BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…the opportunity.

I’ll tell you right up front, this is going to be one of those short, vapid blog entries with no substance whatsoever. Some of you may even find it sexist. Well, you should know me better than that by now. Just sayin’. (Edit, I thought it was going to be vapid when I started out, but maybe now, not so much.)

Anyway, after an hour or so of “entertaining the troops” on Facebook, a comment was made that sparked an idea. Of course, I mentioned that I had an idea and I needed to run off for a bit and implement it. What did that get me?

Oh ye of little faith. Pthhhbbbbt!

So, the idea that came about was this. Cartoon characters. I suppose it all stared with me mentioning that since Pebbles is a redhead she could most likely kick Bam-Bam’s ass. This lead to comments from others, and then a dribble from my brainpan.

So, here’s my flash of not-so-brilliance. Many folks I talk to have these “lists”. You know what I’m talking about. The list of celebrities your spouse said it would be okay for you to sleep with if presented with the opportunity. The reason your spouse agrees, of course, is the fact that it just ain’t gonna happen. This is the literal definition of a “safe bet.”

Anyway, the comments got me to thinking. How about cartoon characters you could sleep with if presented with the opportunity?

Therefore, here’s my list, in no particular order.

Jessica Rabbit.

I mean…

Well…

Ummm…

Just look at her!

I know, I know. She’s just drawn that way. But, that’s the point. She’s a cartoon. She’s drawn in such a way as to… well… stir the imagination so to speak.

I really suspect that I am not alone in this. If I was there wouldn’t be so many pictures of her out there on the Internet.

After all, we’re talking about a pretty dated movie here.

And, what of Roger? Aww, hell, I don’t know. He’s a rabbit, and he never really seemed to be all that with it to begin with. Besides, if we can have “Toon Lists,” how do we know the toons don’t have lists as well? And, after all, I am a famous author ya’know… (I figure if I keep saying it, eventually someone will believe it. Maybe even me.)

At any rate, even though I said no particular order, I think ol Jess here would have to be right there at the top of the list.

Now don’t start in on me about robbing the cradle and stuff with this next one. I’m not talking ORIGINAL Pebbles. I’m talking 70’s era, grown up Pebbles.

And, when you get right down to it, Pebbles Flintsone is WAY older than me, so if any cradle robbing is being done, she’s the culprit.

But, let’s face it. When they did the Pebbles and Bam-Bam cartoon, where the two of them had grown up, they drew her pretty good.

While kids watching the cartoon probably didn’t notice much of anything, trust me, the dad’s did.

On that note, I have long held the theory that they put semi-alluring characters into cartoons for the purpose of getting the parents – in particular the dads – to sit down with the kids for a bit.

Let’s face it, Daphne was the hot one.

Now this is not to say Velma didn’t have her own allure. I happen to harbor a fondness for women in glasses, and I kinda liked that pageboy do she sported as well. The baggy sweater, well, not so much, but it did leave some things up to the imagination. And, since we are talking toons here, imagination is pretty much the driving force.

My only turnoff with Velma was actually the fact that she kept running around yelling, “Jinkeez!” Honestly, that sounded like some kind of STD to me.

Seriously.

“Hey, Shaggy, the doctor just called with my test results, and I tested positive for Jinkees. You and Scooby better go get yourselves checked.”

But, we’re here to talk about Daphne, not Velma and bizarre, cartoon STDs.

Self-assured, downright stylish, and a redhead. Yeah, I know, I’ve got myself a pattern going here.

Either way, Daphne could get right into the thick of things, play the damsel in distress, and help solve the mystery. All the while she looked damn good doing it, and kept Fred on a short leash. That had to tell you something about her right there.

So, for all her detractors out there, Daph had a lot more depth than you realize.

And I’m willing to explore it.

I actually have a few more, but I think I’ll save them for Toon Dates Part II or something…

More to come…

Murv

This classic holiday entry originally ran in 2006…

“Twas the Night Before Christmas, 21^st Century Edition”

Copyright © 2006, M. R. Sellars

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.

Her wet stockings were hung in the bathroom with care,

My razor was dull and full of her leg hair.

My wife was nestled all snug in our bed,

While visions of shoe sales danced in her head.

When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my keyboard to empty my bladder.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But some fat S.O.B. drinking my last beer.

His eyes were unfocused, and his cheeks were a-flush,

I could tell at a glance that Santa was a lush.

His knees how they wobbled as he finished with a slurp,

Then he got up from his chair and let out a burp!

“Hi there, young fella,” he said with a *hic*

“Best get outta my way, I think I’m gonna be sick!”

He rushed to the bathroom and I heard my wife scream,

Seems she was in there and didn’t think this too keen.

What was next to occur was kind of a shock,

I found her pummeling Santa with our new alarm clock!

“Hey honey, chill out!” I said with a start.

“Surely you don’t wanna kill the old fart!”

“Look lady,” Santa cried as he lurched and careened,

“I only got airsick ’cause I forgot my Dramamine!”

“So you’re NOT just some drunk?” I asked as he scratched his crotch.

“Of course not,” he replied, “But I WILL take a Scotch!”

