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Run, run, Sweet Road Runner

HOLD IT


“I taut I taw a *mbeep-mbeep*!”

Directed by Rudy Larriva; Animation by Hank Smith and Tom McDonald; Layouts by Erni Nordli; Backgrounds by Tony Rizzo; Film Editor: Lee Gunther; Musical Direction by Bill Lava. A Merrie Melody released on August 21, 1965.

Ugh. That title.

Wile E. may be a famished predator, but he’s not above playing with his food. I don’t know who drew a hopscotch board on the road, but it was nice of them to give the future roadkill a pleasant distraction before fate claims them. I must admit, I never was one for this game. You hop. What fun. If I’m forced into physical activity, you gotta distract me from the effort. The Road Runner hops the course no problem. And that was even with suspiciously conspicuous fog on the screen. The road missing?

Yes, but the course ends right before that part. Still brittle though, and Wile E.’s weight breaks it off. Down he goes. Another one of these days. He decides to set a trap, since chasing worked so well. It’s a mess of spikes he has to sharpen, but when dropped, he should have a tasty mess to lick up. (I mean, he’s still an animal, right?) He hoists it into place, (wow, those sound effects aren’t annoying at all.) and sets out the bird seed, and enticing signs. I do wonder why he hasn’t tried using shade as a selling point more often. Not drinking doesn’t mean you’re immune to the sun.

The problem with this scheme? Wile E. just waited too d*mn long! Didn’t even attempt to cut the rope! I’d be more mean, but I don’t want him to ban me from his movie. (Eight months to go!) He goes to rebait the trap and it comes down in a pretty smart way: the suns rays get focused through his binoculars and burns the rope. The way the bird interacts with his pursuer in these non-Chuck pictures, I figured he’d cut it himself. Next.

The phony hen ploy! Proven to work on at least one out of two species in the desert! This time, it will be a decoy. Just gotta paint some eyes on… a little dab of black for the pupils… don’t worry, the whites will just appear as you work. Whites have always been known to be *snrk* considerate to bl- I can’t say it and probably shouldn’t. She’s planted and Wile E. waits with an axe. The roadrunner just steals a kiss as he passes by. He knows he belongs to one of those bird species where the male has to do just as much rearing as his mate. Oh, why couldn’t he be more like the other cuckoos?

No point in wasting a good hen. Wile E. sets up again, this time while he’s dressed in Native American garb. (They revered you as a trickster and you repay them by depicting them the way Hollywood did? That’s showbiz for ya.) His aim this time is to do a rain dance. This will generate lightning, she will work as a lightning rod, and the Road Runner will be cooked internally. Just pluck’n and tuck in. As for why that bird would actually stop this time? It’s a well known fact that female types become significantly more attractive when wet. Probably could have just dolled her up in a damp t-shirt.

It’s working! The storm is brewing, the bird is in place, and the coyote can practically taste the side dishes. His mistake? Opening an umbrella. Now he’s got the tallest metal structure around, and the lightning zaps him. Waaaah, Wile E. C. hates this! (Just thanking Mr. Taranto for his latest book. I thoroughly enjoyed it.)

Favorite Part: Wile E. wagging his eyebrows at the camera. The limited animation made it funny.

Personal Rating: 2. I’m being generous. There were a few good faces in here to bump up a weak score. The main problem is the gag length. Chuck made his gags quick and punchy, so the cartoon could hold twice as many here. And stretching them out didn’t make them any funnier.

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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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Daffy Doodles

“I hate that d-d-duck.”

Directed by Robert McKimson; Story by Warren Foster; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on April 16, 1946.

The first for Robert! And you know what? He deserves it. He’d been there since the beginning and would stick to the end. With that said, I do have to admit he’s my least favorite of the “big” directors. He just didn’t have many pictures that really wowed me the way the others’ did.

There’s a demon on the loose in the city. Their words, not mine. The narrator isn’t even sure what they look like. It could be me, but it isn’t. It could be you, but you’re better than that. What little information we do have is what the fiend is up to: putting mustaches on all the ads. I’d say that’s minor at best, and pretty childish. But it is graffiti. Funny graffiti that would probably make the populace notice your sign more, but I’m not the law.

