If you haven’t gotten the opportunity to read Mike Pence’s 1998 review of Mulan in which he explains why women should not be allowed in the military, first of all, congratulations. Second of all, check it out—it’s a bonechilling look into the mind of a man we knew was prejudiced and probably doesn’t know how to use punctuation especially well, laid out for us in glorious pre-Y2K HTML from when our current vice president used to host a shouted right-wing radio show.
Fortunately, we at Paste managed to uncover some of Pence’s other haphazard reviews of children’s movies before and after Mulan, all seeming to use the same choppy template. Please enjoy the finest works of Mike Pence: Children’s Film Critic.
Just spent a memorable Father’s Day, just like so many other all American Hoosier dads (I hope one day I will be the Vice President of the United States and my devil-may-care attitude toward grammar and punctuation are mocked in the media accordingly), with my kids at the new Pixar film entitled Finding Nemo.
For those who have not yet been victimized by this subterranean assault on the nuclear American family, Finding Nemo is about a young, handicapped little boy fish named Nemo who is captured by scuba divers and brought to live in a dentist’s office in the terrestrial world. Despite his youth and clear need for regular, quality healthcare, Pixar expects us to believe that this mutant refugee is the hero of the story. I suspect that a liberal hidden within Disney’s ranks (what happened to them being anti-Semitic?) assumes that creating an adorable, physically disabled protagonist will change the next generation’s attitude toward throwing bricks at people in wheelchairs, and they just might be right. (Just think about how often we cite The Brave Little Toaster every time the subject of whether we should send our household appliances to a good preschool comes into the mainstream media debate.)
The only problem with this liberal hope is the reality that, of course, children with disabilities are expensive and time-consuming to take care of and that’s money I’d rather see spent on bricks to throw at the handicapped and time I’d rather see spent cornering an unsuspecting wheelchair-ridden child and beaning a brick at them without a second thought. While it’s necessary that we keep several handicapped people under close watch of the White House Press Department to haul out whenever we need to say, “Hey, we don’t throw bricks at all of them—look at Johnny here, he’s been in captivity for twelve years and the Stockholm hasn’t worn off yet!,” this is hardly a case to give all Americans healthcare regardless of pre-existing conditions. While it’s completely reasonable to cover some Americans with health issues (I, for instance, have had a condition called “being a chode” for well over half a century), the expectation that Nemo would ever qualify for quality healthcare with a single parent and a blue aunt who is clearly suffering from the early stages of dementia is entirely unrealistic. You see, now stay with me, I hate handicapped people.
Moral of the story: I, Mike Pence, throw bricks at children in wheelchairs and I don’t care who knows.
Just spent a memorable Father’s Day, just like so many other all American Hoosier dads (as a right-wing radio host I will try my best to level with you, but once I’m in the upper echelon of politics will distance myself from the everyman at all costs), with my kids at the new Pixar film entitled Ratatouille.
As Americans, I believe we have been victimized by the French, and their breadsticks, and their silly hats, and their movies no one understands enough, but Pixar has victimized us once again with a story of a rodent who manipulates a lowly chef into becoming one of the top talents in the Paris restaurant scene. Obviously, this is Pixar’s attempt to turn America into France, and while I’m willing to accept that someone from a gutter can ascend to the highest office—I’d like to give a shout-out to my boss here—the idea that the American dream could take place in France is entirely ridiculous. (Just think about how often we think of French cinema when we think of something that is confusing to us, and therefore must be rejected instead of understood. Eat my ass, Truffaut!)
To distract from this harmful message, I found myself having to flog my children repeatedly every time I caught them enjoying the film. While the other American Hoosier dads in the audience seemed uncomfortable with this at first, I was able to use my skills learned as a politician and a radio host to gaslight them into believing that flogging their children was in their best interest. Take that, France! We’re Americans and we’re hitting our kids for no reason!
The problem with Ratatouille, besides the obvious praise of France, a country that has never done anything good other than give us a big ugly statue that one time, is that meals with multiple courses are for leftist elites. We American Hoosier dads cannot and must not subscribe to the concept of an appetizer, main course and dessert, much less a happy hour beforehand. Our films should be teaching our children traditional values—an appetizer of licking Father’s foot to show gratitude, a main course of a fistful of butter, and a dessert of a fistful of butter.
Moral of the story: a healthy diet and varied palate is letting the French win. My name is Mike Pence and I throw bricks at kids in wheelchairs.
Lilo and Stitch
Just spent a memorable Father’s Day, like so many other all American Hoosier dads (“other all,” I whisper to myself on the second and even the third read, “other all, sounds good”), with my kids at the new Disney film entitled Lilo and Stitch.
