Pat Boone (you know, the “Tutti Frutti” guy who starred in The Cross and the Switchblade and the Erik Estrada) has a new column out — it’s about the eternal battle between Santa Claus and Gay Satan.
No, wait, I guess I was thinking of the Mexican movie Santa Claus – Pat’s column (“The Grinch, the ‘gays’ and Wal-Mart“) is actually about the eternal battle between Sam Walton and the gays.
Let’s join it, already in progress:
But the important thing is that Sam would spit out his Christmas eggnog (possibly right in the face of Him whose birth Christmas celebrates, which would have to be mortifying, since dissing the birthday boy like that is pretty bad form) if he learned that Walmart was treating homosexual groups just like other (non-going-to-hell) groups, and was allowing them to earn a money by selling Walmart crap from their websites.
inter exhume Mr. Sam’s body so we can find out, once and for all, just what facial expression it is currently wearing.
Hear inspirational voice messages written and narrated by Pat Boone”). I wonder if Sam Walton can subscribe to this service from hell.
No, wait, I guess I was thinking of the Mexican movie Santa Claus – Pat’s column (“The Grinch, the ‘gays’ and Wal-Mart“) is actually about the eternal battle between Sam Walton and the gays.
Let’s join it, already in progress:
This year, instead of bowing and kowtowing to militant atheist and super liberal “political correctness,” so-called, I’m thrilled to see that Wal-Mart has banished “the Grinch” that threatened to steal Christmas, and will be advertising Christmas sales and playing Christmas music – and not conforming to the total “Holiday” imagery and advertising of other milk-toast wimp marketers. Again, the family friendly vision of Sam Walton lives on! I believe he’s smiling somewhere, possibly in the presence of the One whose birth Christmas celebrates.And believers in karma and reincarnation think that he’s currently toiling away somewhere, possibly in a Honduran sweatshop or a Chinese forced labor camp.
But the important thing is that Sam would spit out his Christmas eggnog (possibly right in the face of Him whose birth Christmas celebrates, which would have to be mortifying, since dissing the birthday boy like that is pretty bad form) if he learned that Walmart was treating homosexual groups just like other (non-going-to-hell) groups, and was allowing them to earn a money by selling Walmart crap from their websites.
So imagine my surprise, my shock really, when I read yesterday that this venerable company, the international outgrowth of Mr. Sam’s personal vision, has agreed to automatically donate 5 percent of online sales directly to the Washington, D.C., community center for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people! The cash donation will come from online purchases made at Wal-Mart through the homosexual group’s website. Every purchase made online for books, music, videos, clothing and accessories, children’s clothing and toys, and electronics will automatically send 5 percent of the sales to the CCBLBT organization.The gays get 5% of the purchase price of children’s clothing sold at their site?!? The horror, the horror!
The American Family Association Action Alert, a widely read Internet news source,Well, it’s widely read by people like Pat and Pastor Swank, but I don’t think one could really term it a news source anymore than one could call those Nigerian scam emails “financial planning seminars .”
… says this latest move follows Wal-Mart’s joining the National Gay and Lesbian “Chamber of Commerce,” and agreeing to give generous financial help to that organization also. The AFA, and I predict many other family organizations, are calling for a post-Thanksgiving boycott of Wal-Mart. In fact, they’re lining up 1,000,000 families who will pledge not to shop at Wal-Mart or Sam’s Club on the Friday or Saturday following Thanksgiving.Damn, does this mean that I have to shop at Wal-Mart on Friday just so Don Wildmon doesn’t think I’m doing his bidding? (BTW, I just got an email from the AFA indicating that they’ve only lined up 400,000 families to not shop at Wal-Mart – I guess the rest of the country is instead lining up to buy X-Boxes and to convert to gayism.
And I suspect Mr. Sam is not smiling about the sudden flak, or the actions that caused it.And I think we should
The man I knew was a conscientious deacon at the Methodist church, and his own family are wonderful people, still honoring their mom, Helen. He was a rock ribbed “traditional values” guy, and while he loved everybody and loved serving them, his own staff has told me of situations in which he took a stern, fatherly, moral stance with employees who weren’t representing his American Christian values. He considered them his “family” and tried to lead them accordingly.We need more bosses like Sam Walton: guys who take a stern, fatherly, judgmental, moral stance about their employees personal lives, and who pay them crap wages and offer them limited benefits, all because they consider their workers to be family.
