Romney.

...and she has done so all with an air of graciousness that has made her “more likable” than her husband in the eyes of the American electorate.

Which is something else she has in common with cancer.

Did she have help? Probably.  House keepers?  Check.  Spa appointments? Probably.  But should women across the country aspire to less?  Wouldn’t it be nice if most women in America had all that? 

So...if we vote for Mitt Romney, he'll give us a facial?  And not the kind we got repeatedly from the Bush-Cheney Administration?

As American women look at the business leader who took Ann Romney to that great place

Ewwww!  Ann's campaign slogan: "Vote for Mitt -- He Got Me Off Once."

...they might just prefer a President who worked for his wife and family to that end, rather than a President who truly has never even held a job in the private sector, met a budget, or had anything of luxury not funded by taxpayers. 

 Apparently the Obamas lived in a Cabrini Green before movin' on up to the White House.  It's like The Jeffersons, cubed!

Families are already feeling the vice grip of a gasping economy.

If there's one thing that's strong, crushing, and inescapable, it's the handshake of an emphysema patient.

In quiet observation, kids watch as the Obama kids live well, vacation much, and shop often, and they are asking questions about their own family vacations.

You know, our family went through several extremely bad years when I was a child, and while I was depressed when Santa Claus bypassed our house on Christmas, and upset when I'd go to the refrigerator in the morning and find no food, mostly I was obsessed with Tricia Nixon's honeymoon plans.

R.I.P. Thomas Kinkade, “Painter of Lite”

By Keith

Thomas, I hardly knew you. In fact, I never heard of you, much less viewed your work. I inhabit that rarefied elitist world of NYC where a trip to the dentist’s or doctor’s office is more likely to feature posters from MoMA or the Guggenheim displayed in waiting rooms. Secondly, can’t receive QVC on our limited TV roster.

Read of your death, coincident with Holy Week and Passover, and of curiosity pointed my browser to your website (warning, kitschy music and QVC-like folksy sales pitch) but it was “slashdotted.” Couldn’t get through.

Fortunately was able to at last view some of your paintings. How unfortunate your demise was upstaged by the Resurrection of Our Lord & Savior™. But Thomas, you’ve made my Holy Week all the more sacred, because I’m now imbued with a deeper understanding of the meaning of all that is conveniently referred to as “Kitsch.”

The lights are always on at St. Thomas Estates, thanks to our resident G.E. AP-100 30MW nuclear power station located in the basement of St. Thomas Rectory (far right). Besides complimentary electricity service, we offer a dazzling array of amenities for your residential security and well-being. Lakefront can be “parted” during emergencies for easy egress and exit. Our cadre of advanced Raytheon “Duck-Drones” will accompany you and your loved ones to and from most local conveniences (see “Terms of Service” below). You’ll feel as if the Lord’s Breath itself has entered your body once you inhabit your dream residential environment.

This lovely cottage has “Starter Home” written all over it. And wouldn’t you love to know what’s inside? Master bedroom and bath with sublime, gold-plated fixtures, spacious kitchen with all-marble surfaces, servants quarters located in basement/dungeon combo (can be used as home office). Simulated thatched roof opens on remote command so you can access our unique Raytheon laser-guided RPGs that can take out pesky intruders up to 250 yards, all from the convenience of your living room. Enjoy the evenings outside free of bothersome bugs and ticks ... they’ve been irradiated! $1.5 Million + closing says “You’re In!”

We at St. Thomas Estates haven’t forgotten the value of entertainment. Imagine yourself enjoying an evening aboard our flagship St. Thomas Showboat and complimentary cocktails on the top deck casino (See “Terms of Service” below). Or talk to the animals ... they’ll talk back! Better yet, make a reservation at our landmark Kinkade Hospitality Center (center) and savor a meal expertly prepared from fresh seafood gathered locally each and every day.

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The Risky Business Edition

Riley:  I love it when they go out, and we can watch whatever we want.  I think Team Blake is gonna crush it this week!

Moondoggie:  Do you think Christina Aguilera's boobs are real?

Riley:  Crap!  Did I leave the oven on...?

Moondoggie:  I mean, they look big enough to nurse an entire litter at once, but there's only two nipples, which means you'd have a huge kitten queue waiting to latch on.  Seems like kind of a design flaw, if you ask me...