The title was on to something! Daffy is indeed the one doing this. We’ve all got our purposes in life. Mine is to make people glad they’re not me, yours is to tell me I’m more than that, and Daffy’s is to paint. It’s niche, but it’s what he’s good at. You wouldn’t ask Dali to paint a still life of ham and swiss and not expect him to make each hole on the cheese a mouth and the meat covered in snails that have crab shells, would you?

The city’s finest better be called in to deal with this. And that means a guy who is a pig literally and figuratively. Porky fits. (And I’m sorry if you find me calling a cop a pig rude. You must not know how I feel about pigs.) His plan is to hold a picture frame around his face, and not move. No blinking, breathing, swallowing or twitching. At least he’s mastered not sweating. Daffy isn’t so easily fooled, being a master of his profession and all. He just leaves a box in front of Porky with the typical “Do not open until Xmas”. But that’s this week, and Porky won’t be around then, so it’s logical to look now.

Daffy was in the box and gives Porky a ‘stache. And it looks amazing! Rugged, manly, sexy, tough… these are all fine words, but I chose ‘amazing’. Porky gives chase, but Daffy is able to lose him by playing porter and getting Porky into a subway car. Now that he’s gotten a taste for painting flesh, Daffy holds out his brush to give every passenger a lip tickler. Daring choice giving an infant the Hitler look. Poor Chaplin. You will never be anybody’s first guess unless they’re trying to misdirect others.

The downside to Daffy’s hobby is that he’s easy to track. Just follow the latest line of mustaches. They’re on the pictures of the stars at the theater. (The one on Bugs is a nice touch. And a hint of their relationship in the future.) Daffy then sees the largest billboard ever. Don’t point me to a bigger one and ruin my amazement. This will be great. Bigger is better! And better art is a masterpiece! Daffy sets to work, but Porky spots him up there and gets in position. As Daffy swings about painting, Porky pastes him on the head with his club. That’s more success than Wile E. ever had!

Daffy threatens to jump off if Porky comes nearer. Porky comes nearer and Daffy jumps. When Porky peeks over, Daffy, on the ledge just below, paints him again. It really suits you, man! Either grow a real one or pay the artist for his service already! The chase resumes along the building. Nice camera work! Daffy is even willing grab a hold of his pursuer when he loses his balance. Of course, that’s so he can turn the tables and chase Porky on a motorcycle. It’s great exercise!

The chase leads back on to the roof and the two fall through a skylight. In the rubble, Porky lends new meaning to the term “handlebar mustache”. Daffy makes his escape via the mail tube, and Porky goes looking for him at the corresponding mailbox. Being Daffy, he comes back to berate the officer for looking through the mail and slaps some cuffs on him. Now right where Porky wants him, he gets another bonk on the head and is taken to court.

Daffy pleads to the judge. He’s made some mistakes in his life, but isn’t the guilt punishment enough? He’s willing to make a fresh start if the law will just give him the chance. It’s all up to the jury. Said jury is a hive mind of Jerry Colonas. Maybe they’re convinced, maybe they’re just trying to indoctrinate more vessels to feed his majesty, the Jerry-rig. Whatever the reason, Daffy is grateful and vows to never paint another mustache. He’s got to keep up with the times, and fashion says beards are in!

Wait a minute! It didn’t say anything about fourth walls! HHEEAALLPP!

Favorite Part: Daffy pleading with the judge and remarking that he too might be a maniac someday. If I’m ever on trial, I’m going to try that.

Personal Rating: 3. Welcome aboard, the U.S.S. McKimson! We’ll be having plenty of chicken and visits to Australia!

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A Squeak in the Deep

“Well whaddya know? A yah-chit race.”

Always wanted to do a sea epic.

Directed by Robert McKimson; Story by Sid Marcus; Animation by Bob Matz, Manny Perez, Norm McCabe, George Grandpre, Ted Bonnicksen, and Warren Batchelder; Layouts by Dick Ung; Backgrounds by Tom O’Loughlin; Film Editor: Eugene Marks; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc; Musical Direction by Walter Greene. A Looney Tune released on July 19, 1966.

That’s ‘yacht race’ for those of you who don’t speak Daffy. A race TO Hawaii. Liability waivers are included, right? You really think every entrant can sail that good? Not to mention the provisions needed… It sounds like a bad idea to me. And really, there’s no need for me to enter. I’ve been to Hawaii before. Well, the state, not the island. It still scratched any tropical itch I might have had. I’ll sit this one out. Not like I’d have any use for 6,000 pesos anyway.

