High School Musical

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I have written words to the effect that Mamma Mia is an abomination. But I would consentingly watch it twenty times over before being exposed to five minutes of High School Musical. Thankfully, however, I don’t have to watch either and I continue to take full advantage of that liberty. Here is my review of the latter:

What must they think? The Seraphim and Cherubim, the Grays and Romulins, and all other-worldly spectators who peer through the glory-hole of reality onto this mortal scene – what must they all make of it? We all know what it is like to pluck a fat, bobbled cauliflower from the pantry and to peel back its sensual, leafy blouse only to discover a hideous tentacled slug doing its filth within. Is that how the angels and aliens feel when they watch us? More specifically, is that how they feel when they watch High School Musical?

These hairless, cartwheeling shiny-shanks; these jiggling, gartered flop-straps; these gawping, ginghamed goggle-faces: can there be anyone whose soul doesn’t prolapse at the sight of them? What in the name of Bob Hope are they talking about? Why the ceaseless recantation of the motto ‘I’m saving myself for someone special’. What does it signify? One can only assume they mean what Aunty Gertrude means when she tells Uncle Ignatius that she’s saving him some steak and kidney pie in the fridge. Well don’t save me any: I’ve had me supper thanks, and I’m not sure that pie were terribly fresh in the first place.

Now what are they doing? Who is that gummy tadpole sneering at? ‘Who does he think he is?’ the viewer reasonably asks. The gummy tadpole strikes up an idiotic tap-dance. The viewer suspects that the clippety-cloppetying of the boy’s insolent hooves actually contains a morse-code response to his question. He is correct, it spells out: ‘I am the unnatural offspring of Siegfried, Roy and a mountain lion. I quest unrelentingly for the nadir of all human achievement. You may despise me, but not half as much as I and my kind despise the people who enjoy the films we make’. The viewer’s pen hovers above the notepad whereupon he decodes the tap-signals. Is he sure he heard what he heard? Could he have translated it correctly?

Let us not forget that this atrocity is brought to us by the people who brought us Mickey Mouse: that obscene, dungareed rat, with its pederastic eyes, slobbering mouth and rancid paws; and Donald Duck: that monstrous Caligula, that grunting mallard with its empty, staring death’s head; and Disneyland: that awful abattoir echoing with the screams and cries of the lost and mistreated. High School Musical is simply the latest, deadliest mutation of the virus. Stay indoors. Buy a biohazard suit.

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4 Responses to “High School Musical”

  1. Walt Disney Says:

    Wanker! I hate you!

  2. Banjo Fett Says:

    Walt Disney looks familiar.

    Say, Walt, how come cartoon characters used to not wear any trousers? Donald Duck, for example. And Porky Pig used to wear high heels with his no-trousered outfit. Kind of a strange example to set for the kiddy-winkles, no?

  3. Walt Disney Says:

    Because animals don’t have genitals. If you had ever looked deep into a pig’s or a duck’s crotch you would know this. Dig?

  4. johnlebaptiste Says:

    Wow. People have always told me I look like Walt Disney but I had no idea how right they were!

    What an odd duck. I certainly wouldn’t want to anyone to think the above was a cynical attempt on my part to create mild controversy by impersonating the late Nazi-sympathising animator.

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