World poverty, immigration reform, the dangers of corporate conglomerates and anal probes: these seemingly disparate and yet ever-relevant topics play an essential role in the education of our youth today. But how to impart to America's children a sense of their colossal import and staggering implications? The answer, I've found, lies in South Park, the animated series by Matt Stone and Trey Parker, true post-modern visionaries of graphically vulgar and racially insensitive comedy.
My own enjoyment of South Park has evolved over the years from a basic love of gratuitous swearing to a more mature grasp of the show's subtle wit and biting satire to an appreciation for the phrase "anal probe," but one thing remains certain: Were it not for the consistently funny South Park - guiding me through tough times, lifting my spirits with Sally Struthers impersonations and helping me to understand the vast intricacies of the world around me - I would have become a much different person than I am today, a person I likely would have hated. My relationship with South Park is a complex and multi-faceted one, full of twists and turns. So let us start from the beginning.
I wasn't born jaded, I'm sorry to admit; I emerged from the womb wide-eyed and optimistic, ready to begin my journey of life, love and friendly academic competition. After 20 long and arduous years, Hopkins has finally shattered the bloodied remains of those na've ambitions, and I now find myself miserable and alone. But I can truthfully say, thanks to the genius of South Park, that I saw it coming.
As far back as second grade, when Mrs. Peltzer gave Johnny an extra oatmeal raisin cookie because he won the spelling contest, and I didn't get anything because I was incompetent, I had a preternatural feeling that the world kind of sucked. I couldn't quite articulate this opinion in any intelligible way, except to slap Johnny across the face when no one else was looking and then run out of the room, but I knew it was there - I knew something wasn't right. This disenchantment only grew upon entering middle school, when I attempted to justify my supreme unpopularity by accusing my peers of being morons. It was around this time - fifth grade, I believe - that I watched my very first episode of South Park. It contained all the right humor for my apathetic attitude. Its writers assumed that people were dumb and cruel, everyday situations totally absurd, exciting places actually banal. In fact, the only characters whom Stone and Parker imbued with any reasonable amount of common sense or foresight are the principal two: Stan Marsh and Kyle Brovlovski, two fourth graders.
And this was an altogether revolutionary concept, one that resonated not only with me but with moderately intelligent middle-schoolers everywhere. South Park had weighed and measured and found the grown-ups wanting. It was our world, of recess and platonic male-female relations and chocolate milk with dinner, that made the most sense. All of the other stuff, the aforementioned stuff - economic hardships, self-involved celebrities, divisive government politics, and yes, anal probes - just seemed so ridiculous in comparison.
The consequence of this is that I knew, I understood from the very start, that one day I would be forced across the border into the uncompromising land of "reality," and there I would have to fend for myself. So I prepared myself. I watched as much South Park as I could fit into my days, which wasn't a lot, you know, because for some reason my parents thought it would be a good idea if I learned karate and piano, so I spent a lot of time doing that, but it was still a fair amount. I began to recognize the difference between a rational and an irrational person, at least in cartoon form. I learned not to care about things that couldn't be changed, or to complain enough so that I changed them. In short, I got an education: an education that my school refused to give me, for whatever reason. Probably lawsuits. I became the man I am today, and I am enormously grateful for it. Thank you, South Park. Thank you.
