Prime Time
Remember cartoons? With real heroes? A real hero could sustain being crushed by a boulder, impaled on a tree trunk, fast-fried by a flame thrower, run over by a train, and that all-time cartoon buzz, goosed by a little dynamite. Whereupon he’d emerge in the next frame unscathed except for a bandaid affixed to his tail (all cartoon heroes have tails) and smiling.
Prime Time
Goose 'em With A Flame Thrower
by Maxene Fabe
Remember cartoons? With real heroes? A real hero could sustain being crushed by a boulder, impaled on a tree trunk, fast-fried by a flame thrower, run over by a train, and that all-time cartoon buzz, goosed by a little dynamite. Whereupon he’d emerge in the next frame unscathed except for a bandaid affixed to his tail (all cartoon heroes have tails) and smiling. Oh yeah, and also his eyes’d spin round and round in a truly enviable trippy way.
Now I ask you. Is getting off on that year after year, Saturday morning after Saturday morning, harmful Friends, there are forces afoot, brigades of violent and hostile mothers and psychologists, the same forces who destroyed lovable horror comics in the fifties, who say “yes!” And they’ve pounded TV cartoons into a pulp, sapped their lifeblood, and left them educational, positive, and no longer a complete waste of time.
Have you watched cartoons on Saturday morning lately? Why they’re so frustratingly goody-goody and wholesome they just make you want to throw up your Cocoa-Puffs pr blow up the teevee with your Mattel bazooka.