Let me make a confession up front: I'm a parent. Yet I never considered myself one of those apoplectic fogies who claims television is destroying our children and the next generation is cause for tearing of hair and rending of garments. After all, mine was among the first generations to grow up in front of the tube, in our case Howdy Doody and Captain Kangaroo. We haven't done too badly, Ted Bundy and Hillary Clinton aside.
The next generation fared less well, growing up watching Sesame Street and Scooby-Doo, which led to the creation of Pauly Shore and Disco.
Things got even worse with Barney, which spawned the likes of Ben Affleck, Snoop Doggy Dog, and Reality Television, and we hoped, nay--prayed--we had seen the bottom of the bottom with Teletubbies.
We hadn't. Gentle Surfer, the Apocalypse is upon us, because Boohbah makes Teletubbies look like "Citizen Kane."
My daughter (whose age I will not reveal to save her embarrassment in later life) convinced me to watch an episode. I cannot express my overall impression; written language is inadequate. Indeed, no language developed by any civilization in the history of Time could possibly suffice. Boohbah is the most horrific collection of imagery since the creation of Light, and that might well be the greatest understatement of my life. Imagine a Sherwin-Williams paint supply truck getting stuck on a railway crossing and slammed into by a circus train carrying elephants with impacted tusks, and the resultant carnage careening into a percussion factory that produces concentrated opium on the side, which bursts into psychedelic flames to the howling accompaniment of the broiling elephants and exploding cymbals.
Da Vinci and Mozart, compared to Boohbah.
The show opened with the word "Boohbah" breathed from my speakers about 6,000 times, while colored lights played across my television screen like some sort of Peter Max ejaculation, but without the tasteful understatement. This intro ran a bit on the long side: outside the walls of my house, entire civilizations rose, reached their pinnacles and collapsed into dust; our sun aged into a red giant and shriveled into a white dwarf; the galaxies sped away from each other, disappearing into red-shifted darkness while I stared at the images and sounds destroying my cerebral cortex. (According to my Tivo, only five minutes elapsed, which is clearly a violation of all known physical laws. Someone should mention it to Stephen Hawking.)
At some point, the Boohbahs--brightly colored, single-celled organisms with furry limbs and turtlenecks--climbed from their hatchery and began dancing. A woman appeared and painted a magically lengthening fence while my TV seductively murmured, over and over, "Yellow . . . yellow." (Or maybe it was, "Satan is calling you to his army. Kill everyone around you with your weed whacker!") All I remember beyond that is eventually regaining the power of thought to discover my corneas were as dry as rice paper, the remote lay on the floor where it had fallen from my insensate hands, and I had aged four decades.
I'm sorry I can't give you more details why you should never, ever, under threat of death, watch this travesty. But then, if I pulled you from the path of a speeding car, you probably wouldn't need to know its VIN, either. Just be glad I was there.
For me and my family, it may be too late. My one-year-old daughter has started wandering around the house chanting "Boohbah, Booooohbah." I don't know if she somehow overheard the television, or if my eight-year-old, who is clearly possessed, indoctrinated her into their cult. We brought it a priest to exorcise this particular Public Television demon, but he eventually tore off his cassock and fled the house, declaring himself a Unitarian.
If your curiosity will not be denied, you might visit the Boohbah website, but I take no responsibility for any psychosis or brain damage that results. As you watch the animated Boohbahs hypnotically dance around your screen, keep in mind it's but a shadow of the real thing, like looking at a drawing of a nuclear explosion rather than standing at ground zero. You see, the Boohbah television program is live action.
So pray for our future to whatever God or Gods you believe in--and a maybe few you don't, just to be sure. We're going to need all the help we can get.
And Barney, I apologize for everything I ever said.