Barney-wise, the scales have dropped from my eyes. I can see more
clearly now why UN-L students last month used rubber mallets to whack
hell out of the purple dinosaur. I'd always thought Barney was a little
flabby-minded, but my wife points out that I, of all people, can't use a
rubber mallet on someone for that.
It was a radio evangelist who led me to the truth about Barney and
why he needs hell whacked out of him: he's evil.
The Rev. Joseph R. Chambers—of Paw Creek Ministries in Charlotte,
N.C.—tells us in a report from the Cox News Service that Barney is
"straight out of the New Age and the world of demons and devils,"
further evidence that "America is under siege from the powers of
darkness." The show, he says, is full of "New Age philosophy which is
the antithesis to the Scripture."
If you send a donation to Paw Creek Ministries, Rev. Chambers will
tell you all about it in his free booklet called "Barney the New Age
Demon."
The producers deny there's anything demonic about Barney, but then
you can't expect powers of darkness to tell you what they're up to, can
you?
Barney, they say, "is warm and friendly and loving and teaches children
to accept other people and their differences."
And that's just what Rev. Chambers vigilantly objects to.
"Barney is teaching kids that we must accept everyone as they
are—whether they're homosexuals or lesbians," he says. "He teaches
alternative families."
I'll bet you didn't know that. I certainly didn't, and when I
heard, it just froze my blood.
Because our two dewy-eyed grandbabies, Lovely Little Leslie Jo and
Mari the Marvelous, have fallen under Barney's evil spell. I've noticed
they've taken to telling lies, denying they need their diapers changed
in the face of eye-watering circumstantial evidence to the contrary.
Especially when getting changed would keep them from watching Barney.
They surround themselves with demonic images—Barney books, Barney
stuffed toys, even little Barney fanny packs that they wear on their
little diapered fannies.
They're so addicted that they have videotapes of old Barney shows
so they can get their fix of wickedness whenever they need it.
I tell a cunning little lie so that I can inspect the awful evidence.
"Can grandpa borrow your Barney tapes?" I cleverly ask. "Grandpa
wants to learn Barney songs."
"OK," they say, so full of New Age evil that they forget Old Age
property rights.
So I watch the tapes. They're even worse than Rev. Chambers says.
First of all, Barney is a reptile. Just like the snake in Eden.
Get it?
The little kids singing and dancing appear sinfully carefree. Not
one of them seems sufficiently worried about the mean temperature in
hell.
And—how can I put this delicately?—they don't all seem to be the
right sort. Most of them aren't even of European descent.
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The Truth, Mainly
"Rampant multiculturalism!" I yell at my wife. "Blatant
permissiveness! Anarchy loosed upon the world!"
"Hush," she says. "Watch. Maybe you can firm up your mental flab."
They play around with other languages and appear to enjoy it—as
though the eleventh commandment isn't "Thou shalt speak English." They
dance with butterflies and friendly bears through meadows of
wildflowers—as though life isn't supposed to be a vale of tears.
They learn how to use libraries containing yet more material
antithetical to the Gospel according to Rev. Chambers, and they're shown
how to take sinfully sensuous bubble baths, but nothing about
self-flagellation.
They enjoy collaboration—which might lead to collectivism and
godless socialism.
And they sing those damnable songs that so upset our sense of The
Way Things Ought to Be. The one that most clearly teaches "alternative
families" is called "My Family's Just Right for Me." The kids sing
praises of traditional families, of one-parent families ("There's a girl
I know who lives with her mom./Her dad lives far away./Although she sees
her parents just one at a time/They both love her every day"), and of
no-parent families ("I know a boy who just moved in./He moved from
Alabama/And the person who's head of the fam-i-ly/Is his loving dear old
gramma").
It's hard to trust someone who rhymes "gramma" with "Alabama."
But the really poisonous stuff comes through in the Barney theme
song: "I love you, you love me. . . .' And so forth.
That kind of sacriligious venom needs an antidote and I know just
the thing. A copy of "Barney the New Age Demon." With a matching
rubber mallet, it'd make a hell of a Christmas present for the Barney
addict in your family.
Or maybe not. My wife gives me a look that says it may be the
flabbiest-minded, most demonic gift idea of the season.
Satterfield is a college professor and writes as a means of discovery.
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