Ted Nugent Reviews A Christmas Story

This is a disgusting, horrifying tale of what happens when a decent, God-fearing American seeks to righteously bear arms to protect his own family, and instead is oppressed and brainwashed by subhuman liberal freaks seeking to destroy America.

The movie’s hero, Ralphie, is a salt-of-the-earth, midwestern dude just trying to live free and grab his piece of the American Dream. Unfortunately, Ralphie lives in a home run by brain-dead, liberal scum who seek to deny him his basic rights. His mother is a slavering, permissive nitwit who allows her younger child to mash his face into his food like a goddamn hog, and yet denies her older son the right to arm himself like a man. She saddles Ralphie with nerdy glasses, the symbol of weak intellectualism and myopic thinking, and systematically pollutes his mind with encrypted radio transmissions from some “little orphan,” no doubt a foreign freeloader spawned from some godless hellhole to establish a caliphate on American soil.

Ralphie’s old man is even worse. This emasculated stuffed suit “battles” his furnace by impotently cussing at it (just shoot the damn thing!) and allows a cadre of mangy hounds to run in and out of his house at will (just shoot the damn things!). The only millisecond of respect I had for this numb-nuts was when I thought the guy had bagged himself a sweet trophy leg from a productive day of cleansing the planet of feminists. But no — it was a fucking lamp. I should have guessed: actual feminist legs are known for being hairy as wildebeests, and also for kicking a guy in the gonads when he asks them out for a perfectly nice evening of baby deerburgers and autoerotic taxidermy. Not that ol’ Uncle Ted is speaking from personal experience, mind you. I’m a freaking rock god.

Ralphie is the only relatable character in this whole miserable liberal shitshow. Each day, he wages war against terror, as he is attacked regularly by two thugs perpetrating some sort of communist lunch money plot. One of them is dressed just like a little pinko union goon, and the other one should be killed on the spot just for the (most likely rabid) raccoon up on his head.

So for Christmas, Ralphie wants only what’s decent, proper, and his God-given right under the Second Amendment — a weapon to fight off the evils that surround him. His choice of weaponry, a Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model air rifle, is laughably weak, but even a weak-ass gun is better than no gun, as we see in Ralphie’s glorious dream sequence. This scene shows with brilliant clarity what a good guy with a gun can do. Ralphie is able to take a heroic stand against a gang of escaped jailbirds who have come to encroach upon his way of life. This scene also is a great big middle finger to all the liberals who want to know how you can tell a bad guy with a gun from a good guy with a gun. It’s simple, asswipe — they’ll be wearing black and white stripes.

So Ralphie appeals to his mother, his fat-ass witch of a teacher, and even the pagan “Santa Claus” to give him what is rightfully his. All respond with some nonsense about “shooting his eye out,” which is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard. Why would God have given us eyes if he didn’t want us to have the freedom to blow them right out of our skulls in a bloody, gelatinous mess? He wouldn’t have, is the answer to that.

Christmas day finally arrives, and it is a full-fledged nightmare. Not only is the pile of gifts under the tree repulsively weapon-free, but Ralphie’s castrating harpy of a mother further unmans him by forcing him to model a mortifying pink rabbit suit that will likely leave him impotent for life.

He is about to give up hope when his limp-dicked peon of a father points out something in the corner. Well, it’s goddamn Christmas miracle — Santa Claus has come to his senses and empowered our hero with the means to fight enemies of America.

All does not end well, however. In the truly tragic scene that follows, Ralphie barely manages to fire off a few exhilarating rounds before his sissy nerd-boy glasses get lost and broken — along with his nerve. The years of fearmongering and liberal inculcation finally take their toll – he begins to weep like a wet-diapered infant, and runs inside to his mama, who is all too happy to see him reduced to pile of liberal diarrhea. He’s finally won his freedom, but in the end, he’s too weak to man up and use it.

Meanwhile, the balless wonder of a dad has allowed the neighbor’s dogs to waltz right in and eat his Christmas turkey right in front of him. After pathetically watching his home get plundered while his flaccid little Y chromosome officially dies, the eunuch suggests that they abandon their down-home American traditions to embrace the culture of the Chinese, with their obvious plot to overtake America’s gross domestic product. These lily-livered wastes of oxygen can’t even stomach looking at the duck head on their dinner. I chew on duck heads like they’re bubblegum, like a real American. I’ve got a piece of mallard going right now, I shit you not.

This scene, in my view, is the chilling culmination of a bleak and frightening depiction of a nation gone wrong. So this Christmas, consider the scene where Ralphie has gone blind from soap poisoning (the symbol of whitewashed political correctness). I’d rather go down fighting, my friends. If I should put my eye out while deploying a weapon of freedom, I’ll put the other one out just for shits and giggles. An eye for an eye, goddamn it — even if they’re both mine.