#drawing reechie

[theartsharki]

Feel like I am losing my marbles whenever I’m working on new art… In my cage alone and eager to share with other fellow It enthusiasts!!

[sohannabarberaesque]

So Quick Draw McGraw goes into another awful-sounding, almost reechy-like even, rendering of "Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie" as drives his faithful Babalooie irate--

BABALOOIE, ever the frustrated one in circumstances such as this: Hey Queekstraw, don't you think-- QUICK DRAW McGRAW, interjecting: I DOES THE THINNIN' AROUND HERE, BABALOOIE ... AND DOOOOONNNNNNN'T YOU FORGET IT--!!! Especially when it comes to the rather reechy tone of my musical renditions!!

[jaenessaispas]

Why yes I do have a soft spot for this 40 year old man wearing his husbands shirts to bed and waking up in them with bed head why do you ask

[butchfalin]

why is bill hader so hard to draw wtf

[thwipped]

i missed drawing reechie

[thehamletaesthetic]

HAMLET ACT THREE SCENE FOUR part five

Queen: This the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy is very cunning in.

Ham.: Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, and makes as healthful music: it is not madness that I have utter'd: bring me to the test, and I the matter will re-word; which madness would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, lay not that mattering unction to your soul, that not your trespass, but my madness speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, whilst rank corruption, mining all within, infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; repent what's past; avoid what is to come; and do not spread the compost on the weeds, to make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; for in the fatness of these pursy times virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.

Queen: O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.

Ham.: O, throw away the worser part of it, and live the purer with the other half. Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed; assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, of habits devil, is angel yet in this, that to the use of actions fair and good he likewise gives a frock or livery, that aptly is put on. Refrain to-night, and that shall lend a kind of easiness to the next abstinence: the next more easy; for use almost can change the stamp of nature, and either the devil, or throw him out with wondrous potency. Once more, good night: and when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,

[Pointing to POLONIUS.]

I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so, to punish me with this and this with me, that I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well the death I gave him. So, again, good night. I must be cruel, only to be kind: thus bad begins and worse remains behind. One word more, good lady.

Queen: What shall I do?

Ham.: Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse; and let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, but mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know; for who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, such dear concernings hide? who would do so? No, in despite of sense and secrecy, unpeg the basket on the house's top. Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape, to try conclusions, in the basket creep, and break your own neck down.

Queen: Be thou assured, if words be made of breath, and breath of life, I have no life to breathe what thou hast said to me.

Ham.: I must to England; you know that?

Queen: Alack, I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.

Ham.: There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows, whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd, they bear the mandate; they must sweep my way, and marshal me to knavery. Let it work; for 'tis the sport to have the engineer hoist with his own petard: and 't shall go hard but I will delve one yard below their mines, and blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet, when in one line two crafts directly meet. This man shall set me packing: I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room. Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor is now most still, most secret and most grave, who was in life a foolish prating knave. Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. Good night, mother.

[Exeunt HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS.]

[makerof150papermasks]

Hamlet Mariofied Act 3 Scene 4

Bolded names refer to the Mario characters playing the roles. The character role names remain the same in the context of the play and its dialogue.

Peach = Gertrude

Kamek = Polonius

Mario = Hamlet

Donkey Kong = Ghost

Act III, Scene 4

The Queen’s closet.

Enter Peach and Kamek Tune of Mushroomy Kingdom.

Kamek. He will come straight. Look you lay home to him.

Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,

And that your Grace hath screen'd and stood between

 Much heat and him. I'll silence me even here.

Pray you be round with him.

Mario. [within] Mother, mother, mother!

Peach. I'll warrant you; fear me not. Withdraw; I hear him coming.

[Kamek hides behind the arras.]

Enter Mario. Play Castle Theme from Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island.

Mario. Now, mother, what's the matter?

Peach. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.

Mario. Mother, you have my father much offended.

Peach. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.

 Mario. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.

Peach. Why, how now, Hamlet?

Mario. What's the matter now?

Peach. Have you forgot me?

Mario. No, by the rood, not so!

  You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,

And (would it were not so!) you are my mother.

Peach. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.

Mario. Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge;

You go not till I set you up a glass

 Where you may see the inmost part of you.

Peach. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murther me?

Help, help, ho!

Kamek. [behind] What, ho! help, help, help!

Mario. [draws] How now? a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!

 Makes a pass through the arras and kills Kamek. 

Kamek. [behind] O, I am slain! Game over music from Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island commences as Kamek dies.

Peach. O me, what hast thou done?

Mario. Nay, I know not. Is it the King?

Peach. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!

 Mario. A bloody deed- almost as bad, good mother,

As kill a king, and marry with his brother.

Peach. As kill a king?

Mario. Ay, lady, it was my word.

Lifts up the arras and sees Kamek. Cue Castle Music from New Super Mario Bros.

