The Animals!

An animal
An animal

Welcome to Mar’s Archives, where I’ll be collecting various of my pieces from the last few years in one clean and shiny Internet location.  Mar’s Archives cover subjects of vital interest to the public, from things that me and my mom are interested in,  to things that me, my mom, and grassroots Nordic pedophilia activists are interested in.  Today’s entry is from Jan. ’05, and concerns animals.  Stayed tuned for more of my scintillating thoughts on animals, including “pets,” “birds,” and “geldings.”

Opening credits: Ragtime (perhaps Maple Leaf Rag?) plays in ascending levels of volume as Animals!, in a montage, freak out – there is a goat eating a shirt, a frog with a big tongue goin’ after flies, a mosquito zooming (perspective from mosquito’s eye view) toward a fat man’s arm, etc. Choose moments when animals are performing cool, dynamic actions. Emphasize the size differences and strange characteristics of animals. Show a baby animal falling down. End sequence with duck quacking straight into camera. Camera pans down mighty redwood and cuts suddenly over to the right, where are hosts are “wackily” raising their arms to the sky, as if to impart a sense of scale vis a vis the size of humans vs. the size of the redwoods. The juxtaposition should be startling, in a comedic way. The hosts are as follows: funny guy in funny shirt in mid-thirties with slightly angry edge, in an impotent way; knowing blonde in mid-twenties, with glasses and air of competent assurance that lends ironic hint to utterances and expressions.

Guy: Redwoods sure make me feel short, Susan!


Susan: (with dry little laugh) You *are* short, Dave!

Dave: (sullenly) But redwoods are taller than us all, Suze.

Susan: Darn tootin’! But who, do you think, is smaller than us all?

Dave: It’s WHOM! (This is his catchphrase. Insert audience laughter, whistles, 1 whoo.)

Susan: Frogs! Cut to a frog jumping really fast across the land, to tune of “Dueling Banjos.”

Dave: Where’s the fire?

Susan: Nowhere! That frog just likes to run.

Dave: You might say its on the run.

Susan: No, because it isn’t running from anything.

Dave: Maybe its running from the past.

Susan: Frogs don’t have that long term of memory.

Dave: Maybe frogs only think that they move on, but really they don’t.

Susan: No, because frogs can’t embrace that kind of ambiguity.

This is the rainforest.  If you are a child, you probably haven't seen it . . . and never will.  HAHAHAHA
This is the rainforest. If you are a child, you probably haven't seen it . . . and never will. HAHAHAHA

Dave: Maybe as time advances, age adds to frogs’ understanding.

Susan: Frogs are free.

The frog tries to cross a road. Play “Hip Hop and You Don’t Stop.” After frog crosses road, have Dave in “French Outfit” (oversized beret, goatee, stripey shirt, black capri pants with French Flag patches on knee, ass, and crotch, wine bottle in back pocket, lick on Emile Zola tattoos, Belgian midget attached to belt loop with leash, french tickler in t-shirt pocket, precisely one quarter visible [it is a kids’ show, and this one is an insider for the parents], small cat yapping at feet) chase frog around while brandishing large spitting fork. Have him run into Susan, dressed in Eternal Femine Outfit (apples in hair, snake tied around neck, Gloria Steinem wig, and obviously decorative knife-studded merkin.) Susan will be carrying a large white sign, with L’Ennui printed on it in simple black letters, lower-case Times New Roman. Dave spins in comic about face, starts running away. Susan easily overtakes him, sits on chest, pins arms, and begins administering “Indian rope burns.” She stops abruptly to point out that the frog is unafraid of her, and actually loitering curiously, in a sexy disinterested way.

Susan: Frogs don’t even care.

Dave: You destroy me.

Then have frog running fast again, over mournful Bjork ballad of choice.


Try to make moment energetically melancholy, like the frog is a wild young man yielding to his fate, or a middle-aged man realizing that fate is a myth, and the sea is a woman, and a carnie is always on the graft, and so is the sea, and so are myths, and women make up seas about the myth, and graft about the sea and whether or not they’ve ever fucked a carnie. But then the frog comes across an eagle, but he does not know it. Switch to Bob Dylan’s “Billy the Kid” theme. Cut to eagle’s perspective, soaring high. Cut to Susan and Dave, warily engaged in dissecting a molecule. But then cut to the eagle spotting the frog. And then cut to the frog noticing. And then cut to the eagle’s eye, and then the frog’s eye, and then the setting sun, and then Susan alone in a bathroom stall, cutting hydrogen structures into the turquoise pastel paint. And then Dave all alone in a pub full of boisterous Irish men who are all embracing except not him. Cut to eagle frog snatch. Cut to frog’s mouth, opening and closely soundlessly. Cut to Susan throwing glass into bathroom mirror. Cut to Dave still smoking alone at bar. Cut to eagle flying alone, sans frog.

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