Kirk Cameron is Alive and Well and Living in the Big Rock Candy Mountain with a Hoard of Wart Yaks

"Thanks for the ice cream, you crazy asshole!"
Kirk Cameron's new documentary, Monumental, about America's Christian roots, opened in theaters last Friday and, as you might expect, it brought out the crazies. Can you fathom that there are still people in the world who don't believe in Kirk Cameron? I know! Look, people stop me in the street at least seven times a day and say something like, "Kirk Cameron is just a little fella who lives in my TV. Fun is fun, but you tell me if he appears anywhere outside my set and we might be in business. Kirk Cameron just doesn't exist. How could he?" It gets annoying that I have to answer these questions all the time, but, luckily, I only have to use one simple, yet oh-so-complex word: Faith. Have you ever seen a fart? Of course not, but you can certainly smell it, especially if you've been eating cantaloupe. You can't touch it (well, you could, but you wouldn't want to, what with the after-smell all over your finger and all that) but you still know it's there. Kirk Cameron is alive and well and disco dancing with Uncle Jesse in Pee-wee's Playhouse. And, like your farts, he's even around when you don't want him to be. Kirk Cameron watches over you while you sleep, puts your big toe in his mouth, takes your dog out for ice cream, mows your lawn with his teeth, and saves you $10.99 on two adult meals at Ruby Tuesdays. He is daylight itself.


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