I’m not talented at math, but I also get the feeling that getting a watercraft, and those previously mentioned provisions would cost more than the prize. But Daffy plays for the love of the greed. Speedy also plans to enter, but he’s got a more practical reason: money buys cheese, and a goodly amount of money buys a greatly amount of cheese. You’d think Daffy wouldn’t take Speedy seriously, but he knows by now the mouse is crafty. He shoves him into a can and kicks him away, saying he won’t be competing. Speedy’s competing, then?

Race Day! And are there any rules? I mean, that entrant is using a motor whereas the most of the rest are using sails. And don’t you need sails to be a yacht? Yacht’a know, right? Daffy’s craft is humble. That’s not me being too polite. No, calling Speedy’s ride humble is too polite. It’s a bathtub! How’d he even get that here? How does he get his nose to change color like that? The contest begins and Daffy actually manages to get a good lead. And he’s one of the sail users! Toon wind is powerful stuff!

It’s not long before Speedy outpaces the duck, so Daffy pulls his plug, making a sub out of the tub. Because there are plenty of carp-enters under the sea, Speedy returns in a paddle boat. (It’s a cartoon, are you really going to point out carp are freshwater? When that’s my job?) He runs along the paddles to make it go, which is really smart with his speed. And the little flag is adorable! The only thing it lacks is an anchor, but Daffy allows him to borrow his. It’s not on the proper scale, so it works too well.

Speedy next utilizes our pollution to aid him. One of the myriad of helium balloons that end up in our oceans carries him back to Daffy’s craft. We really do use too much plastic, though. Don’t buy a 3D printer. He tells Daffy that they should team-up. If they do, then they can split the prize! Daffy has no need for that, his head cel is already split from his torso background! Wow. I really mean that. You can interpret it further if you wish. Speedy hides from Daffy in a pipe, and sprays Daffy off the boat when he peeks in.

When Daffy’s had enough, he chases Speedy with a baseball bat. Speedy keeps taking it away and bashing him from different portholes. (They’re still called that on the starboard side, right?) Daffy tries entering one of the holes to get him, but gets himself stuck. Speedy paddles him good before stating his deal once more. Daffy refuses, so Speedy bats butt again. Daffy gives in, but he’s not budging on the 50-50 part. Speedy can have a smaller share and like it! Speedy still holds all the cards though, and Daffy is soon agreeing to his terms.

Partners help partners, so Speedy gets Daffy out of the hole, and Daffy can use his flippered feet to propel them along. I like their odds. That shark is great for motivation!

Favorite Part: When Daffy is thrown into the water, a curious fish needs to be shooed off. The second time this happens, he gets rid of it with a face that is so ridiculous and childish that it evolves into genuinely funny.

Personal Rating: 2.

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Calling Dr. Porky

“This’ll fix you up.”

Porky knows the bear facts.

Supervision by I. Freleng; Animation by Herman Cohen; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on September 21, 1940.

In the past, Porky had terrible luck with hospitals. Whether he need medical attention or not, he’d wind up with some looney trying to saw open his stomach without anesthesia. His choices were either never see a doctor again, or get his own M.D. and show them how it’s done. I think you know what he went with.

New Rightus hospital is a great place! And I’m not just saying that because I break my leg constantly to stay in the same building my beloved buddy works. I’m saying it because they capitalize on space by sticking patients in file cabinets. If all you’re going to do here is lay around, you don’t get to complain about lodgings. Shut up and heal.

Our latest patient looks like a waste of canine space, but he’s got a real condition: a disappearing collar! And a hangover. This doesn’t really sound like our jurisdiction, but Dr. Porky never turns anyone anyway when they are in need. And he can fit many patients in a single day because he cures people the same way Mario does: pills. I don’t know what the ‘Pink pills’ do, but boy are they tasty! He’ll see the drunkard, now named Dru, and the nurse sends him to the proper room.

He is not alone. As one should expect in cartoons, being pixilatedly plastered presents a person with a petite, pink, proboscidean, poltergeist posse. And yeah, they’re unnerving me. Maybe its because they’re ghostly transparent, or because they’re stalking somebody. Dru isn’t happy to have them around, but he can’t escape them, so he might as well let them tag along. Of course, once he gets the doctor’s attention, he devolves into a terrified, blubbering mess.

