Gay insecurities to be featured in new Netflix Christmas movie

Netflix gave money to a Brazilian comedy group called Porta dos Fundos to produce The First Temptation of Christ in which a strong implication concerning Jesus' sexuality is made — the gay Christ and all that other gay stuff. 

Lots of people are upset.  Upwards of 150 million people have signed a petition on Change.org that asks Netflix to remove the movie from its site.  "Porta dos Whatever" replied to the petitioners, and you can find a garaged-up version of their response in the penultimate paragraph below.

The movie also depicts the Virgin Mary as a marijuana-smoker.

Netflix has lots of money to toss around.  It recently threw cash at Martin Scorsese to make The Irishman, a movie in which 800-year-old men try to relive their glory days by pretend stomping, stabbing, and shooting various minor actors.  I call it Oldfellas, but then I'm not much into cinematic reminiscence.  One would think Netflix could burn enough dollars to hire some 30-ish lookalikes to handle the energetic murder scenes.  I swear you can almost hear De Niro yelling, "Cut!  I gotta take a leak and catch my breath!"

And it all raises a question: if young Robert could gain 50 pounds to play an old Jake LaMotta, why can't old Robert lose 50 to play a young Frank Sheeran?  I know that De Niro is not exactly starving for his art these days, but don't let's be ridiculous, Robert.

I bring all of this up because if Netflix can blow whole bank accounts on De Niro, swim through a sewer like Dear White People, and stiff audiences of an ending to Bird Box, why wouldn't they go after Jesus?

They are gods, after all.

In Hollywood, gay insecurities are always in fashion.  It's what all the gods are wearing.

I knew a guy in San Jose back in the '80s, gay as a courtesan from France's Grand Epoch and usually as drunk, who was a basket case every second Saturday.  Of a fortnight, his "lover" would demand that our hero become a receiver.  Our boy had no real taste for this particular aspect of the romantic arts; he reacted more poorly than his poorly reactive personality usually allowed.

I would find him dead passed out on the couch of a mutual friend on the joyous day.  Strong anesthetics had to be self-administered in order to get him through the impending ordeal.  My wife has never demanded such oppression of my psyche before one of our infrequent enough "date" nights; in fact, I can barely contain my excitement on "Big Night" eve.

But then, I'm not gay. 

On the other hand, if I had to drink a barrel of hooch and snort a tablespoon of dangerous chemicals in order to face my "lover," I wouldn't be gay, either. 

If it were me, I would seek alternative ways to live.  Others might just drink and snort their way to an early grave.  Still others might lash out at people totally uninvolved in the situation.

The "still others" are probably the types that work for Netflix — the Gone Hollywood sort that likes drama.  And they are really good at creating drama.  "Lincoln was gay!" they might shout into an empty family room or slow news day.

And they get a reaction, a moment in the Hollywood Reporter spotlight and a petition autographed by a million strangers.

Like working overtime for that Lamborghini abortionist or co-conspirators at the FBI and DoJ, the insecurities that accompany an act that, at its core, is shameful must be assuaged.  The inner voice is damped, the conscious effects mitigated.

I think the real Jesus would want me to try to understand, to empathize, to find compassion.

So this is where it might surprise you that I don't really care at all what any of these sad and insecure people think.  They can use Lincoln, and they can use Jesus because these types of people use others as a matter of habit.  I might only suggest they use Alan Turing to add a dash more reality to their already harsh reality.

It ain't my misery, guys.

It's yours.

So go ahead and pick on other people's religious figures if it makes you feel better.

And by the way, Michael James "values artistic freedom and humor through satire on the most diverse cultural themes of our society and believes that freedom of expression is an essential construction for a democratic country." 

No matter how poorly phrased, disarmingly disingenuous, or senselessly stupid that sounds.

Netflix gave money to a Brazilian comedy group called Porta dos Fundos to produce The First Temptation of Christ in which a strong implication concerning Jesus' sexuality is made — the gay Christ and all that other gay stuff. 

Lots of people are upset.  Upwards of 150 million people have signed a petition on Change.org that asks Netflix to remove the movie from its site.  "Porta dos Whatever" replied to the petitioners, and you can find a garaged-up version of their response in the penultimate paragraph below.

The movie also depicts the Virgin Mary as a marijuana-smoker.

Netflix has lots of money to toss around.  It recently threw cash at Martin Scorsese to make The Irishman, a movie in which 800-year-old men try to relive their glory days by pretend stomping, stabbing, and shooting various minor actors.  I call it Oldfellas, but then I'm not much into cinematic reminiscence.  One would think Netflix could burn enough dollars to hire some 30-ish lookalikes to handle the energetic murder scenes.  I swear you can almost hear De Niro yelling, "Cut!  I gotta take a leak and catch my breath!"

And it all raises a question: if young Robert could gain 50 pounds to play an old Jake LaMotta, why can't old Robert lose 50 to play a young Frank Sheeran?  I know that De Niro is not exactly starving for his art these days, but don't let's be ridiculous, Robert.

I bring all of this up because if Netflix can blow whole bank accounts on De Niro, swim through a sewer like Dear White People, and stiff audiences of an ending to Bird Box, why wouldn't they go after Jesus?

They are gods, after all.

In Hollywood, gay insecurities are always in fashion.  It's what all the gods are wearing.

I knew a guy in San Jose back in the '80s, gay as a courtesan from France's Grand Epoch and usually as drunk, who was a basket case every second Saturday.  Of a fortnight, his "lover" would demand that our hero become a receiver.  Our boy had no real taste for this particular aspect of the romantic arts; he reacted more poorly than his poorly reactive personality usually allowed.

I would find him dead passed out on the couch of a mutual friend on the joyous day.  Strong anesthetics had to be self-administered in order to get him through the impending ordeal.  My wife has never demanded such oppression of my psyche before one of our infrequent enough "date" nights; in fact, I can barely contain my excitement on "Big Night" eve.

But then, I'm not gay. 

On the other hand, if I had to drink a barrel of hooch and snort a tablespoon of dangerous chemicals in order to face my "lover," I wouldn't be gay, either. 

If it were me, I would seek alternative ways to live.  Others might just drink and snort their way to an early grave.  Still others might lash out at people totally uninvolved in the situation.

The "still others" are probably the types that work for Netflix — the Gone Hollywood sort that likes drama.  And they are really good at creating drama.  "Lincoln was gay!" they might shout into an empty family room or slow news day.

And they get a reaction, a moment in the Hollywood Reporter spotlight and a petition autographed by a million strangers.

Like working overtime for that Lamborghini abortionist or co-conspirators at the FBI and DoJ, the insecurities that accompany an act that, at its core, is shameful must be assuaged.  The inner voice is damped, the conscious effects mitigated.

I think the real Jesus would want me to try to understand, to empathize, to find compassion.

So this is where it might surprise you that I don't really care at all what any of these sad and insecure people think.  They can use Lincoln, and they can use Jesus because these types of people use others as a matter of habit.  I might only suggest they use Alan Turing to add a dash more reality to their already harsh reality.

It ain't my misery, guys.

It's yours.

So go ahead and pick on other people's religious figures if it makes you feel better.

And by the way, Michael James "values artistic freedom and humor through satire on the most diverse cultural themes of our society and believes that freedom of expression is an essential construction for a democratic country." 

No matter how poorly phrased, disarmingly disingenuous, or senselessly stupid that sounds.