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2005-12-15 - 2:28 p.m.
boopoopeedoop (the lost lesson)
blimey, I did it again... when was the last entry?... days ago, a week, even... well, almost... probably more like four days, but you couldn't tell that from the dates above the words, now could you?... well, of course not... and let that be a lesson to us all...
well, to you at least... the lesson, I mean... for you, you know?... whatever it was, in fact, it was for you, just for you and nobody else but you...
boopoopeedoop...
I am just regaining consciousness, of sourts... not actual consciousness as I know conscious awareness, but the consciousness of the mostly dead sleepwriter I've been for a few years now, sufficient to suffice for most daily tasks and the occasional bouncy bouncy, as Tiggers might say... illness claimed my time, much sleep, much bug-fighting, much bleary-eyed stumbling through sweat-drenched nights (and still working, not one night off, fool I am)...
this is the first morning I feel halfway awake enough to stay awake and tap the keys at home... I've got some babbling I did at work to sort through and upload (hopefully over the weekend), but for now I've come to explain that I've been battling the cold/flu season personally of late and am happy to report that I have appear to have survived...
feel free to cheer...
so I've come here to let my mind float freely for a while and see what might come of the release of brain waves this morning after being cooped up in a healing stupor... the promised (next 202 Things will arrive, perhaps in more than one entry as it is gathering steam and getting rather long, even for one of >i>my entries... and there are other entries dancing in the wings, awaiting a bit of costuming and lighting and my usual egocentric fanfare (ambivalently presented, of course)... and of course I willhave to live up to my latest internet honor on of these days, so be assured you'll have entries of tittilating sensual pleasures any day now... but for the moment my mind seems to have bebopped over to an ancient memory from early cartoondom...
yes, boopoopeedoop...
so let's examine this iconoclastic bit of Betty's bottom to find some things that the Official Site would tell you (all in good fun, of course, unless you know about the conspiracies, that is)...
ancients or historians like yourself, that is, if you recall history and identified the certain phrasology as a cartoon character's catch phrase (or would it be a punch line) above, might already have had this course, so you might be excused, if you really believe there is any sort of excuse for it, but the rest of you should just remain in your seats and follow along...
no, there will not be a bouncing ball at this time, but perhaps later, we can tickle your fancy and see about getting your dander up a bit... right now, however, we shall remove the veil and undress the immortal words of Betty Boop...
boopoopeedoop...
at first glance, even more so if you are glancing with your ears, it seems rather innocuous and in the right light, or vocal toneage, amusing... please note that in the audio version of this recitation you would hear the phrase in dissection repeated often and cleverly, rafting between cutesy and errascibly, at the minimal, but for our purposes here I shall refrain from insessent repeating of the word in print as it might not appear quite as effectively amusing without the sounds...
yet, nevertheless, don't let the anecdotal staging notes distract you from your true purpose for coming here, which is to masturbate, or, err, be amused, whichever comes first...
boopoopeedoop...
so in our tray we begin our dissection and the first thing we discover is that there are clearly, apparently four distinct sillyballs (or perhaps syllables) contained therein the word... we shall impress you now by actually identifying them and attempting to explain the overall meat, or meaning in Betty's mouth, or mind, thusly...
boo...
obviously this was (perhaps still is) an attempt to get our attention, scare us into submissive pandering with our auditory nerves, that is, listen closely...
what?...
listen closely, yes, we are listening closely now, aren't we?...
so we are in agreement that John Cleese, who's life is passing before my ears at the moment via some Ovation Channel program about John Cleese (what a coincidence that his life would be discussed on such a program, eh?), has much to do about nothing influencing this emperor's new clothes entry, but pay no attention to the distractions behind the curtain or you might find a naked man with a hairy ass and become instantly enamoured, or offended, as your hard case may be...
meanwhile, back at the vivisection, or perhaps it is still meerly a dissection as the Pope has yet to arrive and we did set aside this time for holiness, his, hers, and the matching towel and crumpet set left over from the war, but be that as it may be or not to be, not one Shakespearean reference was harmed during the making of this entry, though we will not accept responsibility for the damage done in the reading...
so we are in agreement that boo, what's word is passing before our eyes at the moment via this screen, was selected carefully and quite deliberately by the lady in question (or herwriters) purely for the shock value of it, much like a young girl casually and even accidently, apparently, removing her top and exposing, rather suddenly, her barely breathless breasts with nipples erect and cresting, pleading for pressing agaist your naked skin, your hands poised just above their pulsing promise of eternal bliss, even, naked to the winds of chance and your eyes, fleeting glimpses that rise deep in your pants with moisture and pleasure, even if uncomfortable if you have a stranger sitting on your lap...