Porky has seen this all before, so he knows exactly how to remedy the situation. All Dru has to do is sit down and wait. Then, guess who shows up. Right. It’s Pinky, Pinkey and Pinkquay. They’re sporting medical hats now because they’ve outgrown their cute innocent baby phase. Now, they’ve come to torment. As if doctors aren’t already scary enough. They belay instructions for Dru to follow, and he does because, what other choice does he have? Angering them could cause them to evolve into their final form. You don’t want to see that.

Their poking, prodding, pestering and pulverizing has led them to the only viable solution to save Dru’s life: operation. Not the annoying board game, the real kind with saws and organs. It’s in their best interest too, because they only exist as long as Dru is alive. (There’s an idea for a short film: a drunken hallucination trying to make the short time they’re alive awesome.) Once he’s in the operating chair, they can get down to brass tacks.

First: question time. Treating him like he’s on trial, they ask everything; not caring if they get any answer. We don’t find out where Dru lives, or his marital status or even his name. I was really looking forward to finding out who he voted for too. You know, I think the little gremlins are messing him for their own amusement. Any sympathies fall on deaf ears and are returned with mockery and laughter. They sound like rumors mixed with Tress Macneille. Combined with their diabolically, evil faces… yeah, they’re unnerving me. I’d be screaming for Porky along with Dru, too.

Lucky timing. The cure is ready! And if you had any doubts, they should dissipate along with those fuchsia freaks. Dru is back to how he was meant to be: sober, confident, well groomed. (Are you allowed to call someone that anymore?) He leaves the hospital ready to face the world. And the world spits in his eye. There’s a circus parade outside, and guess who is at the end of the parade of elephants. They had to go somewhere! Dru runs back to the comforts of New Rightus, vowing to never again step foot outside into the cruel, cold, uncaring world.

He hops in bed, only for those pinker stinkers to throw him out. They’re just not his problem anymore.

Favorite Part: You gotta love how even Dru’s stupor stooges wince at his brew breath.

Personal Rating: 2. I applaud for making those drunken terrors look more non-corporeal, but being in grayscale makes them blend into the backgrounds more often than not. It almost makes he want to recommend the ugly recoloring version, and I feel like I should cut out my tongue and eat it for saying so. Porky barely features as well.

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Buddy of the Legion

“Don’t never do that!”

Supervision by Ben Hardaway; Musical Score, Bernard Brown; Animation by Bob Clampett and Charles Jones. A Looney Tune released on April 4, 1935.

Ye Olde Book Shoppe is hiring. For a boy, specifically. Anyone care to fill us in on what that entails? Obviously, its for males, but are they supposed to be minors so they can pay them less? While I puzzled, Buddy decided to accept the offer and apply. The owner has him go through the application process: removing his hat. I don’t see any lice, and his biceps are almost visible. He’s hired! He can start with some light dusting.

Buddy utilizes his power to rub a feather duster over the sitting parts of lady statues and cat anuses. Buddy belongs on a list. He also likes torturing small animals, as he takes a fish out of its bowl to give it the same treatment. Buddy belongs in hell. His boss is stepping out. Lunch I guess. Maybe brunch. Maybe she’s leaving right as brunch is almost up, so she can order that, then stay for the lunch menu. Women eat. I actually find it attractive when they’re not worried about their weight. But this isn’t about me.

Buddys next task is to put some of the books away. Why were they left out at all? Did the boss get them out of a box, then decide she was too important to place them on a shelf? Was it those rambunctious teens who’s idea of a good time is to take books off shelves, but NOT read them? Are they just books she set aside to give Buddy something to do that isn’t perverted and cruel? Trying to get them all in one handful sends them flying out of his grasp. I feel this pain. Try the vertical stack. You can’t see your destination, but the books are more stable.

Cue insect. I see stripes and a proboscis, so I’ve narrowed it down to bee, fly or bee fly. Eh, narrow it down further to the last too, as Buddy isn’t afraid of potential venom injection. Swatting at the innocent creature makes him lose his grip and the books are on the floor once more. One opens to a picture of a foreign legionnaire, and Buddy is interested. Forgoing his duties, he reads on further of exotic African lands full of sexy ladies and Amazons. Wait… Were they an actual threat out there?

