Introductions are meaningless when your very soul is at stake — so we’re not going to waste much more of your time setting up the premise of our sixth riff, “The Rapture.” Fun fact: this was originally Garbage Duck’s second short, until we scrapped it for unknown reasons back in the fabled summer of aught-nine. And now we must apologize, for the previous sentence was neither fun nor wholly factual. But, as promised by our reliable narrator, we’ll soon get what’s coming to us.
Having problems figuring out what to be thankful for on this special day? Let the Johnson family reach out of the 1950s and throttle you until it’s obvious that simply being alive in this great country is far better than any sort of happiness that comes with eating food on a regular basis.
Welcome to the 1950s: an idyllic era known best for its white picket fences, Uncle Milty, and the constant threat of unexpected nuclear war. Luckily, our own government recognized the common fear of being vaporized as the result of a global pissing contest, so they produced several films instructing citizens on how the most dangerous weapons ever created could easily be avoided by cowering in the basement or hiding under a desk made out of balsa wood. This is one of these films.