| a sudden, but oddly appropriate please note most emphatically that we, the loose nuts here at behind the candoor, cauldron watchers, fans and fools, and you, dear readers, are not responsible for what might or might not happen in the laps of working Santa's reading this entry at this moment, after all, as any Elf worth his or her salted crackers knows before he or she is our of those cute little green diapers, every working Santa should be screened and familiar with the contractual Claus, please do not fondle the merchandise... |  "Hey Santa honey, is that a candy cane in your pocket or are you just happy to have me squirming on your lap?... oh Santa baby, Boopoopeedoop!" |
it could have just as easily been fuck or hell for the true impact the phrase ultimately has on the human psyche, especially the male psyche, what with it being so much more fragile, especially way back in the day of the Boopster's hoopsters as she alluringly dared mild mannered men everything to imagine her lips sucking, sucking, sucking on their very own lollipop...
poo...
suddenly, we are presented with the second component of the phrasology of the seductor of our grandfather's childhoods, as if the previous asides could possibly be brushed away and forgotten so easily... it is beyond apparent that the Betty's mission here in this second sillyball was to blatantly disgust us, the audience, even as she wiggled her scantilly clad bottom with round rosey cheeks pleading to burst from the seams of curvatures nestled so close to the anal passages...
the very thought of poo shivers many timbers and sends massive throngs (and a few thongs) rushing to the nearest convenience chemists, or pharamacy shop, in dire need of an adult sanitary product or diaper for who could miss the submilinal message to go to the bathroom, take a shit, crap out your deepest darkest innermost secret fantasies to the cute little girly sexpot painted harlot on the silver scren cleverly disguised as a children's cartoon character...
| yes... has gone ...........before... at least... |  |
so now you know the second aspect of the subterfuge perpertrated by the earliest forefathers of the Nazis, obviously Heir Adolf was exposed to Betty's nubile influences at a very young age... and we've not yet gotten halfway through this analysis...
pee...
of course you saw that coming, unless, of course, you were coming as it passed in which case you might enjoy the golden shower going on in the back room after the show, but for now, please be disgusting, or dusgusted right here out in front where we all can see you thank you very much...
naturally, pee follows poo, it's the natural way of things... and with this urging realization we are forced, hands plunged deeply into our pants, to race the clock to the very same type of establishment from wence we just returned, though probably not the precisely same one as that might be a bit more embarrassment than we sought in our wildest dreams unless our dreams contained some borderline BDSM play and who am I to judge your private parts in the privacy of your private places, after all...
so scampering back home with your feminine hygiene product, or at least more adult sized diapers, unless you are daintily petite, you realize that what Betty was doing was not flirting in farewell with her seemingly, on the surface, innocusous phrase, but she was subliminally grossing you out and sending shivers of bile through your vibrating endoplasmic orafices, deftly preparing you for war...
doop...
cleverly disguised in a final fling of eyelash waving splendor, the flirtatious convolution of your psyche is profoundly evident... she is flat out insulting your very genomes and unless you've been lucky enough to sumble upon the wisdom of this scientific study of the literature, you, with a whole generation or few, were sucked in, and maybe even off, by the seeming silly but innocently voluptuous coy cartoon seductress...
 | OH OHH!! | just look at the way she clutches her tender nuptuals, and the sweet blush in her breasts, the rosy flush in her cheeks, the look of sheer shocking pleasure as her lips purse and pucker and her eyes burst with the wonder of the power of her loins... how could we have missed the true message she was sending our forefather's foreskins as unsuspecting libidos were exposed to her wily ways... |
doop, or dupe, in French, or vernacular street slang of the era, was a gullible sap of a patsy, a pansy even, who sucked off the big bosses without even knowing he was coming out of the closet, at least psychologically... yes, in the most derogatory meaning of the word our purile party girl was calling you a faggot, but not just any faggot, a faggot not even worth the scum on the bottom of your shoes...
no wonder we won the war, with this sort of psychological anger-inducing insult-machine carefully raping the minds of unsuspecting youth...
 | OH MY! | and now you know the horrible truth that has, for all these years, been hidden beneath the surface of sexual foreplay, the devastating information that shall forever change the way you look at cartoon vixens and innocent Santa's helpers everywhere... |
what Betty Boop was really saying when she bid you adeiu in her sensually innocent way was not merely boopoopeedoop, it was fuckin hell, shit and piss off you degenerate faggot...
but don't tell anyone...
disgusted...
or secretly amused...
until next time, my dear wonderful patient readers, I wish you health and happiness and much amusement (and do take care with your cartoons, for you never know just when you might be booped again)...
. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)
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