Imagination make existence better! Buddy sees himself as leader of the troops and marches them through the sands. I’ve never been to Africa, but I’m guessing marching in its deserts aren’t nearly as fun as cartoons make them out to be. Unless you find solifuges. But I’m still wondering about dangerous Amazons. What are the odds of them being- There’s an outpost of them right over there, isn’t there? They’re big and brawny, and not too attractive. To me, at least. That doesn’t mean they don’t have fans.

Their prisoners are not among those fans. They have men captured and are forcing them to do the most demeaning, dehumanizing, demented, task imaginable: laundry. A toast to my mother who always did that without losing her sanity. She was my favorite superhero until I discovered the Powerpuff Girls. If the book hadn’t given Buddy reason to imagine this setting, I’d be thinking he had major hangups with his boss that he’s known for less than a moment. (90 seconds.)

These ladies spend most of their time smoking. It’s all they’ve got when the solifuges aren’t around. Their outfits alter on their bodies, and their hookahs change color, so they can comfortably be considered ‘bad guys’. I don’t make the rules, I just create them. Apart from coloring their lungs, they keep lookouts for more victims. They lose so many due to extreme thirst making them take a gulp of lye water. But what are the odds- There’s a fresh batch within telescope distance, isn’t there?

The leader knows how to get the males to her lair. She has what a lot of straight men consider attractive on her side: a curvaceous woman without girth and zero language. And in the desert, lust always beats the hookah juice out of love. To keep this beauty fresh and ageless, she is preserved as a mummy when not in use. I don’t get it. Were we supposed to think she was going to sic an actual mummy on them? I was too busy looking at the guy in blackface. How come he doesn’t have to wash? (And if you say it’s because she doesn’t want her whites mixed with colors, I swear…)

The trap flies out via magic carpet, (Buddy, your imagination is getting cultures confused.) and she starts her stuff. Her dancing is entrancing, and she’s probably giving off pheromones as well. The Hayes code won’t be able to tell what we’re suggesting if we have the soldiers’ necks extend. One by one, Buddy’s troops fall out of rank, and follow the beauty. Buddy was immune, because he’s just a boy and thinks girls have crabs.

When the flies enter the spider’s parlor, they are punched to put them in their place. Although Buddy seems to appear mere milliseconds later, he finds them all at work, washing as if they’ve been at it for days. Buddy makes use of his small stature to trick his pursuers into too small holes, and to hide under things that are at the perfect height to smack the Amazon’s in the face. And all this time, I was wondering why you weren’t imagining yourself taller. Then the sneak attack gets him, and he is lightly shaken.

Because in reality, his boss has returned and isn’t pleased to find him reading the wares. You’d think he’d get a smidge of leeway on his first day, but no. Not at all. He is kicked from the premises but couldn’t give less of a crap. There are plenty more places to get fired from, and he’s not going to find them sitting on the sidewalk.

Favorite Part: I didn’t mention that Buddy’s brigade also has a camel. It’s also punched in the lady lair, but has enough to stamina to throw some punches in retaliation. Before just laying down with a ‘Why am I even trying?’ expression.

Personal Rating: 1. Why isn’t Buddy just part of the legion? I guess it makes it a bit different from other pictures in this location, but that gets you so far and not farther. Add in some sexism, offensively gay undertones, and a bland character and you have something that doesn’t age well. (Good thing the leader doesn’t use those as preservatives.)

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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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Porky the Giant Killer

“Everything s-seems to happen to me.”

If father wants another, there’s a place I know…

Supervision by Ben Hardaway and Cal Dalton; Story by Melvin Millar; Animation by Gil Turner; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on November 18, 1940.

It seems like a parade is passing through town, but Porky is ever the inquisitive type, so he won’t that possibility to chance. He joins the march to ask where they’re going and learns that this is a giant killing party. They’d normally send a tailor, but Porky’s name is in the title. He’s never killed a giant before, but he aims to ruin that perfect record. He’s coming along too, and I admit to feeling safer now. I’ll get a good night’s sleep knowing Porky is always looking out for me. He’s like God, but without all that “mysterious ways” bull.

