Being the founder of a new Master Race has its ups and downs. The satisfaction of founding the future Ruling Class that will consolidate your iron grip on your subjects as well as expand your Empire is often tempered by the need to reward your progeny while they are in their formative years with some mindless entertainment. After all, they can place 5 consecutive shots in the X-ring of every life-size hobo target that pops at the range. They've finished their balance sheets and income statements. They've completed their art project.
For their art project, they drew a picture of the time we visited their grandparents in Italy.
Being a good Dad, and wanting to maintain access to their mother's jubbly bits, I agreed to let them select the movie. As I feared, they chose Gnomeo and Juliet, which looked stupid, but harmless.
Dead. Fucking. Wrong.
This isn't just Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet recast with lawn gnomes. This is Romeo and Juliet recast with lawn gnomes that have first been placed in Elton John's ass.
Produced by Elton John.
Featuring nothing but music by Elton John.
Gnomes that appear to be dressed as Elton John.
Featuring pissy gay anti-straight slurs by Elton John.
Now, fortunately, my Master Race is still to young to pick up on these things. They still laugh when people trip or get hit in the balls. Or trip and then get hit in the balls. Or get hit in the balls and trip over something. And there was plenty of that to keep them amused. What was not so amusing was the bullshit indoctrination thinly disguised as a morality play.
In the movie, Gnomeo and Juliet sneak off to the garden of an abandoned house to have freaky gnome sex or something. They discover a discarded pink flamingo in a run down toolshed who tells his story through a montage featuring yep, another fucking Elton John song. Here's how it goes: Mr. Pink Flamingo and Mrs. Pink Flamingo have a happy life in the yard of a newlywed couple. Life is grand, the years go by, yadda yadda. Then we're treated to an angry scene of the newlywed couple arguing in the window. Before you know it, there is a foreclosure sign in the yard. Although the scary red font on the foreclosure sign looked more like this:
Bush economy foreclosure
Or maybe it was just my imagination. Fuck you, you weren't there. The point is, either the foreclosure leads to divorce, or the divorce leads to foreclosure. Either way, there's a moving truck backing up and the woman is packing her shit. As an afterthought, she storms back to the yard and "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE, I'M TAKING THE LADY FLAMINGO!!!" so she yanks it out of the ground, tosses it in the truck and hauls ass, because taking one of the flamingos - it's the perfect burn! Yeah, enjoy your new life WITH THAT WHORE and one fucking flamingo! Everyone's going to know what a cheating asshole you are!
The husband's attitude is more sanguine as he watches the truck drive away. He mutters, "Whatever, bitch. Oh, and by the way I FUCKED YOUR SISTER, TOO!" right before he tosses the lonely flamingo into the shed.
After this audiovisual treat, the flamingo breaks down the loss of his lady flamingo with this takeaway:
"So you see, other people's hate kept our love apart."
The deuce you say, you poncy British dickholster.
If you know the story of Romeo and Juliet, then you already know how the story ends: a giant, semi-sentient lawnmower destroys the entire community. But this is why I say we are approaching The Singaylarity: that moment at which children's entertainment is going to be rife with not just homosexual propaganda, but homosexual acts. Little Jimmy's first onscreen kiss? It's going to be with Little Joey, not little Sally.
"Hey Jimmy, have you ever tasted penis?"
"Keen! It's like a smelly popsicle!"
Pictured: The Future of Children's Entertainment
I challenge you to unsee that. Incidentally, after the cost of the tickets and grub for the six of us, I felt very much like poor Kermit up there.
Skip this piece of shit.