Thursday, November 15, 2007

Today's Spotlight on Addiction: The Scooby Doo Cartoon Problem

by Goldmind
Addiction. Is it a problem? Yes. For many, that addiction is narcotics; for others, gambling, sex, and Robitussin. Fortunately, assistance is available. Charitable organizations, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, continue to help struggling addicts tussle with inner demons through such radical techniques as the use of support groups.

There is, however, a debilitating addiction being swept under the green shag carpet. An addiction that has become so menacing, so terrifyingly alarming, it warrants two minutes of thoughtless reflection.

The following is an anonymous transcript secretly scribed at an underground meeting of an organization that is courageously opposing this addiction known throughout the televised world simply as…the cartoon “Scooby Doo.”

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Hi, my name is John.

[collective reply from folks in room]:
“Hi John!”

This is my first time here…And, I, you know, I came to talk about…what it was like… My Scooby Doo problem.

I started watching Scooby Doo around 10 years ago. It was the good Scooby Doo…you know, the one that began with the bats flying out of the old mansion. Those damned bats! ... “Squeak squeak squeak squeak!” I can still hear the feint echo of their fleshy wings today…fluttering…fluttering.... I loved them. And each day, I would come home and sit down on my couch, eat cocoa puffs…and watch. Sometimes I’d sing along if it was a season two rerun. You remember the songs: “Seven days a week now! ….Seven days a week!” Its seductive beauty called to me like animated Sirens.

Unfortunately, I listened to that Siren song. I…I began to dress like them. An ascot, a lime-green t-shirt… an orange skirt… Each day, the same outfit. Then, slowly, I began to talk different. At first, it was subtle…an occasional “zoiks” if surprised, a judicious “jinkies” to express alarm, sometimes I even accentuated the punch lines of a bawdy joke with a well-timed “Jeepers!” But then it was entire sentences and, before long, I was forcing friends to listen to 30-minute soliloquies of dialogue from classic episodes like “Whose Afraid of the Big Bad Werewolf?”

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It began to affect my relationships. I stopped hanging around airport bathrooms and took to running with a group of aimless teens. We bought a van; scrawled “mystery” on the side with a permanent marker, and frequented desolate roads and abandoned rock quarries. And there were the parties. Sometimes I arrived as a mummy pretending to search for an ancient, precious medallion; other times, as an angry Miner-49er, aggressively protecting a stash of buried gold. We would alternate chasing each other down long hallways…growling…swiping…stopping only when our victim, having carelessly dropped a pair of eye glasses, failed to realize we were a monster.

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I bottomed out. My grandmother had had enough and… left me. Why? In a word - Daphne. Ahhhh, Daphne; I couldn’t get Daphne out of my head. I used to imagine us splitting up from the others, searching through hidden corridors, opening creaky doors and cupboards. I could no longer focus on my work as a royal food tester or on my wives and seventeen children. All I could see was Daphne’s swishing purple clad bottom and pink nylons. Daphne…Daphne... I became morbidly obese; the 35-layer hero sandwiches and 3 tons of Scooby snacks I consumed each night only seemed to exacerbate the problem. Then I

[Suddenly, a shout from someone in the back of room interrupts the speech]
“Hey…I don’t know WHO this guy is everyone, but I do know one thing, HE AIN’T JOHN. I KNOW a John!

[Stunned silence…then suddenly someone shouts “Get Him!” This is followed by complete chaos and shouting then the overhead lights go out but just as quickly come back on. A Sheriff suddenly appears in the room and speaks]:
“This man isn’t John?”

[Someone in the audience, while tightly gripping the man who may not actually be John, replies]:
“No. You see, that’s what they WANT you to think.”

[this person then rips of a mask that had been covering John’s face. Crowd loudly gasps and collectively shouts]:
It’s Mr. Wopples! The Chair of Scooby Doo Anonymous!!!

[Mr. Wopples sneers, then begins to speak in a menacing tone]:
“That’s right you dodo heads, it’s ME, Mr. Wopples!! I always hated you. ALL OF YA! It’s high time we stopped this nonsense…got back to the way things used to be. Hmmmph. And you know what else? I’d have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for you meddling kids!”

[The Sheriff smiles, then, while whisking the villain away says with a smile]:
“You kids did a fine job! Milkshakes on me!”

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[One of the apprehenders named Fred shouts]
“Hey, everybody. Let’s head to the malt shop!!! [Cheers follow]

[Just then, a woman from the back of the room suddenly shouts]
“Wait…he’s still here!! The imposter…he must have gotten away from the Sheriff!!!”

[Panic abruptly ensues. Then a man named Shaggy tepidly approaches the villain and rips off yet another mask]
Hey, it’s my dog!!

Scooby Dooby Dooooooooooooo!!!!!!

[collective laughter] Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha !!!!

[Cue bats flying out of mansion…squeak…squeak…squeak…squeak!]
Scooby Dooby Doo
Where are you?
We’ve got some work to do now...

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