We all remember the cuddly misadventures of Ricky Stratton (played by Ricky Schroder) and his dad in the popular 1980s sitcom Silver Spoons. Ricky lives in the lap of materialist luxury, with arcade games in his living room, a minitrain that goes all around his house, and even a handsome duck phone that quacks like a duck instead of ringing like a phone.
However, despite his material wealth, Ricky is plagued with the same old problems that teenagers everywhere face, proving that money has nothing to do with happiness and that everyone, everywhere, regardless of class or wealth, suffers the same problems. Ricky’s heartwarming ordeals endeared us all to the hidden world of the rich, revealing once and for all that the wealthy are just like us. To this premise, I say: CRAP!
Are we really expected to believe that a spoiled brat like Ricky Stratton has as many problems as lower class teens? Are we to swallow the capitalist filth put forth by the media to pacify the working class and make aristocratic wealth seem undesirable? My answer is no, dear people. We must resist the mythology of Silver Spoons and keep fighting for social liberation the world over, until every man, woman and child has a handsome duck phone to call his or her own.
A teen in Ricky’s position would not, by any means, have to suffer any of the trials and tribulations that most teens do. For instance, consider acne. Perhaps Ricky’s zits are supposed to make us more sympathetic to him. Baloney, I say! It’s common knowledge that the wealthy elite can afford face transplants, a procedure that has gone largely unnoticed in the news
media. Every day, millions of rich kids flood the offices of plastic surgeons, trading their greasy, pimply oil sops for smooth, soft, clear faces. And what happens to all those discarded acne-ridden masks? They’re ground into Spam to feed poor people! Wake up!
Dating? Dating? Can we accept that someone like Ricky Stratton couldn’t find a date? Please! He could easily buy any woman he wanted, and if any snooty princess refused his advances he could simply hire a hypnotist to warp the gal’s mind into falling instantly and permanently in love with him. Why, he could even bring in a troop of Nicaraguan guerilla warriors to kidnap her, mercilessly break her spirit, and brainwash her until her only coherent thought is “Must…give… Ricky…handjob.” Even without these monetary powers, the handsome duck phone is enough to win the heart of any girl. “Call me tonight, baby,” Ricky could say, “and I’ll answer on my… duck phone.”
“The handsome duck phone?” the girl would coo sweetly. “Ooh, I’d suck you off for five hours just to say one word into that duck’s feathered ass.” I want a duck phone!
What about drugs? Ricky can afford all the drugs he wants! And not that crappy street stuff, but that highpriced Colombian shit. He could have shipments going right into his back yard. You think the police are going to look twice? Ricky could buy the police. Ricky sucks my cock. I want that goddamn duck phone.
In conclusion, it should be obvious that rich teenagers are much better off than poor teenagers. With their fake faces, poontang on demand, quality cocaine, and handsome duck phones, rich punk kids have every advantage imaginable. Shows like Silver Spoons, Diff’rent Strokes, and ALF are all part of the same government conspiracy: pacify the working class by allowing them to identify with a mythical problem- plagued upper class even as wealthy capitalists help fund the impending alien takeover (that’s where ALF comes in, in case you were wondering) and communicate with our future overlords on their handsome duck phones. Do not be fooled! Resist the takeover! Hate the rich! Steal their duck phones! Lick my balls! Duck phones for everyone!
You may now be wondering, “Vladimir [that’s me], Silver Spoons was cancelled twelve years ago. Why on Earth are you ranting about it now?” To which I reply, “I’ve been spending all this time looking for a duck phone of my own, and only recently came up with the idea to make people angry so they’ll steal duck phones for me.” Wait, ignore that last sentence.
