Category: One Shots

No established characters here. Doesn’t necessarily mean that they automatically suck.

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Three’s a Crowd

“Friends! Romans! Countrymen!”

Animation by Rollin Hamilton and Larry Martin. A Merrie Melody released on January 17, 1933.

Give it a decade or two. I guarantee Two will be considered the new crowd.

I love reading. I love warmth. I love reading when it is warm. Summer is ideal, but if you have to make do in front of a fireplace, do so. The old man of the picture enjoys partaking in such lovely an activity, but it’s time for bed. That’s even better than reading! You can even do both at the same time if you dream about reading! You can’t actually read in a dream, but anything else is possible. Yay!

Of course, as a librarian, I can’t help but get angry when the old fart places his book upside down instead of using a proper bookmark like a civilized human being. Maybe if he had been reading “The Sound and the Fury” but it’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”! Show some respect prickapuss! That’s a good contender for best thing ever written! The only good thing about this affront to literature? It allows young Alice herself to climb out of her story for a bit. It’s always the same no matter who reads it, so can you blame her for wanting a little variety?

She’s not the only one needing a change of page. Er, pace. Robinson Crusoe and Friday do too. (They were portraying him black even back then? Except for his flashing ears, of course.) Historical characters join in the fun as well. In fact, you could call this Warner’s first foray into the “books to life” cartoons. I do love stories where book characters meet each other. It’s a type of crossover that is severely lacking. I blame legal reasons.

Our title song is sung by, who else, the three musketeers. Can you think of any other book trios available at the time? Harry, Ron, and Hermione don’t exist yet, but that would make for an interesting timeline. I guess they could’ve used the three Christmas ghosts Dickens conjured. Antony then directs our attention to emperor Nero on fiddle. As his book shows Rome in flames. That a joke I don’t get? Or did he just want to play a torch song?

Even Uncle Tom gets a chance to sing. (Not that one.) I’ve never read the book he came from, but I do think he’d get along with Alice. Who I think would get along great with Dorothy Gale. How come no one has made that kind of crossover yet? I can’t guarantee it would be a pleasant, worry-free time. Books are full of various nasties and creepos. That’s just part of compelling fiction. And it’s about that time for one such type or the other to enter the scene.

I’d choose Clyde Griffiths. But the fiend in this picture has to be someone willing to carry Alice off. I can’t see him doing such a thing. Let’s use Mr. Hyde. And make him look even more animalistic than most portrayals. Cartoons can do that, you know. I admit, I haven’t read this guy’s book either, so I don’t know if his plan is to eat the kid or worse. What I do know, and he’s about to find out, is Alice has a good number of friends on hand. Loyal friends who have been around the block for a few centuries-decades.

Who do you honestly think would win: Hyde or Tarzan? I choose the latter. He was quite the bass, and he’s making Hyde want to hide here, too. Everyone join in! Robinson and Friday fire ink from a pen cannon. (It’s mightier than a sword.) Robin Hood fires flaming matches. And the musketeers use a pencil sharpener to fire pen tips. All deadly weapons to someone born from wood pulp and octopus defenses.

Hide Hyde! (It had to be used twice.) He chooses a box to duck into and the rest lock him in. He’s essentially created his own coffin, and gets thrown into the trash along with his older brother, the first draft. (Now there’s another good idea! Feel free to use it, and give me all the credit.)

Favorite Part: Cleopatra was said to be quite the looker, and the little dance she does convinces me. Plus, if you’re doing the bare minimum for story, you might as well throw in some eye candy.

Personal Rating: 1. You already know there are better, later attempts at this kind of short. There’s nothing here to make it stand out in any better way.

 

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Little Dutch Plate

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

Supervision by Isadore Freleng; Animation by Paul Smith and Robert Clampett; Music by Norman Spencer. A Merrie Melody released on October 19, 1935.

I should really love this one. After all, my ancestry is Dutch. Except, I never really cared to learn about my culture, so I have no obligations to love anything other than the chocolates. And that’s because chocolate. Do you need another reason?

In a Dutch kitchen, the celebrity couple that everybody knows is the saltshaker and one of the plate illustrations. Two completely different art mediums, but they exist in a third one, so it could still work out. Without actual names, they had to settle for the first things I came up with. I like Salty and Illa. They’re a cute couple because the cartoon states it, but they also do a good job of completing one another. Without her, he’d feel empty inside; and without him, she’d feel flat.

This isn’t one of those “I long to feel my beloved’s hand but can’t, physically” situations. She can emerge from her plate anytime she wishes so they can dance and butt bump. That’s true love for a couple that are both ceramic. Although, I can’t help but wonder if there was a pepper shaker once. Salty may have loved her, but things didn’t work out. (Perhaps she was too spicy for him.) And Illa was the one to dry his Salty tears. Probably the only one who could. The plate drawings singing our title song don’t leave their plates. If they fancy a walk, they’ll have to settle for a roll.

Out of the garbage comes Billy Blech, the empty vinegar bottle. He isn’t going to let the humans who don’t exist on screen decide when he’s done living. But it didn’t make him bitter. He’s always been that way! (The jokes are too easy, and I wish life was as well.) Using a mousetrap to fling himself up to the counter, (That’s brilliant.) he witnesses Salty stick Illa into a mill-shaped clock. This works in his favor because he owns the mortgage on it. The humans are just figureheads in the kitchen kingdom.

