I am aware that you do not come flocking to this column to read about ME. Yu come here to learn about my latest research into unsuspected naughty jokes in Edwardian postcards, to learn what new fishing gags I have found on postcards of mid-century, and to share what I have discovered about such culinary treasures as lard sandwiches or bread-and-dripping. (Though this is NOT a food blog.)
But it occurred to me that you probably read my blogs and what I have written on other websites about the postcards I sell there. You may have found the not-terribly-well-hidden site where you can listen to my poetry, my examples of bygone humor, and even, in someone else’s space, those of my short stories which have been performed by an excellent voice actor.
And in all of this, there is still one thing missing. “Is there NOWHERE we can go to escape Uncle Blogsy?”
Well, if you are ever sitting around counting your blessings, I will provide you with a few more. There have, believe it or else, been editors who unwise enough to send me invitations to write something for them. And though I was willing, events intervened to make sure my contributions were left by the wayside, cutting short what MIGHT have been a whole nother career.
Once upon a time, when cable was new and full of promise, there was something called the Cartoon Network, which advertised itself as All-Toon. Even commercials would be animated only, and there would be no live-action announcers or hosts. This was a promising offer, but the new network also began populated almost entirely by Hanna-Barbera cartoons and the occasional Looney Tunes hour. The world, it seemed, had not really been encouraging young animators, so there weren’t many.
To supply the demand for something new, Cartoon Network sent out calls to writers and artists to create ideas for cartoon series. I busied myself with “Wheels For Brains”, a series about a bicycle messenger. His first adventure involved an errand for an aging terrorist who forgot which bag had the bomb in it and which had his payoff money. It was filled with narrow escapes which only you, the audience, would have realized were complete mistakes. But as I was reaching a point at which I could send out the script, a bomb got left at a building in Oklahoma City, and suddenly my plot was no longer suitable for children. Wheels For Brains never appeared, and you had to make do with stuff like Dexter’s Laboratory and Johnny Bravo and like that.
It was not my first failure in the cartoon world. Some years before, I had a note from Gold Key Comics, which was looking for writers for the company’s many comic books based on cartoon characters, particularly Bugs Bunny. I knew I was the one for the job (I had just sold two jokes to Joan Rivers, whose style was not that far off from the Rascally Rabbit’s.) I would need to think up something in the way of plots, but, spotting Bjo Trimble’s Star Trek Concordance on the shelf, I had my inspiration. I had taken fairy tales and turned them into fantasy adventures: why not adapt Captain Kirk’s journeys for the encounters of Bugs? (THEIR styles are not that far apart, either.) Substitute Yosemite Sam for a Klingon captain, and the rest would be clear. Not that these would be set in outer space, Duck Dodgers style. Bugs’s rabbithole would take the place of the Enterprise. Carrots would serve for dilithium crystals, and Elmer Fudd would be useful to take the place of any passing Gorn or Romulan.
Alas, before I got far with THAT project, Gold Key announced they had decided instead to shut down most of their comic book line, so a story like, say, “The Twouble With Twibbles” never happened.
The Dungeons & Dragons folks, TSR, starting up a line of fantasy romances for preteen girls, sent me TWO invitations to submit something to this choose-your-own-ending series. I was warned to keep physical contact to a level suitable for younger readers, limiting the erotic to a “tingling sensation” during a first kiss. I actually completed a book for them, in which my heroine felt a tingling sensation when one of the boys kissed her because he was wearing poisoned lipstick to stop her quest. They passed on this, and, in the end, the series lasted only eight books.
There are more—the second story in a series of three linked science fiction tales based on the human body (I was to be “Torso” but I had to wait for another writer to finish “Head”), the routines for A Prairie Home Companion (this invitation came just a month or so before Garrison Keillor’s first retirement, so the call, like the one from Bugs Bunny, became inert)—but you can’t read any more anyhow, from the tears welling up in your eyes. I will cheer you with a thought suitable, perhaps, for all the upcoming holidays. I sold this to a greeting card company which begged for more, suggesting a career in THAT business.
[Front of card] “I would have sent you some actual cash in this card but I knew you didn’t want to make this festive season a mere occasion for financial gain.” [inside of card] “And my dad said those philosophy courses were a bad investment.” (Er, this greeting card company’s distributor burned down before the card could be printed. You dodged ANOTHER bullet. Go buy a lottery ticket.)
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