Dudley Do-Right was an enjoyable program. And by that, I mean that it wasn't even its own show, but a segment on the Rocky & Bullwinkle television variety hour, or however long it was. I dunno, it aired years ago. Ask your parents. Anyway, it starred this blonde-haired Canadian mountie with an ass-looking chin who rode a retarded horse into all sorts of dangerous situations. He'd regularly save some ginger chick from the nefarious Snidely Whiplash, who was a mustached green-skinned guy who I assume was a zombie or something.
I found the VHS tape on a park bench. I wouldn't call it a random discovery, because I was mentoring troubled urban youths, and a young corn-row haired boy named Jamal told me he wanted to get me a gift for promising to start a hip-hop studio with him when he was all grown up. The boy had a lot of pride and didn't like to feel like he owed anyone anything, so he left it right there, where he knew I would find it. What a nice boy. Anyway, the children were playing sports as a reward for helping me pick discarded soda cans off the road with sticks, and my co-worker Peprika had just arrived to take over for me. I waved goodbye, picked up my suitcase and tie, and returned home to enjoy what I expected to be a smashing ol' time.
Speaking of old, the animation was incredibly shitty. I don't know if you knew this, but the Rocky & Bullwinkle creators had the visual side done in Mexico, while they placed emphasis on the script and character personalities and voices. These days, everything is 3D, HD, Blu-Ray, whatever, so television programs like these don't get green-lighted anymore.
The introduction, which usually featured Canadian mountie trumpet music and our hero riding backwards on the psychologically handicapped horse, was much, much different this time around. In fact, it seemed that someone accidentally included one of the Rocky & Bullwinkle segways. Rocky & Bullwinkle themselves were present on a stage, and Bullwinkle was dressed as a magician--as he often did in this segway--presumably about to perform a magic trick. Hurray, I guess?
"Hey, Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my ass!", Bullwinkle started.
I choked on the vitaball I was sucking on (I ordered them off an infomercial, in case you're wondering), gagging and gagging until I gave myself the Heimlich and out it shot, BANG! I know this was an overreaction, and I didn't do it because I was scared or anything. I was actually highly amused. I wondered where Jamal had gotten this tape, given that the 'ass' part didn't sound like his voice, but rather like that of Bullwinkle J. Moose's original voice actor, Bill Scott. I figured that my friend just made an honest mistake, and he meant to find me a copy of one of my favorite old school cartoons and, he mistakenly picked up a bootleg some diehard fan made as a joke--probably to raise the ire of soccer moms and other parents who innocently desired to introduce their children to a cartoon classic.
Well, in hindsight, I was actually incredibly naive, because I never would've expected what happened next. Bullwinkle took off his magic gloves, revealing two very lifelike moosey hands. I don't know how real footage was merged so flawlessly with the cartoon character... I just stared. He extended one of his arms, and it bent around like a Stretch Armstrong, going around his hat and... and into his, uh...
... His ass.
"I bet you thought I was joking!", Bullwinkle laughed.
"Don't tell your mom, but I have cavities!"
I raised an eyebrow, not understanding why having cavities would be such a huge issue. Sure, I never had any, but it was common for people of all ages to have cavities.
Lo and behold, that line of thinking was yet again a product of my naivety. The screen... the screen suddenly changed to that of a real life shot of a real moose's ass. The WORST part about it, at least to this point, was that it had two assholes... not one, but TWO! I don't know if this was a science experiment gone wrong, but I smacked my vitablls onto the floor in reaching for my old VHS remote. Realizing it was too far for me to grasp, I got up... and tragically slipped on one of the vitamin-enhanced sphere-shaped candies, landing on my own ass and gasping in pain.
I probably should've just covered my eyes. Really, I just should've turned away. But I guess curiosity got the best of me. They say curiosity killed the cat, and I'm no cat, and I'm not even a furry with a cat-like persona. I was just some scrawny middle-aged white dude lying on the floor because he tripped and fell on a shitty, sugary product targeted to entitled first-world brats who didn't want to eat their fruits and vegetables. I was trapped by the glow of my TV and whatever it was that went pop in my back. It was like this was all timed, predestined, meant to be, whatever.