So what do you think? Is the plate just Illa’s day job? She really seems to like this clock a whole lot more. Gets really upset when Blech tells her to pay or vacate. Unless she’d rather marry him of course. Ew, no. Confidentially, he stinks. There’s still a half-hour of time, so Salty offers to get the dough. Not surprisingly not making a pastry pun in a kitchen. We all know what would happen if it was to be literal.

Like all kitchens, this one has a piggy bank on its shelf. Maybe if I wish hard enough, it will be alive too. Whoops. I forgot that I only want easy things. It doesn’t move. It does have money inside, but though it may be a quarter (when compared to Salty’s height.) it’s still only worth one cent. Wait, how does Blech intend to carry all that he’s demanding? He’s only got a strong smell. (Ah, that’s the ease I want constantly.)

Salty (and his changing stomach label too) have a new idea to get the cash. Every member of this household has dentures because chocolate, and Pa’s addiction is so bad that even his false teeth have gold fillings. That’s what I’d call a million dollar smile, but the mortgage isn’t that high. We’ll just need the gold. Utilizing the bag of fireworks all Dutch kitchens have, Salty blasts out the goods.

Unfortunately, time’s up, but the figure carved into the clock hits the cuckoo into submission. He’s attracted to that other clock, so he sets the time back another half-hour. Wait, aren’t you two part of the same being? Is this arguing with your conscience, or trying to suppress an erection? Well anyway, Blech has decided he might as well abduct Illa and abscond with her into a third clock. Time is up! It’s also down and all around. Time for the ultimate choice: marriage, yes or no. Her answer hasn’t changed. Salty is the man for her and she’ll never abandon him.

Blech decides to just sawmill her with one of the gears. (Clever idea.) Her screams alert Salty to her whereabouts, so he rushes to the rescue. Good thing he has a bag of gold as a weapon. Blech never stood a chance. Salty rescues his lady just in time. Those were some very frightened screams, to boot. Kudos to voice acting! But there’s still Blech to deal with. (And his briefly disappearing label too.) Salty tried the lawful way; it didn’t work. Go to town!

He punches Blech’s head off. Try to remember he’s a bottle, but it’s still messed up enough to cycle back to hilarity. The body stumbles about for a replacement, and luckily for him, a different bottle has a head shaped top. And the body part doesn’t look like a human body, so it’s not just a decap’ recap. Even better, this new head is sexy. Salty, still salty, isn’t going to let that sway him. Here comes another punch.

Illa stops him. Turns out, she’s a bickle fitch, and opts for the visually pleasing guy as opposed to the one who can fight, went out of his way to help her, and isn’t considered garbage by the homeowners. And to further the misery, the cuckoo got tired of getting clocked, so he shoots his assailant. Moral of the story: salty people (and those who defend them) will never be happy.

Favorite Part: I may be reading this bit wrong, but the first time the cuckoo tries to call noon happened so fast, I thought it was just trolling. I choose to believe it.

Personal Rating: 1. Look, Illa can make her own decisions, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with them. Maybe if they had shown that Blech was also now a perfect gentleman and abhorred violence, and Salty didn’t give a crap, could I support this. Probably could have fit it in if they cut the dancing and the shortened the beginning establishing shots. I just can’t stand when romantic partners leave for shallow reasons.

 

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Screwball Football

“Rah. Rah. Rah.”

Supervision by Fred Avery; Story by Melvin Millar; Animation by Virgil Ross; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Merrie Melody released on December 16, 1939,

In my life I’ve considered there to be four major sports. There’s basketball, the only one I can watch and enjoy. Soccer, one I never had interest in, but never thought was worth hating. Baseball, which I don’t give a dang about. And American Football. The one I never could understand the appeal of, never bothered to learn how it was played, and do my best to pretend it doesn’t exist. Sounds like it would make for a great Avery gagfest.

Time for a game at the Chili Bowl. (I’ve bean there.) The crowds are literally colorful, literally roar, and are literally dogs. The weather is behaving, so infants can get away with wearing as little as possible. One in particular is constantly eyed by the older gentledog next to him. I will dub him Mr. Poe. First name, Kree. Luckily, what he’s really after is the pup’s ice cream. Constantly sneaking licks whenever the little guy’s head is turned. Still belongs on a watch list, because he’s probably giving the kid Parvo.

The game begins, and a lot of the gags are okay at best. Players dance effeminately; they are kicked in the end zone instead of the balls; said balls are the ones carried away on the stretchers. Gregory (who has a brother in prison) is a 12-year bench warmer who is finally getting a chance to play. He comes back in a full body cast. Constantly shattering expectations; that’s our Gregory!

Have time? ‘Cause it’s Half time! Music is played while the sides change. The players are given a chance to really grill the coaches on their lousy work. And now we can get to the best part of any sport, the final part. Players catch players and get rewarded with smooches. Touchdowns get interrupted for commercial breaks. (Gives the thighs a chance to phase off the plane of existence.) And the cheerleader’s head breaks up with the neck to do some bouncing. This is during the time when cheerleaders were guys. That’s not a joke. Wasn’t until WWII that women became synonymous with the activity.