Riley:  You!  Go check the oven!  I can't miss the Final Four!

Moondoggie:  I mean, they're so big they spill out of her dress and off the screen and halfway across the ro--  Oh.  Wait.  That's a biscuit warmer and a tether ball.  Never mind...

Jimmy Carter, History's Greatest Mon--Oh, Forget It

I suspect I'm getting too old for this stuff.  Not because of the bad back, or my Danny Glover-like exasperation with Mel Gibson's antics, but mostly because I remember when The Simpsons was satire.  Now it's a documentary -- and not even a tongue-in-cheek, Morgan Spurlock romp through popular culture, but a grim, pitiless, Errol Morris-like gaze into the abyss of modern American society.  In other words, I've been visiting World Net Daily.

Yes, Joseph ("Just For Menstache") Farah has gone beyond mockery, beyond satire, and is now traveling through The Twilight Zone, and by that I mean the zone with the sparkly vampires and the compulsively topless werewolves, not the literate one with the grasp of irony, flair for allegory, and frequent shots of Rod Serling coughing up a lung oyster.

What happens when an evil man is interviewed by a know-nothing interviewer from a corrupt and decadent faux news agency?

Karl Rove books another appearance on Hannity?

You need someone like me to sort out the sublime (not much of that) to the ridiculous.

While Joseph needs someone with a strong constitution to sort out his nose hair from his mustache before applying the weekly Just For Men, because dying your nasal cilia is contraindicated, according to the manufacturer.  As Barbra Streisand so memorably sang, "People...Who need People.  Are the luckiest People...in the world"  Except for the People who pull proboscis pelt duty on days when Joseph has a salon appointment.

So that’s what we’re going to do. Decipher and decode the Huffington Post’s Q&A with the insufferable Jimmy Carter.

Oh good, more of Farah's thoughts on Jimmy Carter.  It's like reading Moby Dick, if Ahab had been obsessed with harpooning Clara Peller.

Asked by HuffPost senior religion editor Paul Brandeis about Creation, Carter said: “I happen to have an advantage there because I am a nuclear physicist by training and a deeply committed Christian. I don’t have any doubt in my own mind about God who created the entire universe. But I don’t adhere to passages that so and so was created 4,000 years before Christ, and things of that kind. Today we have shown that the earth and the stars were created millions, even billions, of years before. We are exploring space and sub-atomic particles and learning new facts every day, facts that the Creator has known since the beginning of time.”

Well, wait a minute! Was it millions of years ago or billions? There’s a big difference between the two. Why so imprecise? That doesn’t sound like a nuclear physicist talking. Just how old is the Earth?

Above the age of consent, I hope, because it's getting fracked on a daily basis.  (And yes, 88-year old man, your failure to properly card Creation is making it extremely difficult to plan a birthday party for the Universe, because we're not sure if it's appropriate to hire a stripper.)

And if the Creator has known all this from the beginning of time, why would He inspire the authors of the Bible to get it wrong?

Simple!  For just as Candid Camera begat Punk'd, so the Bible begat Candid Camera.

Asked about homosexuality and the Bible, Carter had this to say: “Homosexuality was well-known in the ancient world, well before Christ was born, and Jesus never said a word about homosexuality. In all of his teachings about multiple things – he never said that gay people should be condemned. I personally think it is very fine for gay people to be married in civil ceremonies.”

Wait a minute! Isn’t Jesus God?

Turns out, no -- it was actually a case of identity theft.  Jesus was using an ATM card skimmer.

And didn’t God inspire the Bible? 

Which part?  The first part that contradicts the second part, or the second part that contradicts the first part?  And isn't Joseph question begging?  And if God is love, and God inspired the men who wrote the Bible, then who wrote the Book of Love?

Just because Jesus isn’t quoted in red letters in the Bible discussing homosexuality, does that mean He never addressed it? 

I'm sure he covered it in the lost testament, The Gospel of Saint Dorm Room Bull Sessions.

Doesn’t it suggest, on the contrary, that Jesus didn’t dispute the law of the Bible? 

In that case, I'll bet he's pretty embarrassed about this whole "Christianity" thing that mushroomed after his death.  "Jews, people...We're supposed to be Jews!  Weren't you listening?"

In fact, wouldn’t His atoning sacrifice on the cross be rendered ineffective if He didn’t uphold the law in its entirety? 

