Four of Them

Believe it or not, my pets (as, in my head, you're all ferrets I daringly rescued from the pound. It was epic), I wa sonce but a wee lass of 8-or-something. Carbon dating suggests I came into this world as an infant, but that's if you believe in that fancy-schmanzy evolution, which just don't add up, Mr. Scientist.

Anyway, as this squirming pile of baby, I spent an awful lot of time in front of the TV, Now, this consisted of public networks and Nickelodeon until, I don't know, Y2K, when we were suddenly the proud owners of basic cable. Whether the danger scared my parents straight, or the apocalypse actually happened and I made up this elaborate fantasy of 70+ channels to cope with the desolate wasteland that was once the world, it is not my place to decide. But in the end, we got Cartoon Network.

Ah, yes. Cartoon Network. My home turf. The network that shaped me into the webpage that flickers before you. How many hours did I spend huddled in front of Looney Tunes reruns, Ed, Edd, n' Eddy, WB transplants?

And then there were the TV movies. Yes, upon further reflection, CN and other channels of it's ilk (though far superior to any of them) took advantage of the sugar-high heroin that was primetime childrens' programming and subjected us to hundreds upon thousands of Scooby-Doo rehashings. What's New, Scooby Doo? A Pup Named Scooby-Doo. Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? Long have I been haunted by the question: if his name is Scooby-Doo, why does he always say it's "Scooby-Dooby-Doo!"? Is that his middle name? Does he have Tourettes? Is everyone else saying his name wrong to fuck with him? It seems like the kind of thing Fred would orchestrate. That asshole.

But. Right. We also got a shitload of TV movies. The one where they went to cyberspace. The one where they met those freaky goth-witch-whatever chicks. The one where they met, I don't know, Josie and the Pussycats. Actually, I don't know about that one. But probably.

One and all, they were terrible. Voice acting, animation, plot, dialogue, it was all like someone wrote it twenty years after their last joint. Somehow.

But then, my loves, but then. Came along a new Scooby-Doo adventure. At first, it seemed like any old battle the gang would fight on a weekly basis. Go to a Louisiana plantation (or something). Discover a mystery. Solve the mystery. Unmask the mask. Go home.

Except I think not.

Because the eponymous zombies? They're not the boat driver. They're not the farmhand. They're not the the butler. They're fucking zombies.

And then Fred tore off their fucking heads.

You see, the gang has been apart for awhile. Having careers and what-have-you. So they decide the dust off the ol' Mystery Machine and have a bit of reunion. Old friends, harmless mysteries, fetching Southern belles, BUT WAIT ONE FUCKING MINUTE.

They're adults now. They must deal with adult mysteries. Like the terrifying scribbles on the old plantation walls. And voodoo guys. And slaughtered pilgrims. And cat ladies. And the fucking zombies.

My memory is fuzzy on the specifics. But I remember pissing my pants. I remember a trailer featuring 'O Fortuna'. I remember Scooby and Shaggy getting stuck in a grave with a zombie and genuinely being afraid for them. This is not childhood nerves. Even then, I had a weary relationship with these movies. But this one? This one was hardcore.

For you. Just for you.