The game can only end when the gun fires. When it does, the score can be tallied and winners decided. Ah, there we go. I was starting to worry we were going to reach feature length and get called Field Jam. Or since it’s FOOTball, would it be Toe Jam?

Favorite Part: That wasn’t a game official firing the shot. The baby was sick of having his dairy devoured, and put some lead in Kree’s head. You gotta respect the cream.

Personal Rating: 3. The puns are kinda lame, but there’s plenty of slapstick violence that I think make it pretty enjoyable. But if it’s extra enjoyable you want; with more dogs playing, I’ve got just the thing!

And now I must ask you to watch one more thing.

Come, friends. Join me in a squee. And fantasize who you want to cameo in this. Here’s my picks:

  • The Dodo
  • Ralph (Both Wolf and Phillips)
  • Bosko (I know that’s a pipe dream)
  • The Mynah Bird
  • Sniffles
  • Charlie
  • Snafu (Another long shot, I’m aware.)

 

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Pagan Moon

“Aloha!”

Animation by Rollin Hamilton and Norm Blackburn. A Merrie Melody released on January 31, 1932.

Welcome to paradise! That’s what I call this tropical area our short takes place in, because I have no idea if its based on any real world counterpart! The natives have tannish skin, but white voices. They dance, they sing. The lone female is either a child or a victim of an unplanned mastectomy. I hope for whichever one matches her age to the boy she hangs around with.

He can play a ukulele, which in my book means she can do better than him. Sorry for any offense, but I heard enough of that blasted instrument in high school for me to develop a rest of my lifelong hatred for it. He can also play his mouth. No, that’s not a pretentious term for singing. He puts his palm over his mouth hole and lifts it repeatedly. Kinda makes him sound like a kazoo. That means if he also plays bagpipes, he’s useless for musical purposes.

There’s a monkey and an ape in the trees. So, we can’t be in the Caribbean sea. Even if it’s currently night out, I think their skin would be darker if they were on some African island. That ape doesn’t look like an orangutan. I’m starting to think we’re just at a theme resort made by the clueless types. Wait! I recognize that variety of dancing tree! We were in Afrindiamerica the whole time! I’ve just never seen the colonized part. Anyone would make the same mistake.

Well, it’s time for the characters to receive their complimentary names. Mac and Damia should suffice. Now I can specifically say that Mac loses his ukulele in a crocodile mouth. My wish came true! And Mac isn’t in much danger as this species of Crocodylus is commonly known as the dockodile. Its head remains at the shore, and its body has to stay in water. It can’t just climb out and eat anything, so Mac is safe at half-a-foot away. And since nothing of value was lost, he can leave!

*Sigh* He gets his instrument back. Just needed a stick to keep the jaws from closing. This species of Crocodylus has a very weak bite force, so its… in a sticky situation! (You can’t tell, but I’m smiling now.) Mac leaves for his boat date with Damia. Night is the safest time to do that, as all dangerous animals are diurnal. Even better, I get my wish again when Mac drops the uke overboard. Either God is sending him a message, or I have a wishbone in my body. If power didn’t corrupt, I’d be wishing for a second stomach next.

Mac decides to dive down after it. Cartoon physics said it wouldn’t float, and they were spot-on. Just gotta be wary of the ichthyoids down here. One of which would have been seen earlier that month by theater goers! They must’ve been really proud of that animation! It actually would have been hilarious if they had found a way to stick it in every short released that year. Once at the bottom, Mac realizes this is the graveyard for musical instruments. And the odd caterpillar. Breathing is also not a problem in W.B. cartoons. You could have a rabbit down here and it would be logical!

The problem down here is an octopus. The scary underwater creature until people remembered sharks existed. Mac calms him down with a little piano playing. Looks like the kid isn’t musically incontinent after all! And this silly symphony attracts lots of frolicking fish. Ever an attention hog, the octopus has to take a turn at playing, himself. And he’s quite the talented pianist too! You’d think his arms have neurons in them or something! And everyone is supportive! Even Mac. That’s big, Mac.

Time to flee! A large fish arrives on the scene looking to sea food and eat it. Not necessarily in that order. He’s more flexible than the octopus. Mac doesn’t have a body that’s evolved to move through H2O as easily as he breathes it, so he makes his escape via bubble. Floating is faster than anything that requires effort. He escapes, but continues to float into the sky. It’s day now, which means he really kept Damia waiting while he screwed around in that octopuses’ garden.

A passing cormorant hates to burst his bubble, but I’m lying. Down Mac goes. Damia, the competent one in this relationship, mounts a rescue abroad a pelican. I know you’re upset, but it’s nothing to lose your arm over. This was a smart move, as the bill makes a perfect basket for a perfect catch. Damia joins him for a laugh, in the pelly, with thee. That’s a strong neck the bird has.

Favorite part: The underwater shot of the the couple’s boat. Looked good.

Personal Rating: 2

 

 

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Streamlined Greta Green

“Mama!”

