An Open Letter To The Holderness Family
Dear Holderness Family,
Let me start this letter by saying that as much as it pains me to admit it, I enjoyed your latest video “#Jammietime.” I clicked on that YouTube play button excited to hate it, but then you shouted “I need wine” and I thought “Me too, Holderni. Good one.” and I smiled. I am mad at myself for doing this.
But my one weak moment should not detract from my very important message.
Specifically you, Mom and Dad Holderni. (Your sweet kids get a pass because they are kids and I am not a monster.) At first it was cute. The original Christmas jammies video was kinda funny; I enjoyed the attractive goofball thing you guys had going on. Plus who can resist Penn Charles in dance class? But after a year of relentless Holderni videos attacking me from all corners of the Internet, I can take no more. Your determination to celebrate every holiday with 3 minutes of Dad Holderni bouncing around like a FraggleÂ has finally taken its toll. There is no other choice: YOU MUST BE STOPPED.
Your videos feel like the human version of Pinterest, bragging about your glowing accomplishments with a “tee hee” tone. Your attempts to appear relatable in your most recent Christmas card video with things like “I have a messy home” are transparent. Let’s be real: you have a gorgeous, big-ass house they you love to show off in every video, and it’s getting tedious. Not to mention, the dig about working at Starbucks next year is an insult to all the hardworking people currently making your egg nog lattes.
Your parodies play up boring, dopey tropes that make you look lazy. Dad loves to fart! Dad can’t cook! Mom’s hands are on her hips again! I suspect you’re smarter than this, and yet you’re churning out videos full of jokes that would make Adam Sandler groan. You guys seem smart, likable, savvy, and funny – and yet your videos play up lowest common denominator jokes that dumb you down.
Overall you appear to be nice people and good parents. I gather this from observing your children, who seem like wonderful, well-adjusted kids with a variety of interests and passions. But I cannot with your relentless self-promotion, your floppy hair, your weak attempts at self-deprecation, your rhyming of “beyotch” with “Brach’s.”
Lola and Penn Charles, only you can save America. Hide the video cameras. Write the scripts. The people demand less parental mugging and more of your Frozen songs and hip hop dancing.
Also, for the love of god they are called PAJAMAS.