Welcome to part ten of a never-ending project that rapes my ears and eyes with Disney cuntbuggery. Here’s the sitch: our fond memories of Disney movies are lies, I am here to bring forth the truth.

This month… It’s Song Of The Cockspluttering South.

 

We open with an orchestral swell, and then;

 ”Song of the south, your music with a magic spell”

A magic spell?  Really?  Are you sure you’re not going to just animate some sporadic wank to an indecipherably dull fucking song? Only time will tell whether this introduction is the truth, or just another anal bleaching Disney lie.

As in Disney tradition, we get forty days and forty night of credits raining down on our faces like urine on a watersports enthusiast. Or menstral blood on Terry Richardson‘s face.

It’s at this point we’re introduced to Uncle Remus, who laughs like a supervillan who’s just beaten their nemesis to a pulp, and is now farting in their unconscious mouth.  Because that’s the type of thing supervillians are into.  Doctor Doom?  He just wanted to incapacitate Reed Richards so he could stretch his big, ‘fantastic’ jaw and get a full butt-load of fart down his enemy’s gullet.

Same with The Joker and Batmanl their rivaly was based entirely on who could oral-fart the other the most. Sure, it’s never mentioned in the comics;  it’s call SUBTEXT.

There’s a reason these people have to be stopped; and that is most of that reason.

That and the evil and destroying of things.  The world would be a simpler place if terrorists just wanted to fart in the mouths of western leaders.

 

Oh wait, the movie’s still playing…

 

If you’re on the front page, there’s more of this Disney Deconstruction after the jump>>>>
 

 

The laughing continues. And then:

“Just ‘cos these here tales are about critters, that don’t mean they ain’t the same that can happen to folks.”

Well said, black stereotype crow from Dumbo.  I mean, Uncle Remus.

His voice over continues.  I wonder how Walt dealt with this movie being made, what with him being a massive cock-chugging racist and all.  I guess he felt ok, because as Uncle Remus was recording his voiceover, he was also picking cotton, whilst shining Walt’s shoes with his ballbag. Walt never went anywhere if his shoes weren’t shined to perfection by a pair of big, dangling testicles.  I think there was a whole section of the Disney Studio tour movie The Reluctant Dragon that covered it.

 

Section one:  The white family visit a plantation

Or: Whitey be coming, hide your learnin’ books and get a’pickin’

Unlike last months DD ‘Make Music Mine‘, this movie doesn’t have sixty titles for each mini-film-within-a-film. So, I’m going to have to make up titles for each of them, and I’ve been drinking, so I imagine each will become more racist than the last. Racist towards white people mostly.  You have been warned, whitey.

A rich white family go to visit ‘grandma’.  Grandma lives on a plantation.  They travel in the back of a horse-drawn carriage, because that is how white people travel everywhere – even to this day.  In fact,  I get a horse-drawn carriage from my bed to my bathroom because I’m THAT white.

Oh, and they have a black lady with them who is not allowed to speak. Maybe she’s there because she is the nanny to the child the couple have, or maybe because she’s like Whoopie Goldberg in Ghost and speaks for the voice of their daughter who died of cholera.

This assumption has no basis in fact, but I figure it’s been a while since anyone talked about Whoopie Goldberg outside of The View, and thought she’d appreciate the publicity.

 

They arrive at Grandma’s house, and Grandma greets them;

“Welcome home, my daughter.”

She says, talking in a way that nobody talks. When was the last time you said
‘Hello, my friend‘ or
‘Goodnight, my father‘ or
‘Don’t touch me there, my uncle‘?

Point made, and proven, I feel.

“… And you too, sir.” Grandma continues, talking to her son in law…

Because this is the past, where women called men ‘sir’ no matter if they are younger than them or beneath their station. The only men who weren’t called ‘sir’ were, of course, the black men, who were often referred to by the tone of their skin.  For example:
‘Mocha, fetch my hat for me‘ or
‘Choco-Latte, be a dear and roast that chicken‘ or
‘Coal, murder me a prostitute and blame it on the butler‘ – and so forth.