Supervision by Isadore Freleng; Animation by Cal Dalton and Ken Harris; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Merrie Melody released on June 19, 1937.

Today’s short takes place in an odd world where automobiles are the dominant life-forms. Post “Maximum Overdrive” they’ve revealed their plans, but pre-“Cars” every meat based creature has been eradicated. It’s a nice middle ground where we’re still sharing the planet, but we humans know our place in this car-dominated society. And the segregation doesn’t stop there. Witness the hall where only Taxi cabs are allowed to dance.

Okay, I did my research and now know what the joke is. It’s just literal now. You know, this world is kind of weird! The cars aren’t limited to driving on all fours; sometimes they get up on two. Tires are rubber, so they can shape themselves to be feet and hands. But boy, does it look unnatural and painful. I’d hate to imagine what the copulating must look like. Of course, I’ll be wondering from now on, since our main character is the result of that. I don’t know enough about vehicles to give him a clever name, so I’ma call him “Royce”.

Royce longs to be a Taxi, because I guess that’s the cool job in car town. I figured the race cars would be the rock stars. And the ambulances make more. So, how do the garbage trucks sell themselves? While I puzzle that, Royce’s mom find him planning for his future. Most parents like to see that, or at least tell their kid to not worry yet. She reacts with anger. No son of hers is going to be a taxi. He will be a touring car, like his dad who doesn’t exist on screen.

Royce refuses and his mom drags him home by his… part of him that the tires go under. (I don’t care.) He’s not to be punished, it’s just time for school. Was he playing with her lipstick? Why are his lips, (or just mouth I guess,) so red? She fixes him some lunch for later: a can of oil maybe?, a jar of traffic jam, (heh) and a thermos of gasoline. (A slightly color-changing thermos.) It’s sweet. I really can’t help but love scenes of parents loving their children. Royce should be grateful to have her.

She puts the meal in his seat, (How is he supposed to get that out?) sends him off with a loving pat, and gives his daily reminders about staying away from traffic and railroad crossings. (Her right rear axle keeps disappearing.) I do love Royce’s pouty face. On his way, he comes to what many of us only come to figuratively in our lives: a crossroads. One way goes to school, the other, the city. He hardly hesitates before choosing the latter. It’s closer! Maybe if his mom left his gas where he could actually get it, he could make longer trips.

The city is louder and less friendly. Royce should be glad there are no cops around. He shouldn’t be on the sidewalk. (Why even still have those?) He waits for the light to turn red, then gets on the road himself. Cars don’t have as many complex emotions as we do, so when the light is green, those behind him drive as if he wasn’t there. Good thing he just slides over them. Seems traffic was as dangerous as mom said. He manages to take refuge in a marked safety zone and gets a brilliant idea: carry it with him to be invincible. Gravity is the only foe he can’t conquer with that, so he falls into an open man-, excuse me, I mean car hole. (Egotists.)

Royce decides to make a stop at a service station for a drink. The human slave manning the place has many delicious flavors on hand: rose, violet, ethel. (Shouldn’t that be ethANOl?) Royce selects the Hi-power stuff. Probably not the best drink for minors, but the slave is not allowed to talk back to his overlords, and just comments on how strong the stuff is. And how! He basically gave the kid steroids. Royce is so fast, he could win a Piston cup before they’re even invented!

This speed stuff is great! In fact, disobeying his mom is what got him full of it, so he might as well go against her other wish and screw around by the railroad tracks. (The trains don’t seem to be sentient yet. Do you really care why?) Driving alongside it, he darts ahead and just barely passes in front of it at the nearest crossing. That was fun! Again! Wow, twice as fun that time! Again! Ah, if only poor little Royce listened to his body. He’s burning through that fuel faster than he’s traveling and he runs out right on the tracks. No fake-out crash for him. The train mows him down.

Now we see why the cars continue to keep us around: our fingers make us excellent mechanics. Royce’s stricken mother can only wait outside while her baby possibly gets patched up, possibly gets rebuilt as her daughter. Not to worry though, the surgery was a success! Royce leaps with a sudden jump into her loving wheels. (Was a cel lost?) She’s happy he’s still running, but like any good parent, scolds him for disobeying her. Royce doesn’t want to hear it, and runs off to race the next train.

Even though he’s out of speed juice, he makes it through unscathed. (Just ignore his bandage disappearing and reappearing. I’ll notice it for you.) He taunts, unaware that he’s on more tracks. And he’s mowed down again. This time it really is a fake-out! Those mechanics have earned another week of life, seeing as how the train ends up looking like I expect Royce did earlier.

Favorite Part: Royce encounters a road hog when racing the train. It’s a literal pig. Only adds more confusion to what this world is, but I like swine.

Personal Rating: 2. The world is still weird! And isn’t even able to function without humans, so the immersion kind of shatters for me. Not to mention the cars uncanny appearance when they walk. I gave it an extra point for the imagination it did have, and the mom car. Royce doesn’t deserve her.

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A Fox in a Fix

“Ooh! You evil genius, you!”

Daffy dog and egg head.