Like any American Hoosier dad, I have a long-standing belief that Hawaii is a place invented by the liberal media to distract from more important issues, such as why I should be allowed to throw bricks at children in wheelchairs without getting dirty looks from the nurse at the children’s hospital I am trespassing in. For those who have not yet been victimized by Lilo and Stitch, it is a movie that follows an alien from a fictional planet landing on the even more fictional islands of Hawaii. Obviously, this is a dual attempt by Disney to convince general audiences that not only is Hawaii a real place, but that we should welcome immigrants anywhere at any time. I suspect that some mischievous Disney crone (seriously! Why drop the anti-Semitism? What gives?) assumes that Stitch’s story will change the next generation’s aversion to cultures foreign to them, and they just might be right. (Just think about how often we think about Beauty and the Beast every time we consider whether we should allow young women to be abducted by and forced to make out with large dogs in suits. This is the only movie that takes place in France I have ever agreed with. Let the teenage girls kiss the large dogs!)
The only problem with the liberal hope that Disney is peddling is that American politicians have spent decades upon decades convincing citizens that while we were once a nation of immigrants, that is no longer our thing and we’re kind of going in an exclusive, toxic, racist direction these days. The hard truth with our experiment with immigration is that it worked and so it’s hard for me, Mike Pence, a descendant of immigrants who throws bricks at children in wheelchairs, to explain exactly why we should keep immigrants out of the country when that was the point of the country existing in the first place. The closest I’ve gotten to thinking of an excuse is “9/11,” but if you think about the Bush administration for even forty-five seconds that falls apart pretty quickly. Ugh. Whatever. Anyways, immigration is over. You see, now stay with me, Stitch is a positive addition to the fictional island of Hawaii and is quickly accepted as a productive member of their completely made-up society, but he does not speak English and is blue so we cannot trust him. Once again, I was forced to flog my children any time they appeared to be enjoying him.
Moral of the story: I, Mike Pence, have been banned from my local movie theater.
Just spent a memorable Father’s Day, just like so many other all American Hoosier dads (“Hoosier” roughly translates to “chode”), with my kids at the new Pixar film entitled Monsters Inc. For those who haven’t been victimized by these movies that I keep bringing my children to for some fucking reason, this film is about how John Goodman and Billy Crystal spent a summer after being rejected as the hosts for that year’s Oscars.
The harmful implication of Monsters Inc. is that those who look different to you aren’t always exactly what you think they are, and that one could somehow benefit from trying to see their point of view. This, of course, is liberal gibberish perpetrated by the same dangerous animators who would have you believe that the minions from Despicable Me aren’t a thinly veiled metaphor for socialism. I suspect that some liberal Disney maniac assumes that spreading a message of acceptance will cause a quiet change in the next generation’s attitude toward discouraging screaming in the faces of unsuspecting children, and they just might be right. (Just think about how often we talk about the Paris Agreement when we think about times American politicians have tried to meet those who they disagree with in the middle in the interest of global preservation. That was weird and I did not care for it.)
The only problem with this liberal hope is that more often than not in life, sometimes thing that look like monsters really are monsters, and it can be hard to tell who is a monster and who isn’t depending on where you’re getting your information from. Then, as I reminded my children as I flogged them for giggling at Mike Wazowski (Polack!!!!!), there are other kinds of monsters that don’t look like monsters at all. You might not realize your own neighbor, or father, or the man who has a brick aimed at your handicapped body is a monster until it’s already too late. You’ve been tricked into doing something that’s bad for you, and it’s only going to help the monsters. What if I, Mike Pence, were a monster? If I were, the movie Monsters Inc. would not be helpful in identifying me. I am not large and furry. I am completely smooth, like a cue ball with a smooth gray top coat and a hard little johnson.
Moral of the story: I am a monster.
The Little Mermaid
Friends of the Mike Pence radio show, rejoice—I have finally seen a movie with my children that I like, even though I needed to drive forty miles to the nearest theater that I’m legally allowed to be in to do so. The Little Mermaid is a delightful musical romp that hits all the right perverted pressure points.
I have always been a firm believer that a woman should actively change her appearance to better fit in with me and my fuckin’ crew and my boys and my men that I hang out with and sweat with. If it weren’t for this school of thought, how would I have ever convinced my wife to cut her legs off and replace them with hockey sticks because I think that’s funny? Unfortunately, this did mean she had to use a wheelchair after I cut her legs off, and so I had to throw a brick at her. The moral code of man is complicated and vast!
“Sorry, honey!” I would tell her, and have as recently as the middle of this sentence. “You know that I throw bricks at the handicapped! It’s the rule.”
Most importantly, let’s not forget that Ariel the mermaid, who wisely sells out her family and her talents to impress a chode, makes my tiny johnson extremely hard, a quaking pebble I must keep under control while my children laugh at the crab who sounds like Bob Marley. There may have been some sinister liberal encoding in this movie, but I missed it. I, Mike Pence, a grown man who throws bricks at children in wheelchairs, was trying to stop myself from cumming for that underage, deeply compromised teen mermaid for the better part of eighty minutes.
Moral of the story: women being forced to alter their bodies to fit the expectation of a man is a good, good idea. Feeling inspired. Going home to write up some policy.
This is a work of satire.