So, you might want to stop listening. If you don't: don't say I didn't warn you.
A cartoon moose hand reached deep... deeper... very, very deep... into one of the moose's assholes. There was a little bleeding at first, but then there was more and more, like a Niagara Falls of gory red liquid. Two brown, perhaps kinda... oval-shaped?... furry objects began poking out of the moose's asshole. The moose hand tugged and tugged and tugged, as if it was playing a game of Tug of War in which the loser got sent straight to Hell and the winner got to keep on living--for whatever it was worth after being so scarred.
I saw the whole thing. The rabbit's head. Its long, sharp, lagomorphic teeth, covered in brownish-red ooze. Vomit raised into in my mouth, but its taste was fortunately lessened by the left-over flavoring of the raspberry-grape vitaball I had previously been sucking on.
It was kind of difficult to tell which part of the rabbit was covered in fur, and which part was moose feces. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't chocolate. The rabbit was breathing very heavily, and it was somehow still alive. I don't know how it got into the moose's asshole; nor did I care. I squirmed for the remote, and got so lucky that the very tip of my index finger caught enough of the power button to put an end to this madness.
Tears streamed down my face. I cried myself to sleep. The combination of saltwater, vitaball, vomit, and what I could only assume was a broken back made for the worst night of my life.
I had a nightmare. In it, I initially went to Heaven. I walked up to the pearly gates, and there was an angel, with wings. A middle-aged man with glasses, but yeah, also wings, 'cause he was an angel. He didn't have any hair, in case you were wondering. He saw me, sighed, and shrugged.
"Hello, Winston. You've done some pretty bad things in your life."
I stuttered in response. "R-really? Like what?"
"Well, there was that time you lied to your school teacher about your dog eating your homework. Turns out you didn't own a dog, and you just chose not to do your homework instead. Oh, and you flushed your neighbor's cat down the toilet."
I balked at the latter accusation. "I never flushed anything like that! I'm an innocent man! Let me in, I say! I deserve the floating, fluffy clouds and the Lord's sweet, sweet bosom! PLEASE! PLEASE! You've gotta HELP me!!!"
"Well... no. It turns out you're not sorry for what you did, so..."
The middle-aged man hit a red 'easy' button on his office-style desk, and a trapdoor opened in the heavens. I fell down at a feverish pace that could've only been as fast as the speed of sound, or perhaps even light! I was ready to accept an eternity in Hell, but not like... not like feeling as if my kidneys were going to fly out of the bottom of my ass from the intense pressures of gravity.
I stared to the right. The fat in my cheeks, which I could only guess were peeling off and leaving behind part of a visible skeleton, were somewhat blinding my view. Regardless, I could make out an orange-haired gentleman asking "Who ever thought that there was really a Hell... and that it's in New Hampshire?". A purple-haired, one-eyed lady responded "Well, actually, they do hold political primaries here." I figured they were telling some sort of intelligent joke... social commentary, I guess... but the pain! The pain was too much for me to laugh, as it felt like my voice box was going to pop out of my peehole. I'd say "You know how it is.", but I guess you don't...
I suddenly felt an intense heat. Flames surrounded me in 360 degrees, spreading and burning up and down in unimaginable heights. A poof of purple air revealed none other than Satan himself.
"So, you think you're cool enough to reside in my domain, enh?"
"N-no, I wanted to go to Heaven."
"Oh. That's a shame. You do know that they don't allow people who shove brown rabbits into unsuspecting meese's assholes into Heaven, right?"
I stopped. I paused. The sensational displacement of my organs didn't matter now. What mattered to me the most was Satan's accusation. The Dark Prince himself, accusing me of... of that!
"Oh Winston. Don't tell me you didn't know. Wait a sec, let me change my voice into something more, uh... recently familiar to you?"
With that, his vocal presence altered from that of Christian Bale's in-disguise Batman to that of the one, the only...
... Bullwinkle J. Moose.
"You wanted to shove animals up my multiple rectal cavities, ey? Some might say that that's animal cruelty!"
"No Satan, I mean Bullwinkle, I mean Rocky... I mean Satan! That was just a VHS tape! That wasn't me! That... WASN'T... ME!!!!"