How ironic, if Wal-Mart banishes the Grinch – but has its Christmas sales stolen by the gays.I can’t think of anything to top Pat’s conclusion — so, I will instead just alert you to Pat’s latest business venture, Daily Devotions | Inspirational messages sent directly to your mobile phone (“Wherever you are. Whenever you need it most.
Hear inspirational voice messages written and narrated by Pat Boone”). I wonder if Sam Walton can subscribe to this service from hell.
20 Responses to “How the Gays Stole Christmas”
“Family friendly vision,” huh? Too bad for any Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Pagan or atheist families. I guess they just don’t really count. As for Sam Walton, the only family he gave two craps about was the Walton family, and he was perfectly happy to make billions for them off the underpaid labor of every other person in the country. Maybe that’s Pat’s idea of a great father, but I beg to differ.
“Stolen by the gays”? Gosh. How dare those gays steal money from Wal*Mart, which went to all the trouble of stealing it from their employees and contractors in the first place.
Pat, you’re a fuckwit of the highest order. And if I’d done a heavy metal album that had me on the cover looking like… that… I think I’d be keeping my mouth shut about teh ghey.
And S.Z., I trust you mean we ought to exhume Sam, rather than inter him. Is that a Freudian thing, and if so, who are you thinking about interring? Can I help?
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my partner is now back from Hawaii, and I’m going to go do things Pat would clearly not approve of. Specifically, sort my brand new origami paper and fold a bunch of cranes. No, Pat, you can’t watch.
Pat, you’re a fuckwit of the highest order. And if I’d done a heavy metal album that had me on the cover looking like… that… I think I’d be keeping my mouth shut about teh ghey.
And S.Z., I trust you mean we ought to exhume Sam, rather than inter him. Is that a Freudian thing, and if so, who are you thinking about interring? Can I help?
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my partner is now back from Hawaii, and I’m going to go do things Pat would clearly not approve of. Specifically, sort my brand new origami paper and fold a bunch of cranes. No, Pat, you can’t watch.
“Mr. Sam”? What is he, a black servant in a movie from the ’30′s?
Why did he reference the Grinch? Wasn’t the point of that book that Christmas didn’t come from a store?
Oh well, maybe this means we can actually add another category to the Ultimate Wingnut competition (thought we forgot about that, eh?): Homophobic Idiots Named Pat. After all, we’ve got Pat Boone, Pat Buchanan and Pat Robertson. I’m sure I’ve forgotten someone.
Why did he reference the Grinch? Wasn’t the point of that book that Christmas didn’t come from a store?
Oh well, maybe this means we can actually add another category to the Ultimate Wingnut competition (thought we forgot about that, eh?): Homophobic Idiots Named Pat. After all, we’ve got Pat Boone, Pat Buchanan and Pat Robertson. I’m sure I’ve forgotten someone.
I don’t know which I hate more:
when some nitwit like Pat Boone tells me to boycott some group that I am already boycotting for an entirely unrelated reason; or when the group that I and Pat are boycotting for entirely unrelated reasons is being boycotted by Pat for doing something that I think is wonderful, but the group is still doing the bullshit that I am boycotting them for in the first place.
I guess this means that we still can’t buy bulk toilet paper at Sam’s Club, but those roasted chickens swimming in grease are okay.
when some nitwit like Pat Boone tells me to boycott some group that I am already boycotting for an entirely unrelated reason; or when the group that I and Pat are boycotting for entirely unrelated reasons is being boycotted by Pat for doing something that I think is wonderful, but the group is still doing the bullshit that I am boycotting them for in the first place.
I guess this means that we still can’t buy bulk toilet paper at Sam’s Club, but those roasted chickens swimming in grease are okay.
Pat Toomey. Club for Growth. (Yes, those assholes.)
My understanding is that Walton was referred to by his employees as “Mr Sam” while he was still alive, presumably at his invitation. One of those impenetrable Southern customs, I suppose. It would not surprise me to learn that his wife was referred to as “Mrs Sam”.
