Picture this: Sunday afternoon, grey Mississauga suburb, the smell of pork roast and onions in the air. We’re bored; it’s the ’80s.
I’m in my early 20s (wearing a shaker knit sweater and pink Chuck Taylors). My sister is in her late 20s (think big Lisa Hartman hair and Calvin Klein’s Obsession).
She has the remote!
We come across the pantless weasels – the screaming, singing mnage trois, known as Alvin And The Chipmunks. It seems these gay cabelleros are vacationing at a sunny beach resort. With them is a figure laying on a towel, wearing only dark blue swim trunks, showing off his sleek, non-rippled, lightly tanned chest.
“The new Dave Seville is sooo hot,” my sister whispers breathlessly.
Dave wiggles his pink toes and reprimands one of the weasels.
“Yes, but he’s no Race Bannon,” I say. For the first time, however, I realize I am not the only one who thinks cartoon guys are hotties.
I learned then never to disparage two-dimensional love again.
Who wouldn’t want to rim Race Bannon (of Johnny Quest)? Those white butt hairs… a marshmallow world! I know my friend Rick would love to be fucked by Fox TV’s The Tick. Hell, even Entertainment Weekly recently admitted a deep affection for Aqua Man.
A guilty pleasure? Don’t be ashamed.
I’m in love with the boys of Saturday morning. Yes, I am.
Just thinking of sensitive, squirrel-lovin’ Little John and Rocket Robinhood fucking in “the years to come” makes me quiver. And don’t get me started on George Of The Jungle and Barney Rubble (foot fetish and pit-love start here).
Cartoon boys have much simpler lives than ours. They never age, they pick one outfit – and it works, they wear it forever.
Though, I must say, goat boy Shaggy (Scooby’s sidekick) could learn a few things from funky Fred and his proud American, Robert Wagner ’70s garb. What Fred does with a red scarf, gold ring and yellow rinse would make the late-Dickie Greanleaf proud.
Aah. The power of drawings. Just think kids, these cartoons conjure up some of our very first sexual fantasies and urges.
Gals, I know Penelope Pitstop, Thelma (also a Scooby gal) and Josie And The Pussycats must have made for some rather slippery viewing.
As I get older (I’m real; I age), the blatant sexuality of Hadji, Johnny, Race and Benton has made way for the new love of my life, the mysterious, is he or isn’t he, Space Ghost. I admire his talk to the hands defence techniques and his interviewing style. Yum.
Of course, I’ve also had crushes on Wile E Coyote, Tigger and Bumble-lion. But let’s not go there.
As Snagglepuss (the Paul Lynde of toons) would say: “Heavens to Murgatroyd, exit stage left.”