“One of the great ideas of Western civilization,” philosopher Ross Douthat recently wrote, “is the celebration of lifelong heterosexual monogamy as a unique and indispensable estate.” Tragically, that celebration is winding down as more and more Americans sneak off to the afterparty of carnal depravity. Lured into the dark, humid spaces of homosexual relativism by activist judges and Hollywood stars, these people are now embarking on the complete reëngineering of society’s basic tenets of marriage and family. It is the culmination of a decades-long campaign that can be traced back, in part, to the messages broadcast in the 1980s by television programs such as The Golden Girls.
There was something subversively tawdry about the programming from that era. Whether it was Designing Women or Spenser for Hire, Hotel or Murphy Brown, each sketched out a flamboyant worldview in pastel hues that was specifically targeted at the confused and awkward. But there was one show in particular that recklessly upped the ante in this high stakes poker game of modern morality. What The Golden Girls postulated for America was nothing less than a neo-socialist landscape populated by same-sex “family” units composed of jobless predators whose lives revolved around food, clothes and brawny men. The women of this series embodied the antithesis of traditional marriage, publicly decrying that institution while reveling in divorce and sex. They spawned an endless cycle of Sexy and the City and Housewives of New Jersey types of shows and invented the idea of “cougars,” i.e. older women like Demi Moore who wear young mates on their lapels like fancy diamond brooches.
This Golden Girls ideal of a same-sex household got passed along like a venereal disease until it landed in the lap of the nascent “gay rights” movement. Unsurprisingly, young homosexuals fell in love with this booze- and fornication-laden ideology. For them, Betty White became the forgiving mother they never had, Dorothy Zbornak the father whose expectations they could fulfill. Maybe Blanche was the bartender in their fantasy lives while Sophia sat on the next stool over, offering up pointless stories to pass the time like some gassy drunk. In the ensuing years, gays spread their vicious seeds far and wide and today we are seeing the musky fruits drop from those aging trees. Yes, those fruits are falling all over in the form of legislative and judicial maneuvers to redefine marriage, from Judge Vaughn Walker’s denial of Proposition 8 in California to the legalization of same-sex nuptials in Catholic Spain. In essence, this trend of “homosexual” marriage is nothing less than a cruel testament to the power of that loathsome foursome of libidinal Floridians.
In such troubling and shocking times it should come as no surprise that gay activists have decided to resuscitate that ever-frustrating television show. In November of this year, The Golden Girls 25th Anniversary Special Collection, containing each and every episode, will be released to the public in a frenzy of unscrupulous marketing and self-congratulation. Bossy Bea Arthur may have passed away. The old lady Sophia is no longer around to scare us with her thyroid eyes. Rue McClanahan is not driving us true Southerners into agony with her fake antebellum shtick. And maddening Betty White may have moved into a gated mansion with her windfall of residuals and half dozen BMWs… But with this sticky DVD release, these ladies will be right back in our faces, looking young and fresh-faced at 60, promoting their “unique and indispensable” excavation of every foul cranny of elder sex, tract infections and mental decline.
If you imagined that this modern-day Achille Lauro incident could not possibly get any worse– and how could it be more horrific than Bea Arthur enthusiasts rearming their cannons with vintage sass?– you need only to look upon the packaging for this whole outrageous project. These packagers surely have experience packaging (and “packing”) a “package”! It is modeled on Estelle Getty’s infamous golden purse, that place of crusty makeups and pharmaceutical escapes. The giant cardboard box may look harmless enough, but it is meant to be the Golden Calf of the homosexual set. Surely it has been created so that purchasers can place it directly on top of their tv sets like an idol of worship, forever reminding you of the Golden Girls gay agenda and demanding your kneeling penance. Think of Moses returning from the mountaintop to see that his wanderers had crafted such a thing! Someone needs to create a Ten Commandments box set out of actual stone so we could obliterate this idolatry.
Please count me out of this upcoming holiday-season psychological warfare. The Golden Girls was an unsophisticated and unfunny show. It sought to profit from the senility of old people, mocking the gentle nobility of our grandmothers and mothers, our aunts and neighbors. Their Florida was not a place of family and faith, but rather of comfortable chairs creaking from the weight of matronly narcissism. It recast our retirees as horny hedonists who lived outside of the mainstream of traditional families. These uncoupled old women lusted after handsome men with a leaky abandon. They consumed every half-baked liberal concoction that emerged steaming from Tip O’Neill’s Congressional ovens, from artificial insemination to condom distribution. They even went so far as to openly embrace their vulgar but timid homosexual fanbase, stealing our promising young men far away from the loving, paternal wisdom of Ronald and Nancy Reagan.
Yes, the 80s were a strange time for men in America. It was a time when barely-buttoned shirts and untamed forests of chest hair seemed appropriate. We listened to Top 40 on the radio and were grateful that it was “Morning in America Again.” We had our big plastic combs in the back pockets of our Wrangler jeans, spending Saturday afternoons smoking Marlboros in domestically-manufactured cars and arm wrestling on picnic tables in local parks. We wore giant white sneakers unapologetically! At night, we feel asleep with the windows open, pondering the latest Stallone movie or else dreaming of nuclear warheads violating Soviet airspace, showering those soulless, square-jawed Dolph Lundgrens with the sweaty strength of democracy. We were men and we loved it!
That was the dream we deferred, the promise we did not keep. Maybe we just got lazy or lost our faith in Jesus. Now, we are entering into a new phase in the battle not only for marriage, but for decency on television, for the legitimacy of the views and values of the American people. This is a fight we cannot dodge, and must and will win no matter what people are doing with their DVD players. Buckle up, it’s going to be a ride to Miami!