Grandma instructs a black kid to accompany the little white kid on his adventures around the plantation:

“Burnt Umber, see that my grandson doesn’t get into any trouble – and if he does get into trouble, kindly get him out of it.”

Because if there’s one thing slaves like to do with their free time, it’s give guided tours to whitey, whilst also getting them out of trouble.

“Is that Uncle Remus?”

asks the boy, looking at an old black man.

 

Excuse me a moment, while I compose a letter:

 

Dear Disney,
Not all black people look the same.  Sure, they might all look ‘very similar’, but they are not in any way interchangeable.

Especially if you mistake a hot black chick and a hot black guy who looks like a chick. Trust me.

Then again, I think all white people look the same.

The only way I can tell you people apart is that some of you are fatter than the others, and I avoid the fatties, because I don’t want them tripping over their lard-rolls and crushing me like an ant.

 

Back to our ‘story’, little white boy and little black boy wander off into the plantation, and if we’re lucky only one of them will come back.  Meanwhile, Grandma shows the slaves where to go for their daily lashings, leaving mama and papa to try and inject some plot into this racist pile of wank.

“What are you going to tell her?” says he.
“Well, I have to stay… it wouldn’t be fair to mother, she has enough responsibility”

Responsibility… beating and raping the slaves…?

They’re being mysterious, but not mysterious in an actually-mysterious way… more in a ‘we don’t know what this story is about, so let’s be vague’ way.

White As Snow wanders away from Black As Night (great job, kid) and  hears his father say he’s got to go back on the next train. Why is he leaving?

“Because I have to.”

That is not *actually* a reason.

“I have a job to do.”

Still not an explanation…

“You have to take care of mother.”

Veering off the subject somewhat there…

“Bye son.”

He says, preparing to make his exit – but not before kissing his son square on the lips, and possibly sticking a little bit of tongue in…

Remember – this is the past, where men were men, men were racists, and men were allowed to French kiss their sons.

“Seeya.” He says to his wife.

Without so much as a glance in her direction, his carriage leaves for whatever he’s doing.  It probably involves young boys in Indonesia.  Or Texas.

 

I guess his farewell says a lot about their relationship…

The boy tries to cry, but end up looking like a hideous fucking demon.  That’s what happens when you employ real children to play children in movies.  It was better back in the heyday of cinema, when all children were played by midgets or stray dogs that wandered onto set and were dressed up in people clothes.

 

 

Night falls on the sleepy town of SlaveryVille.  Little White Demon Boy run away from the White homestead, sneaking over to the Black’s shanty town, which is only a town in that they seem to live under trees, and each of those trees is in a forest – and forests are just natures towns.  Right?

Little White runs past the villagers of BlackTown, who are singing “that’s how the leopard got his spots”, and attributing the story to Uncle Remus, rather than to it’s rightful origin; Our Father Who Art In Heaven And His Son The Lord And Saviour Jesus Christ.  I’m pretty sure they’re why the leopard has spots.  That and evolution that alone.

He follows the sound of quiet talking, which he can easily identify under thirty people singing, and finds himself at Uncle Remus’s shack.  I’m going to assume Remus is not HIS uncle,  because he is white as the bleached snow, and Remus is black as night – or maybe that’s the lighting in the scene… because he looks like a white beard, teeth and eyes hovering over an old man’s headless body.

Remus is in the middle of telling us the story of Brer Rabbit.  Make that the end of the story.

“Uncle Remus, You done tell the bestest stories in this there whole united states of Georgia.” says an ineloquent child.

I am as yet unconvinced that Remus is the best storyteller in all of Georgia – but maybe that’s because I am a strong disbeliever in hyperbole.  To be certain that Remus did indeed tell the best stories, I would insist that the child who said that was forced to visit each and every person in Georgia and have them tell him a story – then and only then would I allow him to come back to the set of the film and declare Remus the very best.  And if Remus turned out to not be the best, then all Remus’s scenes would have to be reshot with the better storyteller.