That was when it all came to an end for me. I... blew up. My heart, intestines, kidneys, spleen, liver, pancreas, gall bladder, you name it. It all went up in the air. The falling stopped, everything turned black, and it was like a camera was aimed diagonally northwest at my explosive demise. At first, my organs were sort of a pasty white, and then they were a mucusy green. Then they were gone. Nothing but darkness. In a blood-red font, the following words displayed on a... screenlike interface, for the lack of a better explanation:
"We are one. One is we. A murder, a rape, a lie... a stolen good. Collectivistic truth in a convenient capitalistic lie. What happens in Kenya stays in Kenya to you, but only if you lie. To yourself. Because, circularly, subconsciously, whether you caused it or not: you caused it. Close your eyes and say goodbye and live... forever."
That was when I woke up in a hospital bed. Peprika was there, with a hand on my shoulder. Her hair was flowing so majestically... I wonder if she knew that I was secretly in love with her?
I thought of the wisdom of the words that had recently displayed on that screen of sorts. About how we're all one great big human race, and though we aim to run away from the mistakes of others and claim that we had nothing to do with them, we are all held responsible by the Lord's divine law. It was Good that he made us this way. The Law encouraged Goodness, and an acknowledgment that we, whether we like it or not, are not all perfect. And by that very fact alone, none of us--absolutely no one--is perfect. Not perfect at all.
"Peprika... I love you.", I stuttered. There was still a little vomit in my mouth, and I was afraid that that would destroy any possibility of a romantic moment between the two of us. I was afraid of rejection. Afraid of a frown, a refusal... but she was there in the hospital with me, you know? She must have secretly felt the same way too.
She came closer and closer. She stared lovingly into my eyes. Our lips locked, and I felt the most passionate love of my life that didn't involve pure sex.
Funny... the vomit didn't bother her at all. Hell, she, uh, took it out of my mouth with her tongue, y'know. And it, uh, it actually enhanced the romance. Go figure.
Then I woke up for real this time. A pool of blood and vomit laid underneath me. My back was still out of commission, to the point that I couldn't even squirm anymore. I don't know what happened to my energy, but whatever vitamin-based sustenance I was supposed to receive by sucking on vitaballs sure let me down this time.
That was when I heard my house's front door open. My heart beat so fast that they could've used it at the beginning or end of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. I was scared, and resigned that this burglar, or whoever it was that entered, would steal my stuff and potentially kill me. What a way to go out...
The intruder walked into the living room, where I was, and lo and behold... it was Jamal. Who I always kept the door unlocked for. Man, my brain must've been out of commission since that imaginary fall into Hell.
"Hey, Mr. Winston! Doesn't look like you're doin' so good."
"I'm really not, Jamal."
"You know Mr. Winston... you know what's kinda funny? Canadians don't keep their doors locked."
"Yeah... that is kinda funny, I guess."
"I think Canadians are pretty nice people. Some of the chillest times I've ever had were in Canada. Where my mom and dad met. And where they died, Mr. Winston."
"Do you think I could head back to Canada myself someday, Mr. Winston? ... Could I go with you?"
I laughed to myself. Despite how modest my condition was, Jamal always knew how to pick up my spirits in the worst possible moments. He was a truly special kid. And I don't mean special as in retarded or anything, I mean special. Though I'm sure a retarded kid can be special to someone. Inspiring, even.
Anyway, Jamal helped me up. He asked where the paper towels were, and he cleaned up the blood and vomit. He massaged my back--told me he was learning to do it as a potential career path--and I told him he was great at it, and I'd recommend him to people, no questions asked.
"Mr. Winston... how was the Dudley Do-Right episode I left ya?"
"Not good, Jamal. It was, uh... you can't watch it."
"Because I said so!"
You know how every time you tell a kid not to do something, they go ahead and do it anyway, as if to spite you? Well, Jamal did just that. He rewound the tape and pressed play. I couldn't do anything about it, because even though my back felt better, I still couldn't move much.
The part with the moose's multiple assholes and the rabbit played.
"Yup. That's Dudley Do-Right, Mr. Winston."