“And to show there’re no hard feelings,” he chortled with glee,

“Tell me what is it you’d like to find under your tree.”

I took a sharp breath, and held it inside,

Santa you fool, you’d better run and hide.

You’ve asked the wrong question, instead of the right,

And now you’re gonna be here the rest of the night.

My wife’s eyes sparkled, teeth showing as she grinned,

And the next thing I knew she had the guy pinned!

Catalogs flew, and flyers they fluttered,

Creating immediately a large pile of clutter.

Santa couldn’t move and his eyes filled with fright,

Seeing her chance my redhead squealed with delight!

“Some diamonds and pearls, from this place and that!

Some pumps and some boots, and maybe a hat!”

She ran down her list in a voice filled with glee,

All I could think was “I’m glad it’s not me!”

Santa wriggled and squirmed as she sat on his chest,

Then he shouted and hollered, “Hey, give it a rest!”

But my wife wasn’t finished, that much I knew,

For she held that elf down and started anew.

“Sapphires and rubies, and rings of white gold,

I don’t even care if they’re new or they’re old!

A black leather jacket and a skirt that goes with it,

Matching gloves and a gift card that spends without limit!

A full length fur coat, synthetic of course,

Hey! Are you taking this down? Don’t make me use force!”

The old guy kept kicking, and somehow broke free,

How he managed to do so was way beyond me.

But my redhead was behind him as he sprang for the door,

While she screamed, “No, don’t leave now, for I want so much more!”

Santa ran through my yard as though he were scared,

And I can’t say I blamed him, for I doubted I’d be spared.

He hollered, as he raced, his words not too thrilling,

In fact I must say they were in all senses chilling.

With what he said, I had no choice but to agree,

For she was all wound up and he was leaving her with me.

Now here’s the last thing I heard, as he fled from this strife,

“I’d stay for that scotch, but I’m afraid of your wife!”

And now, a bit of explanation about this poem…

I feel compelled to give you all the history behind my version of “Twas the Night Before Xmas”…And, no, it isn’t because EK has me in a choke hold, or that she is standing over me with a flogger…

Anyhow, the posted version of “TwasXmas” is one that is slightly tweaked, with a couple of extra verses added. The “original” psycho-redheaded-material girl filk of this timeless poem was written by me back in December, 1995. Yes, pre Rowan Gant (but not by much, as I began writing the short stories upon which the RGI series are based in 1996.)

Some of you may be aware that I had a long career as a Senior Level Electronics Technician, and in July of ’95 I was stolen away from the service center I managed by a company that had landed a lucrative contract with none other than Western Union. They needed someone capable of doing component level repair on old Concord Payment Terminals. Now, while I had never even seen one of these blue beasts before going to work for this company, I was part of a dying breed of technician–meaning, not only could I work on computers, but I actually knew how to use an Oscilloscope, Logic Probe, Solder/Desolder Station, as well as being able to read schematics. This meant that I could take one of these little beggars apart, track down the offending components (logic IC’s, resistors, capacitors, crystals, what have you) and replace them. They offered me A BUNCH of money to come work for them, as well as some especially tidy bonuses if I could meet a particular quota of repairs. At the risk of blowing my own horn, I actually did 2.5 times the quota each year–so the bonuses were very nice.

So, there is the setup. I left a management position to become a bench tech for another company. While that seems a step down, the dollars made it quite a step up.

However, something I discovered after joining this company is that during the annual Xmas Party, the newest member of the staff was required to Sing, Dance, or in some fashion briefly entertain the rest of the staff. Having been hired on in July, I hoped that I would be spared by a more recent hire but alas, that was not to be. When the holiday party rolled around, I was still the newest kid on the block, and 2 minutes of silly entertainment was expected of me.

Since I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, even if I have help, (just ask the Barstool Prophets…I sat in with them during a party held in my honor at Violet Flame Gifts in Ohio and croaked through a song or two…in my defense I was rather inebriated, but I digress…) As I was saying, since my ear is apparently composed of a tin-aluminum alloy, I asked if it would be okay for me to recite a poem instead. (Yeah, I can’t dance either…think Elaine from Seinfeld)…They were all for that and so it was set. However, you know me. I couldn’t see my way clear to recite something serious, and “TwasXmas” was born.

I actually have the two fading yellow sheets of legal pad paper upon which the original version was written here on my desk. I dug them out of my files so that I could transcribe the bit of rhyme here, and of course, decided to tweak it a bit in the process…(One of those silly writer things)

But, this isn’t where the story ends…(Yeah, here comes the part about E K)…The poem was written all in fun. The absolute truth of the matter is that E K is one of the most practical individuals on the face of the earth. Were the scenario in the poem real, she would be more likely to offer the fat SOB a Scotch, then sit down and calmly talk to him about her list which would contain such items as warm socks, an electric blanket, or maybe some new towels for the linen closet. I kid you not.

Yes, “Virginia”, the only thing material about my redhead is the fact that I spoil her with material things whenever I can afford it. Oh, she’s still Evil, don’t misunderstand. She’s just not a material kind of Evil…

So, there you have it.

Have a very Merrie Axemas…

More to come…

Murv