But that’s just me.  And I wasn’t asked to write and/or direct Song Of The South, so my opinion was rejected by Disney.

Maybe it was also because I addressed it to ‘Song Of The South, The Disney Corporation, 1946, America.’.

And also because I insisted that as part of the war on hyperbole, each and every year the movie be updated and re-released, should a better story teller be found since the previous edition.  Because Hyperbole, ladies and gentlemen, is what’s killing our economy.  That and President Obama.

“Oh as a child, you shoulda’ hear me tell ‘em what I coulda’ tell ‘em.”  says Remus – proving his “best storyteller” credentials.

“Bound you to bust your buttons off your whadjamacallit.” he continues.

Suddenly, the drama and tension is interrupted, by two slave-ladies who are freaking out that Little White Boy has gone missing.

“You just tell ‘em he’s with me.” says Remus
“Whad’ya mean ‘he’s with you’?” ask the womens.
“He’s with me…” says Remus,  in a menacing, child-rapey tone.

The womens, apparently approving of child-rape, leave him be, letting him have his way with the poor Little White Boy.

He turned up dead in a ditch a week later, having had all the rape drained from his body.

THE END.

 

What?  We’re only 12 minutes through?  Fuck.

 

White Boy wants to run away.  Remus agrees to go with him… and White seems more than happy to let a creepy old man come in with him.

Before they rape the boy to death go on an adventure,  Remus tells him a story, about times when ‘folks were closer to critters’.  I think he’s talking about bestiality.

“Them were the ‘Zip A Dee Doo Da’ days”

I think he’s still talking about bestiality.  That puts a whole new spin on  ’Zip A Dee Doo Da’.

How come Remus can sing in perfect, fluent, understandable English – but as soon as he talks it’s all “then does do be done, what how and why”?

The Bullshit Adventure of Brer Rabbit

or: lying is ok, as long as you’re lying to black people

It’s at this point we’re introduced to Brer Rabbit.  Brer is leaving. For good.

(Hopefully this will mean it’s a short story, because he’s got his bag packed, and has just left.)

Two minutes in to his journey, Brer Rabbit has hung himself.  Hopefully this will also mean it is a short story.

 

Damn.  A bear walks by and Brer convinces him that he can become a scarecrow for a dollar a minute.

Is this the 1946 equivalent of a pyramid scheme?

Uh… And then a fox and the bear fight, and Brer Rabbit goes home.

‘The best storyteller’?  Really?  That wasn’t a story, that was a vignette at best.

 

The boy decides to go home.  Uncle Remus decides to go with him – probably because child rape is much more fun if done in transit.

Mrs. White reprimands Remus for telling him stories at night, because scary floating eyes should not tell stories to little boys.

The next morning, Little Whitey wakes up, and puts Little Black in his place by beating him with pillows.  Little Black gives up, and gifts him a frog – frogs, as I’m sure you are aware, were currency to the Blacks of 1946.

You know this movie was boycotted by the NAACP, the NUL and the NNC – and has never been released on DVD in America for it’s stereotypes? I think that makes it the second most racist film since Craig Bodeker’s “Whites Are Better Than Blacks, And Let Me List The Ways”.

Little White and Little Black go on a walk, where they meet some friendly racists who stop Little Black from touching their puppy, and then make fun of Little White for being a big gay queer – which is fair enough, because he does seem to be dragged up in a lace collar that makes him look like a beautiful little princess.

A little girl racist takes pity on him, and gives him a puppy that she was going to drown.  Not because it’s a bad puppy – just because it’s Wednesday, and that’s what racists do on Wednesdays.

Little White and Racist Girl go for a boat ride.  In a boat that they steal.

But the boat ride doesn’t last for long, because we fade to black.  That’s right, once again black keeps the white man down. (That one’s for you, Craig Bodeker, you hatemongering spunkhole)

Little White tries to make Remus take his dog.  He seems to have forgotten that FROGS are black currency, not DOGS.  Sure, they sound similar, but they are not.  I’ve done tests, conducted polls, and my focus group is almost 78% certain Dogs and Frogs are different.

