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Opinion: The mating of two Wiggles is unnatural and an affront to family values

By Family First director Bob McCoskrie.

By Family First director Bob McCoskrie.

It all started with the gays.

I tried to warn New Zealand about the gays, but they didn’t listen.

I first got wind of it back in 1978, when me and my mate Gerald won a game of touch ruggers against the boys from out of town. It was a beautiful day, and no doubt, it was a beautiful win.

Just as we scored the winning try, a celebration erupted on the field. Gerald and I ran to one another, and we embraced, arms wrapped around each other’s solid frames. I felt his back, and he felt my waist. He ruffled my hair, and his lips were barely six inches from mine, all things considered.

Suddenly, I pushed him away.

“Gerry,” I said. “This isn’t right.”

He agreed, and from that day forward, we knew they were coming.

In 1986, we decriminalised homosexuality. This exponentially increased the number of gays in New Zealand. Straight men and women were now allowed to have gay children, and those gay children would grow up to endorse and vote for at least one politician whose genitals are uncertain to me.

That makes me confused. But not sexually.

At the time, they said to me, they said “Bob, it’s just decriminalisation. It won’t really mean anything. We’re not endorsing the gays. We’re just saying that maybe we won’t round them up in the street after 11pm and beat them with lead pipes until they have brain damage anymore.”

This was the first step on a slippery slope towards barbarism.

And I was proven right. In 2004, we legalised civil unions. Disgusting.

There is nothing civil about one man putting his hoo-hah in another man’s up-dee-doo.

Forgive me for swearing.

New Zealand changed forever that day. No longer could good, straight, all-American Kiwi men have a quiet, family-oriented dinner in their own homes without some gay crashing through the door and kissing me on the lips.

“Get out of my house!” I said. “You filthy sex criminal.”

“I’m allowed,” he replied, and produced documentation to show that he and I had entered into a civil union.

The gays are cunning. Never underestimate them. They’ll tongue you in your sleep. I should know.

But it didn’t stop there. As though the perverse forces of socialist Islamic feminism weren’t content to ruin our dinners, or make us think about other mens’ buttocks while we spanked our wives, they now had to make us all be gay.

In 2013, marriage between one penis and one vagina was destroyed forever, and was replaced indefinitely with the sick, twisted union of two equal people who “love” each other.

If it was okay for one man to marry another man, or one woman another woman, then what was to stop a hedgehog from marrying a koala, or a man from marrying a table, or a table from marrying a sex criminal like Georgina Beyer?

Nothing, and so that’s what happened.

So began the moral degradation of our society, and the criminalisation of innocent behaviours like beating your wife.

You can’t even get married to a woman anymore. It’s illegal.

In the United States, they’re even considering electing a woman to the presidency.

Really? We already had a black, for goodness sake.

So I think it’s fairly obvious, and goes without saying, that all of this brings me to The Wiggles.

For most of the period I just talked about, the Australian children’s music group were a diamond in the rough.

While the homosexual lobby was wrapping its arms around the supple bodies of our children, The Wiggles were providing truly wholesome, family entertainment. Four men, jumping around, singing and dancing together in bright colours. There was nothing gay about that.

But as with most of our institutions over the last two decades, it all took an ugly turn in 2012, when the yellow wiggle, Greg Page, was replaced with Emma Watkins, a female wiggle.

I knew immediately where this was going.

It’s important for both children and adults alike to understand that, though they might appear like us, wiggles are not, in fact, human beings. Wiggles are a unique kind of creature, that lack both the human emotion of shame, as well as the desire to reproduce. They inhabit a strange, alternate universe that humans cannot enter, where dinosaurs still live and talk, and cardboard vehicles can travel incredible two-dimensional distances.

But though they may be innocent, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, they can still be brought to temptation.

Let me be clear: the mating of two wiggles is an unnatural act; one that is an affront to family values and human decency, and is an abomination before the LORD.

Yet just this week, that is exactly what has happened. In what was unquestionably a failure of our moral supervision, we have allowed the purple wiggle to stray from the path, and he is now lusting after the yellow wiggle, and she after him.

Such a sick, bestial act cannot be tolerated.

After much internal struggle, I have found that I am able to live – albeit uncomfortably – in a world where women can work, and gays can receive legal protections. I can live in a world where men are allowed to wear skirts, and women are allowed to wear pants.

But I cannot – I refuse – to live in a world where two wiggles can have sex or get married.

The LORD our God makes very clear in the Holy Bible, that marriage is exclusively the union between one male non-wiggle and one female non-wiggle, and that all relationships should take after it.

If our children see these aberrant behaviours, and start to think they are normal, then who knows what untold catastrophe could befall the moral fabric of our society?

Children will start wanting to have their own relationships with wiggles, a desire tantamount to bestiality. Our kids may see that their wiggle role models are having sex with one another, and then it won’t be long before they’re asking “Why can’t we do that too?”

We’ll have two-year-olds having sex with two-year-olds, without protection, which is good, because condoms are murder.

They’ll have kids of their own, but won’t be able to raise them, and then their kids will have kids, and so on and so on. Next thing you know, you’ll have great grandparents who are 8-year-olds.

It’s sickening.

I tried to warn this country that no good could come of a female wiggle, but once again, nobody listened until it was too late. And now I’m left wondering: what’s next? Sex with Dorothy the Dinosaur? A Katy Perry cameo? An orgy in the big red car?

These things are inevitable.

But you know what the worst part of all this is? What colour child do you get when you mix a yellow wiggle with a purple wiggle? Just think about that.