You, there!  Put down that shrimp scampi and start stoning your daughter!

Does Jimmy Carter believe there is disagreement within the Trinity on homosexuality?

You tend to get that in any love triangle, especially the one in the 1971 British drama, Sunday, Bloody Sunday, in which the omnisexual Holy Ghost was essayed by Murray Head.

Here’s what the Bible says about homosexuality with no ambiguity:

"Leviticus 18:22: “Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.”

Oh, oh, too late!  Should have kept your kinds separated!  (That reminds me, I need to sort the laundry, assuming I'm not killed by this mutant homosexual).

Romans 1:24-28: “Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient;”

This actually sounds more like the droning monologues the homeless guy who lives in front of the Wax Museum murmurs into his beard when it gets hot, and less like the kind of thing one should base a civil rights policy on.

Of course Jesus never said “gay people should be condemned.” In fact, I don’t know anyone who says that.

At most, Joseph's friends merely demand that the Department of Building Safety and City Engineering cite gay people for faulty wiring, substandard plumbing, and serious metal fatigue in all the load-bearing members.

 What most Bible-believers say is that homosexuals should turn away from their sin – just like adulterers, fornicators and liars should. Further, Jesus does talk very specifically about marriage – 

...from the perspective of a confirmed bachelor with 12 close male friends.

and he affirms what it is supposed to be in God’s economy: an institution between one man and one woman for life (Mark 10:7-9).

Jesus was sweet, but a little naive.  But perhaps marriage would work better if we thought of it as a union of two life-minded individuals united in love and commitment, rather than a cog in "God's economy," because that makes it feel more like a tranche.

Carter continues: “I draw the line, maybe arbitrarily, in requiring by law that churches must marry people. I’m a Baptist, and I believe that each congregation is autonomous and can govern its own affairs. So if a local Baptist church wants to accept gay members on an equal basis, which my church does by the way, then that is fine. If a church decides not to, then government laws shouldn’t require them to.”

Arbitrarily? Has Carter ever read the First Amendment? And what about the Bible-believing civil judge?

Oh!  Oh!  I know this one...He's a contradiction in terms?  Wait, no -- I want to change my answer!  He's bad at his job...?

 Should he or she be forced to violate his or her own moral principles by being forced to participate in sin?

Just like the registrar at the University of Mississippi when James Meredith tried to sign up for class?

Question: “Jesus says I am the way the truth and the life (John 14:6). How can you remain true to an exclusivist faith claim while respecting other faith traditions?”

Question:  A train leaves Philadelphia at 1:00 PM, heading west at at 94 miles an hour.  An eastbound train leaves Cincinnati at 2:30, traveling at 88 miles an hour.  They meet at 9:45 PM, and Gomez Addams blows them up, and it turns out they were toy trains operated by a sitcom character.  Discuss.

Carter: “Jesus also taught that we should not judge other people (Matthew 7:1), and that it is God who judges people, so I am willing to let God make those judgments, in the ultimate time whenever it might come. I think ‘judge not that you be not judged’ is the best advice that I will follow. Maybe it is a rationalization, but it creates a lack of tension in my mind about that potential conflict. There are many verses in the Bible that you could interpret very rigidly and that makes you ultimately into a fundamentalist. When you think you are better than anybody else – that you are closer to God than other people, and therefore they are inferior to you and subhuman – that leads to conflict and hatred and dissonance among people when we should be working for peace.”

But that’s not what Christians are commanded to do by Jesus. We are commanded to spread the gospel for the salvation of many. I know this hasn’t been a big part of Jimmy Carter’s life. But it remains the unequivocal, central role of the Christian in the world.

It's cute when self-righteous fundies go on a five state apostate fingering spree.  It reminds me of Doghouse Riley's observation (I'm paraphrasing) that you can crack open the phone book in any mid-sized American city and find 431 flavors of the One True Faith.

 We’re not supposed to just live and let live – because to do that actually means death for those we don’t confront with their sin and the salvation message. 

Although when you're persistent enough in your proselytizing, they often begin praying for death, so I'd call it a push.

Question: “There is a scripture passage attributed to Jesus, ‘Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth, I did not come to bring peace but a sword’ (Matthew: 10:34). How do you interpret that, in light of your basic belief in Jesus as the Prince of Peace?” 

Christ was strapped?