My understanding is that Walton was referred to by his employees as “Mr Sam” while he was still alive, presumably at his invitation. One of those impenetrable Southern customs, I suppose. It would not surprise me to learn that his wife was referred to as “Mrs Sam”.
What store’s have Pat been in that AREN’T playing xmas music? Because every one I’ve been in started playing Xmas music a couple of weeks ago!
Send Pat back to the Center of the Earth and have Count Saknussem eat him instead of Gertrude the duck.
How come we’re getting inundated with all this Christmas crap before Thanksgiving?
I’d like to see some attention paid to the War on Thanksgiving, please.
I’d like to see some attention paid to the War on Thanksgiving, please.
Was it only a few years ago that a wrinkled, painted Pat Boone tottered onto a TV set dressed in a red leather jump suit singing rock and roll in a desperate attempt to revive a long dead career? At that point, he consigned himself to the land of the living dead. Nothing’s changed.
Rest in peace, Pat, and go away so we can do likewise.
Rest in peace, Pat, and go away so we can do likewise.
The career of Pat Boone is more interesting than that. Okay, not interesting–maybe curious is the right word. He had an eight-year career followed by a forty-five year non-career, which must be some sort of record. When the whole “Teen idol/way for white Christians to dig race records” thing was killed by the British invasion (justifiable homicide) he just switched to being a professional Christian. Genius, really, no matter who’s actually behind it; after all, we aren’t talking about Bobby Rydell these days.
Then he managed to become the only celebrity endorser in the long and storied history of snake oil sales in this country to actually get sued and lose, and he blamed the company without bothering to mention he owned it. Way ahead of his time.
And then came Heavy Metal Pat, which was a pretty good joke for about thirty seconds, and goofy rather than annoying after that, until the flock turned on him for that leather jumpsuit, after which, instead of saying, “Fuck you if you can’t take a joke,” he caved, which made the whole thing utterly inexplicable. But Pat knew his audience, and he knew it wasn’t metal. (Interesting that Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggert were granted more leeway than Pat.)
So now he’s writing cranky Letters to the Editor in his dotage, and we’re really left to ask if that’s the real Pat, or if we’ve been treated to the longest case of incipient Norma Desmonditis ever.
Then he managed to become the only celebrity endorser in the long and storied history of snake oil sales in this country to actually get sued and lose, and he blamed the company without bothering to mention he owned it. Way ahead of his time.
And then came Heavy Metal Pat, which was a pretty good joke for about thirty seconds, and goofy rather than annoying after that, until the flock turned on him for that leather jumpsuit, after which, instead of saying, “Fuck you if you can’t take a joke,” he caved, which made the whole thing utterly inexplicable. But Pat knew his audience, and he knew it wasn’t metal. (Interesting that Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggert were granted more leeway than Pat.)
So now he’s writing cranky Letters to the Editor in his dotage, and we’re really left to ask if that’s the real Pat, or if we’ve been treated to the longest case of incipient Norma Desmonditis ever.
“So imagine my surprise, my shock really,”
No-one should start a sentence that way unless they are writing a letter to Penthouse.
No-one should start a sentence that way unless they are writing a letter to Penthouse.
I first saw the anti Wal-Mart venom from the American Family Association Action Alert website printed out at the local pharmacy, posted where customers could read it while waiting for their birth control, er, arthritis meds. The fact that a Super Wal Mart with $4.00 generics is under construction right across the highway is a mere coincidence. It’s a sad drama to watch, a little guy up against a 900 lb gorilla vainly trying to fight back with a Jesus Saves pamphlet.
The world’s largest sender of US dollars to China destroys families, not by helping gays, but by driving Mom & Pop businesses (the very name exudes an aura of heterosexual stability, doesn’t it?) into the poorhouse and paying wages no family can live on.
The world’s largest sender of US dollars to China destroys families, not by helping gays, but by driving Mom & Pop businesses (the very name exudes an aura of heterosexual stability, doesn’t it?) into the poorhouse and paying wages no family can live on.
Herr Doktor Bimler, he probably WAS writing a letter to penthouse. I’m guessing fundies get off on sanctimonious displays of phony moral outrage in the way sane people get turned on by hot nekked bodies.
Forgive my ignorance, D. Sidhe, but I’m not familiar with Club For Growth. Do I WANT to know who they are?