But seriously, why do we want to kill the giant? Is he a bully? Or has he crushed somebody? Intentionally or not, that’s rather serious. Could it be that his mass is throwing the planet off its orbit and we’re doomed regardless but we’ll die happy knowing we made him bleed internally? No, his crime is even more despicable. He’s castle crashing. It’s never stated, but I’m kind of a smarty. The castle is not built with his scale in mind. This is no mistake on the background artists part; it was purposefully done. The giant has to sleep on various pieces of furniture. You don’t do that by choice.

Don’t be too mean, though. He may be a bad guy because our mob says so, but somebody loved him once. He’s a single parent, and a loving one too. Now me, I’m the type of oddity who thinks scorplings are adorable. With that said, his baby is ugly. But I’m not saying it to the kid’s face, so the figurative s.o.b. is nicer than the literal one. And come on now, any real parent doesn’t need the approval of guys they don’t know or like even like. If the parent thinks they have a cute kid, let them believe it.

The baby has just been put down for a nap and father tries to follow suit, but mobs aren’t designed for silence. Papa can tell there’s someone on the premises. He doesn’t sound too angry. Just a little annoyed that people are trespassing on property he called dibs on. Reminding us that mobs are cowards and wimps, everyone flees at his voice. Porky is stuck behind because they locked the door. Actually, how did the giant get in here? Crawling? You know, I think waiting for him to starve is a pretty sweet solution. Less effort is always awesome. That’s what the world’s been teaching most days.

Trapped with a monster in an enclosed space. Porky is like Theseus, but better. Pigs are always better. Even when a layering mix-up happens and Porky’s right leg appears to be superimposed on a pillar? Even then. Looking for a hiding place, Porky ends up in the baby’s cradle. Curious little creature, ain’t he? Instead of crying over being disturbed, he tries to grab Porky who switched to hiding underneath the cradle. Then he bites the kid’s hand. Gross, but awesome. Show him who’s boss!

It may have hurt, but sucking on the finger cures all. And exposes the baby to any diseases Porky might have been carrying. But that’s a long-term solution to this problem, so Porky has to babysit in the meanwhile. He plays games, gives bottles, and reminds the child that if he wasn’t an infant, Porky wouldn’t be showing mercy. Biting doesn’t count. All kids should get bitten by something before they turn five. Helps them realize that the world doesn’t care, life hurts, and I promised I wouldn’t talk like this again, didn’t I?

Now, do any longtime readers know what the worst aspect of children is? Do any longtime readers exist? Answers: 1. They are loud and not in a pleasant way. 2. If there are, they’re very shy. The kid will not shut up. Porky is able to calm him down by playing the baby’s piano and singing him the English alphabet. It’s a pretty catchy song disguised as a lesson. Why hasn’t anybody invented one for the numerical digits? Answer: 1. Because nobody really likes math. Anyone who says they do, are really just enjoying the fact they were able to conquer it.

As any good parent would, papa was attracted by his son’s cries. He’s pleased to see Porky entertaining his child and tries to get him to come talk. He doesn’t actually use words, and Porky is still afraid of him, so a chase through the castle begins. Porky ducks out a window, but the giant’s arms pull the same trick, leaving him stuck between the two. They make a grab, but Porky slips through the grasp and lands in the moat below. Too bad the panic is making him forget he’s a swim champion. Shore is just right there!

The giant appears and drinks the moat. With Porky high and dry – except he’s not really either, – the giant captures him. His plan? For Porky to sing him and his son to sleep. The downside is that he isn’t allowed to leave. Should’ve just talked when you had the chance, pal. You might have gotten paid. See you at visiting hours.

Favorite Part: Porky throwing a ball in the child’s face. I’m allowed to laugh because it happens after Porky tells the baby he won’t hurt him, and I’m pretty sure he was just trying to instigate a game of catch. That’s our loophole, your honor.

Personal Rating: 3. Some might argue it should be a two, but they don’t count.

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Porky’s Cafe

“I’m eh s-sorry, we have no d-demitasse, sir.”

Supervision by Charles M. Jones; Animation by Rudolph Larriva; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on February 21, 1942. (Chuck’s final black ‘n white.)

Porky’s cafe? I’d eat there! You would too since I’d march you in at knife-point if you refused. (I don’t have a gun.) Seriously though, folks, this place is the best. The meals they serve are made from real ingredients that do what real ingredients do if you don’t eat them: rot. I’m sure the prices are reasonable, and the owner himself plays waiter so he can see his patron’s happy smiles. And he doesn’t even have Daffy on hand to potentially screw things up. No, the chef is played by Conrad of all characters.

