As the mother of a toddler I have seen my share of bad or insipid television. I have also seen your share, and your uncle's share, and your cousin's, sister's landlord's share.* For the most part though, I have kept my thoughts about the shows to myself (and Twitter) and reminded myself that they are not scripted for me, but for my daughter.
When I wanted to set glue traps for "Angelina Ballerina?" I just smiled and thought of how she teachers Meg about dance.
When I wanted to take the "Wonder Pets" to the pound? I thought about how they teach co-operation.
When I wondered if there is a glue factory in "Pony Land?" Yeah, I couldn't think of anything they really teach, but I was happy that they cam keep her quiet while I make dinner.
I have finally reached the end of my rope though.
I have found the show that has no redeeming value, and is so annoying that when Meg asks if we can watch a movie I reply "anything but that one."
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you "The True Story of Puss in Boots."
No, I am not talking about the Dreamworks movie with the voice of Antonio Banderas. That's "Puss in Boots" and looks like "Hamlet" with Sir Laurence Olivier compared to this nightmare.
This "Puss" is a bad English overdub of an even worse French animated film, which I am sure was made just to trick Europeans (and suspecting Americans with Netflix) into seeing a movie they thought starred Zorro. Instead? We got William Shatner.
Yes, that William Shatner. Actually, this is an even worse William Shatner than the one you are familiar with. This one is devoid of any of Shatner's blustery charm, and instead is imbued with a mincing, smarmy, bad John Waters as a cat impersonation. There are fingernails on the chalkboard and then there is this: fingernails on your soul.
And Shatner's cat isn't even the worst part. I can't even believe I just wrote that, but it's true.
The "human" characters are the stuff of nightmares. A drunk queen and king. An "evil" counselor. An ogre. A princess and her "dancers."
After watching that I feel I should ask you to show me where on the doll the video clip hurt you. You should thank me the quality isn't better. It makes it slightly less creepy.
And there's more.
There is one character with what can be considered a "black" accent. He's "from Jamaica."
It's this one:
Yeah, that's right HE'S A FUCKIN' MONKEY! You know, because we are such a post-racial society that it's okay.
NO, IT'S NOT.
I think you can see why this movie, or, for my Canadian friends, film, makes me start Googling "Old Priest/Young Priest combo SLC."
But Meg loves it.
I mean LOVES it.
It's what she wants to watch when she has "been really good." When she has "eaten a good dinner." When she has "won the nobel prize."
Okay, maybe not the last one, but a Mom can hope.
Like I can hope Meg will embrace the artistry of "Breaking Bad." Because that's what I want to watch.
But then THAT makes me a bad Mom.
At least Gus Fring isn't a sterotype.
*Apologies to Denis Leary