The Two Little Racists try to steal the dog back.  Uncle Remus doesn’t want to let them have the dog, because he’s making Dog Soup, and that puppy done do be the only dog around in these here parts.

It’s time for another story:

Brer Rabbit And The Story of A Thing

or: Are All Remus’s Stories About Brer Rabbit?

This story is about Remus going fishing.  Until it isn’t, and Brer Rabbit goes ‘heading for trouble’.  Does he always head for trouble?

This time, it seems Brer Fox and Brer Bear are friends.  I guess after the last story, in which they were fighting, they realised they had a lot in common.  In this case, they’re making a Wile E. Coyote – style trap, with a mannequin.

“Old Brer Fox got the tar baby done in time.” says Uncle Remus.

‘Tar Baby’? Is that a racial slur?

Oh. Maybe it’s literally a baby made of tar – because Brer Rabbit decided to touch it, then roll around in it, until he’s stuck solid to the road.  Because that is how tar works.  Obviously.

There the story ends.  Was there a moral?

Oh, no, we’re back, after being told that “Brer Rabbit gonna use his head to get outta this here there situation.”

How will he do so?  He’ll ask the fox to hang him.

Is this guy into auto-erotic asphyxiation?  Why does he keep wanting to be hung?

For some reason that I didn’t pay attention to, Brer Rabbit got the fox to throw him into a patch of thrown bushes.

Why?  No idea.

The bear violently beats the fox, and leaves.  Because violence is the best way to end any story.

 

And so another story comes to a close, and the ‘narrative’ continues.

The Little Racists are beaten by their mother for… uh… not drowning a puppy this Wednesday?

And then the Racists tell Little White’s mother that he has their puppy and something boring happens.  The conclusion of all this, is that Little White is going to get a birthday party next Tuesday.   But his puppy has been given away and he’s not allowed to hear stories every again.

 

The drama just doesn’t give up, does it…

 

And now it’s time for a birthday party.  Hazzah.

Except just as Little White Girl is heading to the party, The Little Racists (which was incidentally a failed pitch for ‘The Little Rascals’) push her in the mud.  Oh no!  Mud kills party!  Who cares!? Nobody!

Remus tells another story, even though minutes ago he promised never to tell a story again

 

Brer Rabbit and the Barbeque

or: Will This Never Fucking End?

Brer’s being barbequed by the fox and bear.  Rather than being afraid, he’s laughing.  Why?  Because he’s in ‘his laughing place’.

The rabbit takes them to the laughing place, which is a beehive.  As the fox and bear get stung by bees, he laughs.

What a cunt.

 

The children run off and Little White’s mother appears and tells him to stay away from Little White, and never see him or tell him a story again.

Because that’s good parenting.  Better her child be sad and alone than happy and distracted with stories regaled  by an ageing pedophile bard.

 

Uncle Remus leaves.
Little White chases him.
A bull chases Little White.
Little White’s Mother chases Little White.
Nobody chases Little White’s Mother, because her cooch is all dried up and haggard, like a desert between her legs.
Or maybe because there was nobody left to chase her.   Or the trail of sand she left, following the path of the bull.

Little White may or may not be dead.  Either way, his father comes back just in time for… the funeral?

Great timing, dad.  Fantastic parenting all round.

 

Surprise surpise, Little White isn’t dead.  And Little White’s father isn’t going to leave again – no matter what ‘important’ things he had to do.

“Everything’s looking mighty satisfaction” says Uncle Remus.

Mighty satisfaction.  Yes.

 

 

 

And that’s it for another thing of this do here be a what a do be do.

I’ll be back next month to take a dump on “Fun And Fancy Free”.  In the meantime, check out the previous Disney Deconstructions.

Also:  you can celebrate me and my words by buying one of my books, available from only£1/$1 at Amazon UK, and Amazon US.

Hu-spunking-rah!