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Snow White was 50 when she had her only toon. Although her theme song had long been, “Someday My Prince Will Come,” her Prince Charming never did – until Doc of the Seven Dwarfs gave him a magic little blue pill that did the trick.
Before that remarkable remedy, Snow White’s prince was quite content to do nothing but watch Woody Woodpecker and Pinocchio movies year in and year out.
Secretly, too, he watched “Felix the Cat,” for which he had an airhead’s curiosity. (While as a prince of the hunt he had much experience with dogs and pups, he was booby-blankout when it came to cats and pusses.)
“It’s obvious there’s something on his royal flush mind,” Doc told Snow White – still rather naive and innocent as the day she was drawn and kissed into stardom status – weeks before her storybook tiny toon was born. Being of a pleasant and simple turn of cinematic brush strokes, Snow White blushed and quickly agreed with the ever-wise Doc.
“Woodies, Pinocchios, Felix the Cats have primitive attractions,” added Doc, although he had no firsthand experience with on-the-couch, 60-minute, free association, psychobabble sessions, or, for that matter, firsthand acquaintance with naughty Tijuana comic books. “The kind men like.”
“My magic pills – I call them Blue Birds of Happiness – broke your prince’s enchanted spell. Wishful thinking’s one thing. It helps to know what you’re really thinking about. Still, Fritz the Cat’s kinda far out. Very untoon family values. If you ask me, it’s a far cry from Jiminy Cricket’s when-you-wish-upon-a-star, rhythm method advice.”
But beloved reader of half-cracked fairy tales, let’s be fair to our Miss Snow. She’s not Story Book Land’s only late breeder. Not by a long shot. Take Cinderella. She was two days short of 60-something when she gave birth to a bawling set of kick-heel tooners, Windyrella and Mindyrella.
(Unlike mortals, toons once out of the designer ink bottle stay unchanged forever. So, Snow White is still young and golden-hearted. Cinderella, as bright and beady eyed as the first time Mr. Grimm’s Fairytales imagined her into existence. No dieting. No facelifts. No breast implants. No PMS.)
Yes, Doc’s magic blue pill got Cinderella’s prince charming on tunnel track. “His problem, like every conceited ass princeling” tattled the little-too-gossipy Doc, “is that he’s more than eager to wear Cinderella’s slippers all times, at all state events. To date he’d gone through 120 pairs, roughly two pair a year. And, curious to say, as many ball gowns!”
So much for gossip.
The worthy media news of story book coverage, CNN or Rush Limbaugh, is the christening last week of Snow White’s baby, Stanford Yale White. Every toon in Christentoon (no PG-13s) was invited, including one who had a long-standing beauty grudge to settle – gatecrashing Crewsoxella, stone butch sister of Cruella, of “101 dalmatians” notoriety.
As you may imagine, there were presents galore. Among the close-knit seven dwarfs, Sneezy brought a year’s supply of antihistamine. Sleepy, an old family receipt for stay-awake Toddys. Grumpy, an authentic Harvard pigskin football. Bashful, designer sunglasses. Dopey, a golf cart (no clubs). Doc, a lifetime supply of Blue Birds.
Out of nowhere, Crewsoxella popped up, zapped little Stanford Yale White on his curlicued forehead. “Cursed be, tiny toon! Let your ONLY interests be ballet, classical music, poetry, art, Sunday brunches, ‘Queer as Folk’ reruns!” So said, she vanished in a huff of patchouli vapors. P-O-O-F!
All present were quite flummoxed. “Don’t worry, be happy,” said Happy, the last Dwarf to give a toast. “My gift – Pinocchio’s elastic nose where Stanford Yale’s little Woody grows. (Would I lie to you?)”