Directed by Robert McKimson; Story by Tedd Pierce; Animation by Rod Scribner, Phil DeLara, Charles McKimson, Emery Hawkins, John Carey, and J.C. Melendez; Layouts by Cornett Wood; Backgrounds by Richard H. Thomas; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Merrie Melody released on January 20, 1951.

The lights on the farm are out, which makes it the perfect time for sneaking. A fox I’m calling Chum descends down with a sack. Either he’s prone to hyperventilation, or he comes to pillage poultry. It’s the latter, and it’s hard to blame him. Freshly snatched hens taste way better than the dead ones at your local grocery stores. They’re also susceptible to fainting spells, so there’s hardly any struggle. There’s also the old ‘chickens wearing bloomers under their feathers’ bit, but it’s barely on screen, so I barely laugh.

As he leaves, he gets caught by that bulldog who features in McKimson shorts, with a great bit of reaction animation. (Although the fog is a little distracting.) In his usual passive-aggressive tone, he talks to Chum. He understands that foxes like chickens, but seeing as how he’s the watchdog, it’d look bad if he didn’t do his job. Chum was just lucky he didn’t trespass on one of those places where he’d be slapped around. (As the dog thusly demonstrates.) All things considered, he gets off relatively unharmed, with just getting tossed off the premises. (Caniformia privilege means no penalties.)

Chum vows to get his dinner and comes up with a brilliant idea! Sharing a common ancestor means it will be easy to disguise himself as a Canis familiaris. Then, the watchdog won’t automatically evict him on site. Just got to shave some of the bushier bits, and WHAMMO! Instant foxhound! To really sell the illusion, he’ll have to prove he’s not nocturnal by entering during the dangerous daylight hours. Then, he’ll play up a sob story of being a hard-luck dog who is dying of starvation, thirst, and rabies.

It doesn’t work, but it does. That means that the watchdog knows exactly who it is because he operates on smell rather than sight. Whoops. However, he doesn’t let on, and invites Chum to stick around for a while. Even offers to share his food pellets. Being domesticated is worth it alone for the “meals”. The chickens seem to like him; being creatures that operate on sight rather than smell. Love the tension on Chum’s face as he tries his darnedest to fight his predatory urges.

Now one of the pack, Chum tries getting what he came for. The watchdog stops him with an offer: why not become a watchdog himself? He could get a real home, with a real purpose, and all the pellets he could eat! The watchdog even offers to train him. They’ll start with lesson one: watchdogs attack burglars. Teaching will be taught via role play. Chum will be the dog; dog, the burglar. Chum complies and learns lesson two in the process: burglars carry bits of lead pipe that they crush dog craniums with.

Lesson three is one anyone could do, even you: fetching a stick. A very important part of watchdoggery, to be sure. How else would you know to bring back whatever is left of a burglar after you’ve massacred them? Makes excellent fertilizer. Chum passes with flying colors, of course. His reward is to do it again! The best teachers are the ones who can disguise the fact they’re teaching you at all. Thus, the watchdog sends Chum after a lit dynamite stick to demonstrate lesson four: burglars will trick you if you don’t kill them fast enough.

Chum has survived his first day of training, so it’s time for well deserved rest. That watchdog must be very sure of his safety, if he’s willing to share his sleeping quarters. But then, maybe Chum can’t revenge murder on an empty stomach. With his nemesis bedding down for the night, Chum goes to the coop once more. He gets his prize, but the watchdog is always on duty and stops him again. Chum decides to literally pull the ‘somnambulist card’ which states that you DON’T wake a sleepwalker. He could be very embarrassed.

Chum exits the premises, and now I love the chicken’s “what’s the use in struggling/is this real” expression. Chum lets her go when he eyes a much meatier prize: one of those cassowary sized birds that isn’t even a cassowary. Boot camp WAS worth it! But lesson five is to not be greedy, and he failed that one. Non-silent chicken is dog! (Chum’s shadow disappears. I know that’s common at night, but I still felt it worth mentioning.) Knowing there’s no way out of this, Chum flees and hitches a ride before he has to hear any more lessons.

Turns out lesson six was really important. It’s to not hitch rides with strangers. Otherwise you might find yourself a fox in a furriers truck. They operate by smell too you know.

Favorite Part: Chum’s run when he has to play along with the lesson plan. It’s reluctant, disgusted, humiliated and really sells the image of a child who is being forced to play with a younger sibling.

Personal Rating: 3. High 3.

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There Auto be a Law

“The automobile is the American’s prized possession.”

Directed by Robert McKimson; Story by Tedd Pierce; Animation by Phil DeLara, Charles McKimson, Herman Cohen, and Rod Scribner; Layouts by Robert Givens; Backgrounds by Richard H. Thomas; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on June 6, 1953.

I don’t much care for cars. They pollute and are too difficult for me to control. I’d learn, but the rest of the world would need to slow down and have a little patience. It’d be much easier to eat my way out of a bowhead whale. In one sitting, yet. But yeah, cars is our focus today. Not the Pixar series that everyone hates too much. (No seriously, “2” is a pretty good film.) Car gags, car jokes, and a car toon. Now that I’ve made the most obvious and trite one, we can see what the professionals have come up with.