Forgive my ignorance, D. Sidhe, but I’m not familiar with Club For Growth. Do I WANT to know who they are?
Herr Doktor, I’m putting that on posters around my home.
Bill S.: Wikipedia will provide:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Club_for_growth
And no, probably not really. He’s like the love child of Grover Norquist and the CEI.
Bill S.: Wikipedia will provide:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Club_for_growth
And no, probably not really. He’s like the love child of Grover Norquist and the CEI.
Well, gee, Walmart employees here in Soviet Canuckistan say “Merry Christmas” at the drop of a hat…no doubt more of that opiate of the people that keeps us enslaved to godless socialism.
Criminy. Tha Patster would likely have a shit-fit (or a fatal aneurysm) if anyone told him how many stores he shops in that willingly take the business of godless fags-not to mention the Islamofascists, Jews, Hindooists, Budda-budda-buddists, atheiofags, etc. And, that aneurysm would be a near certainty if someone were to mention that it was quite probable that some nasty ol’ homersexual had handled the food Patski was eating (no, not the waiter!). What a cobag (for Jeebus!).
I will only go to Walmarts that play the Internationale on the speakers, also Cat Stevens and the Dixie Chicks.
Another MUST is that the plastic, uh, personal items are up front near the checkouts. If kiddies see this, too damn bad. It’s up to the parents to scare the bejesus outta them for waundering, wide eyes.
Living this Gawdless, librul lifestyle requires frequent “restocking.”
I wonder if Mr. Sam had success with the Sodom and Gomorrah City Council? Surely there was a supercenter buried under the Dead Sea somewhere?!
Another MUST is that the plastic, uh, personal items are up front near the checkouts. If kiddies see this, too damn bad. It’s up to the parents to scare the bejesus outta them for waundering, wide eyes.
Living this Gawdless, librul lifestyle requires frequent “restocking.”
I wonder if Mr. Sam had success with the Sodom and Gomorrah City Council? Surely there was a supercenter buried under the Dead Sea somewhere?!
I will only go to Walmarts that play the Internationale on the speakers, also Cat Stevens and the Dixie Chicks.
Just not all at the same time, ok?
Am I missing something or is this really just about a gay group having WalMart click-thru ad on their website? I’m going to write to Pat and ask him to help organize a boycott of Amazon for agreeing to automatically donate some percent of online sales directly to a Godless Grinch like s.z.
Just not all at the same time, ok?
Am I missing something or is this really just about a gay group having WalMart click-thru ad on their website? I’m going to write to Pat and ask him to help organize a boycott of Amazon for agreeing to automatically donate some percent of online sales directly to a Godless Grinch like s.z.
“I shook hands with Pat Boone once and my whole right side sobered up.”
–Dean Martin
–Dean Martin
Doghouse, your comments about Pat Boone sound eerily similar to the career/non-career trajectory of Mike Love, the only original member of the touring tribute band currently d/b/a “The Beach Boys.” Mr. Love hangs on to the group’s name for touring purposes like the talent-free pit bull he is.
When I saw The Group d/b/a The Beach Boys last summer, I particularly enjoyed sitting in the second row, watching sixty-five-year-old Mike haul his old bones across the stage at Wolf Trap, while whining, “After six hours of school, I’ve had enough of a day…”
When the Biscuitbarrel lads were very young, they would snort, “Six hours of school? Luck-ee!”, when they heard “Dance, Dance, Dance,” because their school day was longer.
I digress on this point because I don’t celebrate Xmas and therefore don’t give a hang if gay people “steal” it. What will you do, Sir, if gay people burst in your front door and take down your knobbly Xmas stockings?
When I saw The Group d/b/a The Beach Boys last summer, I particularly enjoyed sitting in the second row, watching sixty-five-year-old Mike haul his old bones across the stage at Wolf Trap, while whining, “After six hours of school, I’ve had enough of a day…”
When the Biscuitbarrel lads were very young, they would snort, “Six hours of school? Luck-ee!”, when they heard “Dance, Dance, Dance,” because their school day was longer.
I digress on this point because I don’t celebrate Xmas and therefore don’t give a hang if gay people “steal” it. What will you do, Sir, if gay people burst in your front door and take down your knobbly Xmas stockings?
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