Conrad makes such sumptuous pancakes. Fast, too. The secret is to work to a beat. Conrad would kick donkey at Rhythm Heaven. The downside to his quick style is that the ‘cakes don’t always land back on the griddle. They’re on his hat. He figures this, but in trying to grab them, only manages to get the hat. Guess he’ll have to make more. Fast, too, as they’ve got a customer. I’ve seen some reasonable facsimile of this guy before. He shouts for attention, but the animation doesn’t suggest that. Genuine funny, or humorous mistake?

He orders up some alphabet soup. I’ve never had that, but as long as it contains zero bananas, I’ll try it. Porky has the broth, but the alphabet will be provided right at the table. Just stick a pancake into a typewriter and hammer out some letters. Warning: consonant eating may result in vowel movements. It’s an odd cut to the patron though; looks like a scene was missing. As soon as he can blow the steam away, he can get to guzzling. Yet, the steam seems hesitant to leave. Almost as if it will die when separated from the bowl.

Conrad’s adding the sugar to his pancake batter, unaware that there’s an ant inside. It’s fun to believe this is the same ant Porky met in Africa, but wrong. And if I’m wrong once, why would you ever trust me to be right anymore? The insect tries her best to not get scooped, but fails and into the batter she goes. The patron now orders a sandwich with every available filling. Since he doesn’t like savoring the exquisite tastes that ballroom dance on your tongue here, he squishes it down, plate and all, and dines à la snakes. It springs back in shape in the stomach. See? Chewing is your friend!

And onto the griddle the ant goes. She hops about in pain while Conrad stares horrified at this unnatural creation. Leg of lamb? Fine dining. Turkey leg? Best part of Thanksgiving. Bacon and legs? Bad pun. Pancake legs? Ew. He grabs for it, and his palm kisses the griddle. Ow. And now the bottomless pit wants t-bone steak, a poached egg, and coffee. Not wanting to make more difficulties for his hardworking staff, Porky scoots off to prepare this meal himself.

Wanna know a secret? Porky doesn’t serve actual t-bones. They are delicious, but the bones of those always end up having scraps of meat stuck to them that you can’t get off without gnawing and being labeled as some type of ravenous shrewman. And if you aren’t eating every bite of the animal that died for your digestion, you’re disrespecting. Porky has a solution! Getting out a ‘T’ stencil, he cuts a delectable slice of rib-eye. (Better than getting a P-stake, right?) ‘T’ is for “Too bad the grill is too hot.” The cow muscle is charred into a teeny, charred, ‘t’. No charge.

He uses machinery to get the egg cooked. A Rube Goldberg style of contraption that sounds like a suffocating babirusa. (I love making you look up new animals.) The coffee is simple: just pour it out of the pot. It’s fresh, full-bodied, and has been percolating since they opened this morning. As the customer find out firsthand, this will make all your bodily fluids bubble along. Now, where the Tartarus are my pancakes? I can’t just have plain honey for breakfast. I’m not Winnie the Pooh. (But I often wish I was.)

Conrad is still trying to contain the horror he unleashed upon the culinary world. Ants already don’t have the best eyesight to begin with, so I don’t struggle to believe she can still manage to avoid capture while in the belly of the yeast. (I know pancakes don’t normally use that, but the pun couldn’t be ignored.) He swings his spatula wildly, and the ant chooses to escape. Conrad notices and chases after. The ant’s legs have gotten longer and stronger hauling the dough around, so she has quite the advantage.

The patron is still eating, and Porky brings out the dessert: a breath-taking, literally heart-stopping, four layer wedding cake; black-forest with cream cheese filling, decadent ganache, and more calories than there are people in China. I was saving it for my wedding, but I’ve finally come to accept that such an event will not occur, and was willing to pawn it off on the first schmoe who was willing to eat it all in one sitting. The cat and the ant bump into the pig, and everything comes together at the patron’s table.