We begin with a brief history of the motorized land vehicle. They were originally invented to be a horse that didn’t eat plant-based food. The name ‘Horseless cariage’ seemed a good fit, so they were named thusly. You could whip them just like a horse, so it wasn’t a difficult adjustment. But some cars were more stubborn, and would require four hands to get it moving. (Shoving.) Speaking of, the animation gets really jerky. What happened, Bob? Should I blame Herman?

As is the way of the human, they would get bored with current designs and constantly feel a need to update what was well enough left alone. Okay, so the windshield was an improvement. And the heater. The cup holders too. Everything else was extraneous. The suckers never stopped being expensive, but everyone and their dead relatives wanted one and couldn’t be denied. This led to the invention of something totally unexpected, the traffic jam. Sometimes it’s because of a wreck, sometimes it’s just a manner of too many drivers. This time: it’s a woman reapplying her make-up. (Hey! We know you!)

To try and keep things moving smoothly and quickly, highways were invented. Basic ones with little imagination, to full on clover-leafs. Those are expansive enough to get lost in, and such is the fate of an unlucky driver I’m gonna call Preston. He pulls over at the convenient hamburger stand for directions. If he keeps to the right, he should get out okay. Awfully decent of that man. I’d have said directions only come free with a purchase of a combo meal.

Sometimes roads would need to be built across bodies of water, and tolls would be charged to cross. It’s half price today, because the bridge is half built. You know, I might have called this my favorite part in the narration didn’t explain the punchline. We can see the joke. I’d be willing to let it get as far as saying “Oh, that’s why!” But please, respect my intelligence, and acknowledge my existence. (You really need two people to believe anything before there’s a possibility of it being true.)

Intersections can be scary. Especially the one’s located in Wile E.’s desert. You get in a wreck here, you lose your car and become more closely acquainted with the elements than is comfortable. Our driver stops carefully, looks both ways, then proceeds at an appropriate speed level. One of those people who think they are above fair rules drives right through him. The elements get their prize this time. But the real problem here is: Did Preston get off the loop safely?

He has not. He asks the burger man again and he’s still happy to help. Though, he says to go a different direction and keep left this time. Something wrong here! Maybe it’s as simple as getting kicks from sending people the wrong way, maybe it’s a devious punishment for not buying a delicious burger. Those cows died for you, you know. You really want to tell their calves that mommy died for no reason? No, veal isn’t an option.

We have cars that are good enough for a daily drive about town, but if its speed you need, you’d do better to look into a hot rod. These cars get rid of the all the junk that was just slowing them down, and allows you to attempt a new speed record. 130 mph isn’t too bad, but better can be done. That horseless carriage that goes by whip power humbles you good! It was fast enough to go through time, so you don’t have a chance. Just an overbite.

Parking spaces are where cars go to nap when you have no need of them for the moment. Some people make a decent living placing your vehicle in them while you spend your time entering buildings, getting on subways, and switching cars to avoid the cops. It takes finesse and skill. And not letting the customer notice you can scrunch their car width-wise to make sure it would fit. But there’s some decent folks in the world too. Those who will actually let you siphon gas. Don’t swallow it. It gives you carpox.

Preston pulls over one more time to see if the third time is the charm. Finally, the burger man admits the truth: he never knew how to get off this loop and has been stuck here for a decade. That’s why he built this stand; to fend off starvation. You’ll notice he doesn’t advertise his burgers as  being made of beef. It’s a good thing Preston was the second person who got stuck here today. At least now he’ll have someone to talk to. With no other option, Preston opens a topping stand. When that time traveler’s whip arm wears out, they’ll be just what he needs.

Favorite Part: A man taking careful measurements to be absolutely certain his car will fit into a garage. (Owned by Ken Harris, no less.) This could go several ways: it still doesn’t fit, he puts two cars in, he crashes, or he could really throw a loop and drive away. The right answer: he drives through two trees that weren’t growing far apart enough to pass through.

Personal Rating: 3. I’d like to give it a four, as its one of the stronger gag shorts, but I feel like that’s being a bit too generous. Just pretend I use decimal points and call it a 3.5.

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Freddie the Freshman

“Hi-ho everybody, hi-ho!”

Animation by Isadore Freleng and Paul Smith. A Merrie Melody released on February 20, 1932.

Who’s the freshest kid in town? Don’t be so sure you know if you’ve already read the title and watched the cartoon. Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s Freddie the Freshman, that’s who! Unless you’re a fish, I don’t think that’s something to be proud of. But maybe they just mean his dance moves? Or his breath? How about his car? I want a car that can piece itself back together when it breaks into pieces. I can see it now! (Because my eyes are open.)

So, now we know who Freddie is, but where is he going? To a party of course! That’s where all the fresh men go. They’ve got music, and dancing, ladies and guys; I really can’t remember the last black and white cartoon that showed an actual bull. And I think the lady dog is Gigi before she met Goopy. Freddie pulls up, has a stroke, (No really. Was that intentional?) and his car finally puts itself out of its misery. I’m sure as a spoiled yuppie, Freddie already has a new one in the mail. (Or maybe not. But he looks yuppie-esh.)

