Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?
Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?, a popular animated cartoon which depicted the adventures of a group of four mismatched teenagers named Fred, Daphne, Velma, Shaggy and their enormous, high-strung, food-obsessed, anthropomorphic Great Dane named Scooby-Doo. The premise of the thing was that the gang would inevitably ride into some sleepy village where supernatural doings were taking place that vexed the local authorities. The mystery could only be solved by our group of heroes confronting it head-on by spending the night in a graveyard or haunted castle, during which everyone (especially Shaggy and the bi-polar Scooby-Doo) would freak out in terror until one of the girls realized it was all just a lame plot by a shady groundskeeper or a deceptively-pleasant second cousin of the Lord of the Manor to defraud the estate out of a large sum of money. When then scofflaws are led away in chains at the end, they always rue "I would have gotten away with it too, if not for those meddlesome kids!" a statement which seems unlikely due to the inherent transparency of their scam which was always solved in 22 minute episodes edited neatly around commercials for Cap'n Crunch and Barbie's Dream House.
I created an homage to the Scooby-Doo gang as my Facebook cover page this week, depicting myself as Shaggy, Enemies List favorite Mara Marini as Daphne, Amy Ball as Velma, the evil genius Lars Fargo as Fred, Bro Joe & Jeebus Burbano as a couple of scary ghosts, and my beloved pug Winston in the role of Scooby-Doo. I must admit that Winston's casting didn't work since the placement of his little pug face atop Scooby's enormous Great Dane body gave him the appearance of a canine pinhead. There is also no denying that Winston possesses a mellow demeanor whereas Scooby is always so stressed out that he is constantly being soothed with a dubious foodstuff known only as "Scooby Snacks." They have such an immediate effect in calming him down that I'm convinced their active ingredient is grown by Shaggy in a communal farm placed remotely in the mountains and if the police at the time (the cartoon being produced in the 1970s) had looked in the van and had them analyzed by the boys in the lab, it's the kids who would have been led away in chains at the end of the episode. Scooby would have just had to dry out in an animal shelter, but he would be plagued by DTs for the rest of his life. He was, after all, always haunted by ghosts.
Bro Joe, who proposed that I join him and a group of his cannabis-addicted cronies for a visit to Knott's Scary Farm. For those of you outside the Los Angeles area, this is what the Knott's Berry Farm amusement park rechristens itself in October to cash in on Halloween by constructing kwanset huts covered in cobwebs on its grounds in order to have teenagers in rubber monster masks pop out of dark corners to frighten guests who have paid fifty bucks a pop for the privilege. Negotiations broke down when I insisted that I could only go on a Saturday night since I am the only person Joe knows who holds down a regular job and therefore will be missed if I fail to appear in regular society for intervals of less than a month at a stretch. Joe responded to my conditions by mocking me to "quit being Wilford Brimley," comparing me to the surly old actor best known for commercials about treatment for his diabetes. Joe's ploy worked and I agreed to extend my availability to Sunday, but I intend to fix his wagon by coming in a Wilford Brimley costume. That way I can bitch about the crowds and admonish Joe's friends that they're wasting their lives with impunity since I can claim to only be in character. The only drag will be when I have to take my diabetes medication but I'm banking on the hope that Joe's stoner pals will be able to hook me up with something better than insulin to inject when I'm being chased across Knott's Scary Farm by a kid wearing a Frankenstein mask.
Jonny Award winner Jesse Merlin, who guilted me into contributing to a Kickstarter campaign to complete a short film he starred in titled Sex Boss. For those of you unfamiliar with Kickstarter, it's a website where would-be artistes try to collect money to fund whatever movie, record album or performance art piece that they've conceived this week with the expectation that their long-suffering acquaintances will shell out the funds. Kickstarter campaigns must have collected 100% of their proposed money goal to withdraw the cash from the poor saps who make pledges with more than half of the projects coming up short, and since Mr. Merlin hit me up with only a few days left on the campaign clock I figured that I could look like a good guy by offering to contribute without actually having to open my dusty purse strings. Alas, the Sex Boss crew produced a video canvassing backers which featured Mr. Merlin wielding a riding crop, which apparently so scared the hell out of everybody watching it that they promised to kick in all the funds being requested and more; which meant that the precious shekels I pledged were sucked out of my meager bank account and into the Sex Boss coffers. You get no indication of how the money will be used on the project so I have no idea what my contribution is paying for. I only hope that it's for a new riding crop. The one he was holding in the video looked kind of used.
Donaco Smyth, who I have long suspected of being an extraterrestrial and who fanned the fires of my concerns by posting this disturbing photo on his Facebook wall with the caption "In the gift shop... inside my spaceship. Run with that, Jon Mullich." I can assure Mr. Smyth that as far as he is concerned, the only running that I intend to do is in the opposite direction but I was happy to at least see some physical evidence supporting my theory that he comes from another planet. I did find it odd that an alien who traveled all the way from another solar system would feel the need to include a gift shop in his spacecraft but these expeditions have to be funded somehow and I guess word of Kickstarter hasn't yet reached his corner of the galaxy. Of course, with the current government shutdown requiring everyone at NASA to go on an unpaid furlough, a gift shop in space may become a necessity to fund our own galactic expeditions. I only hope that the aliens we get to work the counter look a trifle less disturbing than Mr. Smyth or we'll have a hard time getting any customers. Run with that.
Enemies List favorite Mara Marini, who mused on her Facebook wall "That awkward moment when you lock eyes with someone...& you genuinely can't tell if you know them from real life or from TV." Since I don't run with the mass media crowd the way Ms. Marini does, my issue isn't running into people I see on TV as much as it is running into people from my sexual fantasies. You see, I socialize with approximately half a dozen people in my day-to-day activities. But I have sex with thousands of them in my mind. So when I run into someone that I recognize (typically a woman, but these days I can't afford to be so picky), I am momentarily disoriented because I can't be sure if I'm acquainted with them or if they've simply been cast in one of the dozens of grotesque erotic daydreams that play out in my head on a daily basis. So if you encounter me in the street and I seem to know you even though we've never met before, it simply means that I once caught a passing glance at you and based a kinky scenario around it in which I envisioned doing things so disgusting that I can't even mention them here. Many is the time I've approached a woman to thank her for a revoltingly sick evening only to be informed that she wasn't present when it happened. The upside is that when she finds out about some of the kinky stuff I'm into, she realizes just how lucky she was not to have been there.