Porky is at the bottom, an apple stuffed in his mouth; the patron comes next, still bubbling; Conrad’s above him, angry, and with pancakes still on his head, (Cat hairs? Double ew); and the ant ended up on top, happily taking the place of the groom. To be fair, my 5,063rd dream come true is put my arm around a woman of marzipan. How come the ants Porky encounters live the life I want to have? Envy of an insect is pathetic.

Favorite Part: You really cold blink and miss it. The moment before Conrad starts wildly swinging his spatula, look at his face.

Frustration at its finest.

Rating: 3.

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It’s Nice to have a Mouse around the House

“Justh let resth a moment, mother.”

Directed by Friz Freleng; Co-Director: Hawley Pratt; Story by John Dunn; Animation by Don Williams, Bob Matz, and Norm McCabe; Layouts by Dick Ung; Backgrounds by Tom O’Loughlin; Film Editor: Lee Gunther; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc and George Pearson; Musical Direction by Bill Lava. A Looney Tune released on January 16, 1965.

I don’t like that title. Too clunky. As opposed to ‘klunky’, which is something in the style of klunks. (A ‘klunk’ is someone or something that does something klunky.)

Speedy is the titular mouse and it feels odd to see him in a modern ’60’s American house. I’m so used to him dwelling in Mexico or a pizzeria. Sylvester gives chase like any cat would, but Speedy leads the chase onto the backyard pool’s diving board, and underneath. Sylvester can’t copycat that, giving Speedy the opportunity to sneak behind and “Yee-ha!” him into the pool. Granny, (marking the only time she encountered Speedy) decides that an exterminator will have to take things over from here.

Jet Age pest control sends over their best duck. Second, actually. The first best was delicious. Thus starting off the Daffy/Speedy match-ups. He’s a bit surprised to hear Granny is having problems with mouse, rather than mice, but she tells him to take a look at her cat and decide what the rodent is capable of. Sylvester is having a nervous breakdown, so Granny is going to take him out of the picture and to the vet. Neatly removing him from the series. (Barring three exceptions.)

Daffy uses a stethoscope to determine the beast’s location. Speedy shouts through it, and Daffy is sent through the ceiling. Found him, then? (A ceiling chunk disappears.) Time to lure the prey out via “Approach B”. Was “A” just reaching in with your hand and banking on the fact you could crush his skeleton? This approach is pretty straightforward: cheese. But Daffy goes the extra mile by setting up a candlelight dinner complete with hue altering chair. Speedy arrives, and Daffy nets him.

Sylvester left too soon! They could have compared notes! He could have told Daffy this method doesn’t work. Let’s approach ‘C’, shall we? Plan ‘C’, that is. (Why is this one a plan?) Glue traps work wonders. And there’s nothing sadistic about making an animal slowly starve to death. It’s adorable to see their strength fail, right? (If you’re reading this dad, I’m still upset about the spider traps you used to place in my room.) Before Daffy can get another cheese lure, Speedy “Yee-ha’s” him onto the ceiling. But not before Daffy can make the right side of his bill that looks like a cheek turn black.

Daffy returns to his manual, reading silently so we’ll never know if ‘D’ if an approach, plan, attack, or order. But the animators get to reuse some animation and cut another cost: poor Mel. The scheme is using vacuum power to slurp up Speedy. Daffy riding it, of all things. (I wish I could do that.) The mouse gets to reuse some of his animation as well, and Daffy rides into the pool. The suction takes all the water, which is more than the bag can handle. It explodes, and Daffy crashes into the now empty pool.

Time for a new tactic! This is the surefire one! A machine that will dispose of whatever you want. You just insert a photo of your target. The one Daffy has changes slightly based on how far the camera is. Going from Honeymouser to Mickey clone. Speedy is rightfully fearful, but he has an ace on him. It turns out Granny has a subscription to Daffy Duck Comics and the machine doesn’t need to eject a current photo to pursue a new target. Daffy is chased throughout town, while Speedy title drops. Do you think his line, or the title was written first?

Favorite Part: During this era, you really have to expect gags to be simpler. It makes a charming miracle when Daffy doesn’t just end up hanging from the ceiling, but falls onto the glue below, gets “Yee-ha’d” back to the ceiling, before he and the chunk he’s stuck to fall down again.

Personal Rating: 2. Who else would have feasibly fit the exterminator role? Elmer? Porky? I guess Daffy was the right choice. (Yes, I know Freleng’s studio was limited on which characters they were allowed to use.)