The party can really get going now, since everybody knows Freddie and loves Freddie and secretly wishes they were Freddie regardless of who they are now. Gotcha! Hugh Heifer doesn’t think much of him. Because there’s always got to be one person who is insecure about themselves and is envious of the people they aren’t. But that doesn’t matter because Freddie has Mickey clone #53, the most blatant one yet, on his side. (Why do all these mice like hanging out in cuspidors?)

Freddie has all the confidence that they will win the game tomorrow. Hugh disagrees. What do you think? Is it just because he’s on the opposing team? Or cuz he also wants Freddie to fail at something? (Should he even be allowed at this party?) DAY OF THE GAME! Everybody is here! If they’re not here, then they’re nobody. Simple logic, really. And we get an early version of the “cat eating” gag (sadly not a “cat-eating” gag,) from “Goopy Geer.” They really trimmed it down by then, as it originally had a 4th cat who licks his lips. On the better side, at least there’s no chewing with the mouth open. That’s always gross, no matter how little of the color spectrum is used.

The name of the game is American football. There’s the kickoff, and Freddie’s teammate, Porgie the Porkman catches it in his belly. If he looks uncomfortable, it’s only because he has unwittingly committed cannibalism. Freddie kicks the ball back out and makes a play that Bosko will steal someday. This game is more exciting though, as the players have to navigate ponds on the field. Freddie paddles along, but the duck opponent has an advantage and gets the ball past the goal.

Now, because you’ve been bad, you get two jokes that aged poorly right in a row. If the big-beaked parrots being jewish doesn’t offend you, how about the over-the-top gay cock? Wow. Freddie, forget the game’s score, your picture just lost a point itself. Take it up with the rule book. It clearly states that as time goes on, any joke that makes fun of groups of people will be considered mean and wrong. I didn’t write that rule. I kinda miss the days when a man in drag was considered a joke and nothing more. And fat shaming. Fat shaming was fun. (You’ve read the blog rules right? “Don’t take me seriously.”?

When Freddie gets the ball again, he’s got the entire opposing team chasing him. I think. The shot shows them running towards him head on, but they don’t meet up. Freddie has a brilliant idea though. A fresh one! He rolls a fence into a loop, and hamster-wheels his way through the opposition. Hugh tries to stop grab him while Freddie traverses the underwear on the clothesline part of the field, but the title song is getting another go. Freddie’s win was inevitable after that.

Favorite Part: Blowing raspberries is gross, childish, and just too raunchy for sensitive folks. Having Hugh say “Raspberries.” is funny if I get to say so myself. I do? Thanks!

Personal Rating: 2. I told ya it dropped a point. Sucks, but the rules are iron-clad.

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Bone, Sweet bone

“Where’s my dinosaur vertebrae?”

Good old Shep.

Directed by Arthur Davis; Animation by Don Williams, Emery Hawkins, Basil Davidovich, and J.C. Melendez; Story by William Scott and Lloyd Turner; Layouts by Don Smith; Backgrounds by Philip DeGuard; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc. A Merrie Melody released on May 22, 1948.

The local museum has some great fossil exhibits on display. Just now, one of the employees is putting together the latest specimen: a carnivorous sauropod. Man, there are so many secrets that the past continues to yield. What could be next? Jurassic cattle? Triassic chiropterans? Cambrian cetaceans? We’ll never know everything. Join me in being sad. Misery loves company, they say.

The scientist looks to be part of the Fudd family tree. But he sounds like a perpetually whiny Bugs. I kinda want to kick him. Okay, you got me. I really want to kick him. Of course, maybe he’d sound a little less brow-beaten if his bones weren’t constantly snatched away. Shep, a little dog, is the culprit. I don’t know if this is “Take your animal to work day.” (My favorite non-existent day.) or if the guy is even Shep’s dad. But you’re a man of science, you should know better than to let a dog have access to meat bones. I was lying when I called them fossils because it attracts patrons.

The man find his last piece missing, and Shep admits to the theft. He leads back to his burying place, but its already been dug up by a bulldog who’s on his way. The scientist demands Shep get it back because… he hates Shep? I don’t see why you can’t make an attempt, aside from the plot demanding you stay out of this. And if Shep doesn’t comply? The man plans on putting HIS bones on display. That’s gruesome! You better not be his dad, or I’m taking him away from you.

Shep likes his bones where they are, thank you, and sets out on the quest. Once he’s gone, the professor finds the missing bone in his pocket. Huh. Would’ve figured that would be the final punchline. Crisis averted, he tries to call Shep back, but ultimately decides exercise is good for dogs and doesn’t bother. So… the tension’s gone right? Why should I care if Shep gets the other bone back? And why did he say he took it? Did he just think he did? Why would the man have a spare bone on him? Do you always bring one to work?

Shep sneaks into the bulldog’s yard as quiet as a louse. Too bad he can’t change the color of more than his nose, or he could be as loud as he wants AND invisible. Utilizing cotton and lullabies, he keeps bullsy from waking and takes the bone back. He’s caught before he can make his escape and is kicked like an American football out of the yard. He next tries digging under the ground, grabbing the bone that way. Again, the bulldog catches on. He swipes the bone back, then baseball bats Shep out again.

