I’m afraid. I’m not ashamed to admit it.

I’m not afraid of the wrinkled leathery man in tight pants. Nor am I concerned by the seven foot tall Rastafarian rooster. Even the song and dance numbers have little effect on me. It all comes down to the look on the face of every child involved. I’ve seen a hostage tape or two in my day and I know that look. They know what happens when the cameras stop rolling.

Being kidnapped by a cult of underground educational television producers is no picnic, but I assume it’s the only way to get on PBS these days. When they finally come for all of us and we’re being sacrificed to appease How Now the big moo cow — remember to breathe. Namaste!

[Thanks to our friend Gerard at American Digest  for sending that one along]