This is why I call Jimmy Carter a truly evil person. He still tries to masquerade as a Christian, though his views are increasingly heretical if not those of an apostate. 

We still have to prove it, though.  Okay, we'll need a giant apothecary's scale, and a duck...  (By the way, I once masqueraded as a Christian at a Halloween party in college, and I'll be frank -- I totally did not get laid).

Jesus says when judgment day comes, there will be some He turns away, even though they claim to have prophesied in His name.

“Depart from me, I never knew you,” Jesus says (Matthew 7:23). I wonder what goes through Carter’s mind when he reads that verse with Rosalyn?

Well, knowing ol' Mr. Lust in His Heart, I bet it's something dirty.

Brits Nix Stix Pix. And Crispix.

Sorry for the poor harvest here at the content farm.  Normal posting will resume tomorrow, but in the meantime, I've brought in some migrant labor to do the blogging jobs Americans can't or won't.  In this case, it's Keith, with an online poll attempting to determine which movies John Bull considers bullshit.

Now, I like Britain, it's a perfectly fine Mother Country, as long as you stick to wooden hangers, but I'm not necessarily an Anglophile.  This attitude has less to do with the British themselves than with the smug predictions of right wing "warbloggers" in the early days of the Iraq invasion, who foresaw "the Anglosphere" uniting to turn back the tide of Islamofascism.  In the language of Instapundit and his virtual vassal states, the Anglosphere consisted of the U.S., Britain, and Australia (Canada, which didn't want to play in our sandbox, was voted out of the He-Man Muslim-Hater's Club).  Thus was the Axis of Evil confronted by the Crotch of Justice, with America as the Freedom Phallus (which would stun the recalcitrant Bedouins with its Cock and Awe campaign), and the UK and Australia forming the supportive, yet dependent Balls of Buyer's Remorse.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying that despite my differences with British foreign policy over the years, we seem to hate a lot of the same movies.  Or so I discovered when Keith sent me the following:

The Register has posted a short-list of "Worst Movie" nominees and the list is not exactly what I expected.

Sorry Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut didn't get a nom, it was so... crusty. (So crusty Riley & Moondoggie won't even play with it.)

Was also a bit disappointed that neither Gigli nor Swept Away (Madonna's remake) were not listed. After a bit of research found that Swept Away swept all the investors of their wallets, so a UK release was cancelled after dismal b.o. in the the US. This apparently is true of Gigli so those poor punters across the pond never had the experience of Ben Affect & J-Lo. Or Madge. Or they just weren't paying
for them on BSkyB or whatever they have over there now.

Anyway, here's a link. It's interesting. My first choice was James Cameron's Titantic but to be honest I never saw it completely. I left the theater in Times Sq. about 20 mins., asked the ticket agent when it would sink, then went out for a pint or two at the nearby "Rudy's Pub" conveniently located at 44th and 9th Ave. It's coming back this summer, in "3-D."

Manos is hard to resist but beloved because of Joel and those bots.  I believe it was one of their first offerings. Maybe Gypsy liked it a little.

So my vote went to Battlefield Earth which I have watched from beginning to end. How could one not? Travolta, a winning script from material on loan from L. Ron Hubbard, and those enthusiastic cast members get my vote any day. As well as lame focus, awkward cross-cuts, hilarious continuity gaffes and etc. It looked like no other movie I've seen. But I couldn't see it that well because I cried the entire way through and my contacts wouldn't stay in.

Vote early and often,
Keith

The poll starts off with the 13 films that were in contention, but didn't make the cut, three of which we've given the Better Living Through Bad Movies treatment (Eyes Wide Shut and Waterworld are both in the book, while Zardoz is in the [currently under construction] sequel).

Of the twenty films in contention for All Time Worst, four are in BLTBM:  Battlefield Earth, Highlander II:  The Quickening, Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace, and The Postman, while Keith wrote about Sunshine, although he bailed out before the end, probably to save his satiny complexion from the premature aging effects of excessive UV radiation.  In other words, if you're a World O' Crap reader (and if you're not, I don't know who is), then you are uniquely well qualified to vote in this poll.  So click the link and represent!

Update:  Speaking of Zardoz, Zombie Rotten Mcdonald very kindly points us to "the Best Bond Movie Ever."  Ohhh, Internet...You've done it again.