The only altitude left is the one at telephone line-level. Shep sneaks over and opts to Mary Poppins his way down via umbrella. Operating by Toon logic, that is, whatever is funniest, it operates by real world logic and he drops like a stone.  (Mary Pop-rocks.) Be the ball, Shep. You haven’t tried basketball yet. Only two more and you can be the O.G. Airbud. Nah, he’s got more self-respect than that. He’s going to try the “brains” method.

He makes a large bone out of plaster, and stuffs it with T.N.T. Then, he walks in front of his adversary with what looks like an awesome prize. Amazingly, the other dog is willing to trade. (Or he is just trying to keep Shep from realizing he switched the two, but I like my answers more than correct ones.) The explosion doesn’t hinder him much, and he rockets after the thief. Shep hastily nails some boards over the gap in the fence, but the bulldog knows all the tricks of his yard. Like how the fence is basically just one big door anybody can easily open.

Shep flees back into the yard and retries the strategy on the other side. The bulldog is surprised he didn’t learn this old trick, as he’s clearly a new dog. He runs after, not noticing Shep also built a brick wall. Bricks and mortar are always more powerful than gunpowder. Always. I said al-ways, understand? Shep even puts a lily in the bigger dog’s paws to prove he died. Shep finally brings the bone back to the museum. The scientist finally reveals the truth: Shep got boned. The poor dog learns to speak, just so he can tell us that yeah, he’s a smidgen upset about the whole thing.

Favorite Part: The bulldog inexplicably having corresponding outfits to the sporty ways he evicts the intruder. Dogs are always cute when dressed up. Always. (Etc.)

Personal Rating: 2. No, really, guys. Why reveal the twist so early? Instead of hoping Shep will atone for a mistake, we just end up feeling bad that he’s getting beat up. I mean, yeah, he got back a bone that I guess was rightfully is, but if that bulldog ever comes back to life, he’s coming for Shep’s head. If he doesn’t, Shep still has canine blood on his paws.

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Saddle Silly

“Where the heck am I?”

Supervision by Charles M. Jones; Animation by Phil DeLara. A Merrie Melody released on November 8, 1941.

The Pony Express. A profession that was no doubt, exciting and boring; miserable and fulfilling. And probably very uncomfortable. Remember the last time you rode a horse? Now imagine that for over 24 hours. But until we get telephones invented, it must be done. Because it’s ‘take your audience to work’ day, we’re going to follow one of these riders to see what it’s really like out there in the real world.

I feel like calling our rider ‘Rider-man’. Because he does whatever a rider can and probably more, but ‘Rider+man’ makes it sound like there are two of him. He’s got stuff to deliver, but let’s not kid about who’s really doing all the work here. Good old horses. Where would humanity be without them? And who would take their spot on the Lunar calendar? My money is on either the phoenix or the giant panda.

Expecting one horse/pony to cross the entire continent is ludicrous and cruel. Time to trade off at the nearest station. The stallion chosen looks familiar. I wonder if he has family in the army/racetrack? The equines pass the parcel+rider and with fresh speed, Rider-Man rides again! Up ahead, a hitchhiker tries to bum a ride. Seeing as how there isn’t any seats available, they run past with the wind in their wake. (And like three dogs because there’s an adoption center across the street.)

With the two focused on the man they wouldn’t help, they fail to notice they are running off a ledge into the Colorado River. I’m resisting a “sea horse” pun because its fresh water. They attempt walking out, but walk off another ledge into deeper water. I don’t get why we’re holding on a shot of the bubbles. Or why they suddenly get bigger and pop into ‘splash’ sound affects. If I ask for an explanation, would my readers be so kind as to leave comments? What if I brought up my depression?

Rider-Man ends up being the one to drag his horse out of the water. You can lead him away but… it’ll make him drink? (No wonder you guys don’t want to waste your time with feedback.) They pass little Hitchy again, but this time the horse has learned to keep his eyes on the trail. He notices the upcoming cliff, and stops short. Too short. The momentum flings Rider-Man from the saddle. But don’t worry! Once he sees he’s riding nothing through practically the same, he turns back. It’s just one of those occupational hazards that comes with the job.

After passing the little man again, (He’s a running gag even though he’s standing still. Wocka wocka!) The team enters “Indian” territory. But there’s only one person living there. Moe Hican, in his salad days before striking oil, chases after them. I wouldn’t be too worried about him. He looks like a Sioux version of Pvt. Snafu. (Snaf-sioux?) There’s a warpath under construction up ahead, so Rider-man has to turn and fight. But his horse has no desire to be a meat shield. Love his smug “you can’t make me” smile. But R.M. can, and knocks him out.

Took too long. Moe is on the other side of the meat shield. Rider-Man has to flee on foot. Horses never stay down for long, and he joins his partner in fleeing into the nearby fort. Safe at last! Even better, this is also where they were supposed to be delivering to. But the only thing in the parcel is the hitchhiker. He’s thankful for the lift, but just had to ditch the mail with Moe. This bag ain’t big enough for the two of ’em!

Favorite Part: I’m always impressed that the writers can think of new disclaimer gags. This one is thanking the Pony Express riders, who had no hand in helping make the cartoon. That’s some scrumptious sarcasm.

Personal Rating: 2