PAD vs. PC

Originally published January 21, 1994, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1053

I’m writing this two days after the holidays, suffering from (and I mean suffering) a head cold and fever. So we’re gonna keep it simple this go-around. Not too much heavy-duty thinking, because it’ll make my head hurt more than it already does.

A few weeks back I wrote a column about political correctness, and how various ethnic groups have certain no-no’s associated in any fictional portrayal. For example, Japanese folks can never be shown as camera-toting tourists; Polish people can’t ever be stupid, Hispanics can’t be members of gangs, etc. (And by the way, after a subsequent column ran that ended with “Peter David wasn’t expecting some sort of Spanish Inquisition,” I cannot tell you how many friends called up and, without preamble, shouted, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!”)

In an endeavor to try and determine just who can be depicted without excess grief (“excess grief” being defined as irate letters to your editors from organizations that seem to exist primarily to write irate letters) one of the possibilities I put forward was:

“2) French people, Brits, and people from the Netherlands. Witness Disney: Consider that neither Belle nor Gaston spoke with a French accent in Beauty and the Beast, and Snow White and Cinderella did not speak like denizens of the Netherlands (although they did sport wooden shoes). Nor did Winnie the Pooh have a British accent. Insult a Frog. Be snide about a Limey. It’s okay. What’re they gonna do? Be snooty? They do that anyway. Better yet, take potshots at the Swiss. They’re neutral, for God’s sake! Can’t ask for a better target.”

The result was the following marvelous letter from Jean-Marc Lofficier, long-time friend, Doctor Who expert, and United States representative of Moebius. He is also unmistakably French—so much so, in fact, that I occasionally kid him that he should lose the “phony” accent because it sounds too much like one of the Monty Python guys in the castle during Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (Switching accents isn’t hard. Neil Gaiman can do it easily. He does a Todd McFarlane impression that’s wonderfully dead on; better, because he can actually string coherent sentences together.)

Anyway, the following letter arrived over the But I Digress fax machine (and, as an aside, I should mention that if you are in the market for a plain paper fax, you should check out the Brother IntelliFAX 980 M. No more screwing around with scrolls of thermofax paper. We’re talking 30-sheet document feeder, 200 sheet paper tray, various speed-dial and memory options. Retail priced, so help me, at around $650.)

The letterhead read as follows: Batracian-American Society for the Terminological Reconstruction of Democratic Speech. The Honorary President is Jerry Lewis. The Secretary is Albert Le Wizel-Liqueur.

It is written entirely in PC, which threatens to replace Esperanto as the proposed universal language. And it reads:

Dear Mr. David:

First, you vent your bioregionalistic capitalistic patriarchal hegemonic discourse against Mr. Todd McFarlane, a charm-free, differently-interesting, cerebro-atmospheric member of our native australly-challenged neighbors, who obviously suffers from attention-deficit.

Then, you inflict your testosterone-infected, mutant albino genetic-recessive global minority negative-attention-getting tactics against his motivationally-dispossessed, preliterate colleagues at Image Comics.

Finally, you have the utter arrogance of hurling your previously-enjoyed sound bites at the French and the Great Batracian Diaspora, whose members comprise a number of proud Batracian-American individuals such as the revered Hand-Held-American Kermit and the cosmetically-different, orally-challenged Christopher Lambert.

Both my domestic incarceration survivor, Randy, and my botanical companion, Phred Phlower, join me in asking readers to boycott Comics Buyer’s Guide until your monoculturist advantages have been withdrawn.

Or else you’ll be a processed animal carcass.

Now some of you are giggling. Others of you, though, might be scratching your heads. So, with the help of my thesaurus program and the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, I shall attempt to put across the spirit of the letter where I can for those who don’t feel like cracking out a dictionary:

Dear Mr. David:

First, you give us your homespun, free-market thinking, fatherly-but-domineering comments against Mr. Todd McFarlane, a repulsive, boring, cloud-brained Canadian, who clearly wants attention.

Then, you give us your macho, lily-livered, minority and unpopular opinions in regards to his lazy, uncultured pals at Image Comics.

Finally, you’re snotty enough to toss around your remarks—which we’d been enjoying until now—at French people and frogs all over this country, whose members include a number of proud Froglike-American individuals such as the beloved puppet Kermit, and the weird-looking, “what-the-hëll-did-he say” Christopher Lambert.

