I don’t want to give anyone the impression that I watch a lot of cartoons (I do, but I don’t wanna give anyone that impression) but I happened to catch an old Popeye cartoon the other night and I gotta say I was impressed.   

It was one of the real old ones, the ones where Popeye mumbled a lot (not to suggest the sailor man’s speech was ever worthy of Henry Higgins’ approval but you know what I mean), and Popeye had found this stray dog, a froufrou little Pekingese or Pomeranian or something.  Well, Bluto comes along with his dog, a big ol’ bulldog (because apparently Rottweilers and Dobermans weren’t the tough guy dog o’ choice back when the cartoon was made) and starts to bully Popeye.  Likewise Bluto’s dog starts to bully the stray that Popeye has found. 

And when I say “bully,” I mean beat the “ever-loving, living crap out of.”  It was freaking amazing!  Bluto was punching and slamming and kicking and throwing down like a bloody fast-forwarded episode of Dragonball Z!  Damn, it was beautiful!  Wam!  Bam!  Smackdown on your backside, naval boy! 

And don’t get me wrong.  I’m not advocating violence nor am I thrilled at the horrendous trouncing Bluto was raining down on our hero.  I was just shocked, astounded and generally nonplussed by the extreme sheer physicality of the display.  I mean, hey, they talk about how much violence kids today are exposed to, this was, like, 1938 or something and Bluto’s just going to town on a dude half his size.  Of course, later on, Popeye eats some spinach (as does the little frilly dog) and returns just as good as he got, but that’s beside the point.   

Man, those cats were getting medieval on each other asses!  That was some mind-altering assault and battery! 

Damn, I love cartoons!


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