I enjoy a lot of the entertainment that’s made for my kids, sometimes even more than they do. But I wonder about certain, live-action childhood entertainers like the guy who plays Barney, the four knobs in the Wiggles, and the ecstasy-popping ravers who are The Doodlebops.
On the one hand, it’s got to be rewarding and great fun to be silly and zany, letting it all loose for sake of making little children happy. On the other there’s a feigned wholesomeness that is, well, revolting. Frankly I wouldn’t have the stomach to pull that shit off, at least not without rivers of cynicism oozing from my ears and out my belly button in revolt. Little kids know a fraud when they see one, especially when bile is seeping out of your nose, as it would be if I was sitting around a campfire leading a crowd of six-year olds in a version of “Five Little Frogs,” fighting a losing battle against the profound urge to flee for more debased forms of entertainment. I wonder if child entertainers spend their off hours at the rub and tug, making porn, shooting heroin, or running underground cock-fighting rings on the side. Our psyches need some time to splash around in the cesspool when our day jobs force us to muster up such squeaky clean personas to earn our keep. It’s not natural for grown adults to be so … so – fucking sweet, even if it pays a good rent. Next time the Doodlebops are in town look for them in one of your local fetish clubs with soothers in their mouths dry humping strangers as they gyrate to trance music. I bet they’ll be there. I just bet.