Both my fellow house prisoner, Randy, and my plant friend, Phred Phlower, join me in asking readers to boycott Comics Buyer’s Guide until your narrow-mindedness has been stopped.

Otherwise, you’re hamburger meat.

I gotta admit, “mutant albino genetic-recessive” gave me the most trouble, and even now I’m not sure I got it precisely right. For that matter, I’m also going on the assumption that Jean-Marc meant Batrachian (of or pertaining to frogs) rather than Batracian, which my dictionary doesn’t list. If there’s anything that I missed, Jean-Marc should feel free to let me know and we can clarify it for all future PC folks.

What will happen, friends? Will CBG really be boycotted by Jean-Marc, Randy, their plant, not to mention fans of the Muppets and Highlander. (Will someone tell me why, with the thousands of unemployed and talented thespians out there, Christopher Lambert keeps getting work?) I’m sure we’re all excited to find out.

(Boycotts always strike me as amusing, actually. For example, in the latest issue of Premiere magazine, a reader writes in angrily over Disney’s caving in to Arab protests over the opening lyrics in “Arabian Nights” from Aladdin. His solution is to boycott the Aladdin videotape. Aside from the fact that it’s a little late for that, the reader apparently sees no irony in excoriating tactics on one hand and then attempting to emulate them on the other. But I digress…)

I could be wrong, but I’ve always been under the impression that the French secretly (or perhaps openly) cherish their country’s reputation for being rude, much as New Yorkers do. Maybe that’s the way to go. After all, Southerners have a reputation for being hospitable, and look what happened during the Civil War.

And I still can’t wait to go to EuroDisney some time, just to watch hundreds of French employees desperately trying to be polite to American tourists wearing mouse ears and Goofy hats. Still, Jean-Marc’s letter does enable me to address, once and for all, something about the French that’s bothered me for quite some time:

This alleged Gallic obsession with Jerry Lewis.

I think it grew from a misunderstanding. And if someone sat down with a Frenchman and asked about it, I bet the conversation would go something like this:

INTERVIEWER: So I understand that the French believe Jerry Lewis is a comic genius.

FRENCHMAN: Oui, zat ees right. Zis Sherry Lewis ees brilliant, no?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, well… Americans are very curious as to just what it is about Jerry Lewis that you all find so appealing.

FRENCHMAN: First off, zere ees Lambchop. Lambchop, she ees a comic find. She has zee cutest leetle voice, and sums up zee childhood frustrations een us all.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, wait a minute…

FRENCHMAN: And of course, zere ees Charlie Horse. Wiz zee buck teeth, and zee dour atteetude. He and Lambchop are a great team, no? Not to mention zee Hush Puppy…

INTERVIEWER: I think there’s been a mistake.

FRENCHMAN: Meestake? No, I seenk not…

INTERVIEWER: You’re talking about Shari Lewis.

FRENCHMAN: Oui. As I said, Sherry Lewis. We French adore Sherry Lewis.

INTERVIEWER: You mean all these years, the French people have been admiring Shari Lewis, the ventriloquist.

FRENCHMAN: Oui. Ees sometheeng wrong—?

INTERVIEWER: We all thought you were talking about Jerry Lewis. Jerry—J-E-R-R-Y. Juh-erry.

FRENCHMAN: Juh-erry Lewis? Zee Nutty Professor? Zat guy?

INTERVIEWER: Yeah, that’s right.

FRENCHMAN: No! Him? He eez a moron! How could you think we admire him. Oh, zees ees tres embarrassant! You are kidding, yes?

INTERVIEWER: No, I’m serious.

FRENCHMAN: Mon dieu!

Just to finish off this column with another letter, Michael Ryan from Canada—or as Jean-Marc puts it, our native australly-challenged neighbors (by the way, since “austra” means “southern,” I assume Jean-Marc means that they are neighbors who feel challenged by those who are south of them; he can’t mean that they are southern and challenged, because Canada is north of us. And thanks to NAFTA, our genuine southern neighbors won’t be challenged anymore)—sent me the following panel from an old Doc Strange story, reprinted on page 206 of the Dr. Strange Masterworks.

I present it without any comment other than that it’s just kind of funny, all things considered:

(Peter David, writer of stuff, invites anyone who sees Jean-Marc Lofficier to ask him to say, “Silly English Ka-niggits!”)