 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!

I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune.

Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.

Leave wringing of your hands. Peace! sit you down

And let me wring your heart; for so I shall

 If it be made of penetrable stuff;

If damned custom have not braz'd it so

That it is proof and bulwark against sense.

Peach. What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue

In noise so rude against me?

 Mario. Such an act

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;

Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose

From the fair forehead of an innocent love,

And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows

 As false as dicers' oaths. O, such a deed

As from the body of contraction plucks

The very soul, and sweet religion makes

A rhapsody of words! Heaven's face doth glow;

Yea, this solidity and compound mass,

 With tristful visage, as against the doom,

Is thought-sick at the act.

Peach. Ah me, what act,

That roars so loud and thunders in the index?

Mario. Look here upon th's picture, and on this,

 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.

See what a grace was seated on this brow;

Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;

An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;

A station like the herald Mercury

 New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill:

A combination and a form indeed

Where every god did seem to set his seal

To give the world assurance of a man.

This was your husband. Look you now what follows.

 Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear

Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,

And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes

You cannot call it love; for at your age

 The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble,

And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment

Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have,

Else could you not have motion; but sure that sense

Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,

 Nor sense to ecstacy was ne'er so thrall'd

But it reserv'd some quantity of choice

To serve in such a difference. What devil was't

That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?

Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,

 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,

Or but a sickly part of one true sense

Could not so mope.

O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,

If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,

 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax

And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame

When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,

Since frost itself as actively doth burn,

And reason panders will.

 Peach. O Hamlet, speak no more!

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul,

And there I see such black and grained spots

As will not leave their tinct.

Mario. Nay, but to live

  In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,

Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love

Over the nasty sty!

Peach. O, speak to me no more!

These words like daggers enter in mine ears.

No more, sweet Hamlet!

Mario. A murtherer and a villain!

A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe

Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;

A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,

 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole

And put it in his pocket!

Peach. No more!

Enter Donkey Kong in his nightgown. Initiate Gangplank Galleon. 

Mario. A king of shreds and patches!-

 Save me and hover o'er me with your wings,

You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?

Peach. Alas, he's mad!

Mario. Do you not come your tardy son to chide,

That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by

 Th' important acting of your dread command?

O, say!

DK. Do not forget. This visitation

Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.

But look, amazement on thy mother sits.

 O, step between her and her fighting soul

Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.

Speak to her, Hamlet.

Mario. How is it with you, lady?

Peach. Alas, how is't with you,

 That you do bend your eye on vacancy,

And with th' encorporal air do hold discourse?

Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;

And, as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm,

Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements,

 Start up and stand an end. O gentle son,

Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper

Sprinkle cool patience! Whereon do you look?

Mario. On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares!

His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,

 Would make them capable.- Do not look upon me,

Lest with this piteous action you convert

My stern effects. Then what I have to do

Will want true colour- tears perchance for blood.

Peach. To whom do you speak this?

 Mario. Do you see nothing there?

Peach. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.

Mario. Nor did you nothing hear?

Peach. No, nothing but ourselves.

Mario. Why, look you there! Look how it steals away!

My father, in his habit as he liv'd!

Look where he goes even now out at the portal!

Exit Donkey Kong. Composition of the boss theme from Super Mario Bros 2.

Peach. This is the very coinage of your brain.

This bodiless creation ecstasy

 Is very cunning in.

Mario. Ecstasy?

My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time

And makes as healthful music. It is not madness

That I have utt'red. Bring me to the test,

 And I the matter will reword; which madness

Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul

That not your trespass but my madness speaks.

It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,

 Whiles rank corruption, mining all within,

Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;

Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;

And do not spread the compost on the weeds

To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;

 For in the fatness of these pursy times

Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg-

Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.

Peach. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.

Mario. O, throw away the worser part of it,

 And live the purer with the other half,

Good night- but go not to my uncle's bed.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not.

That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat

Of habits evil, is angel yet in this,

 That to the use of actions fair and good

He likewise gives a frock or livery,

That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,

And that shall lend a kind of easiness

To the next abstinence; the next more easy;

 For use almost can change the stamp of nature,

And either (master) the devil, or throw him out

With wondrous potency. Once more, good night;

And when you are desirous to be blest,

I'll blessing beg of you.- For this same lord,

 I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so,

To punish me with this, and this with me,

That I must be their scourge and minister.

I will bestow him, and will answer well

The death I gave him. So again, good night.

  I must be cruel, only to be kind;

Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

One word more, good lady.

Peach. What shall I do?

Mario. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:

 Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed;

Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;

And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,

Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,

Make you to ravel all this matter out,

 That I essentially am not in madness,

But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;

For who that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,

Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib

Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so?

 No, in despite of sense and secrecy,

Unpeg the basket on the house's top,

Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape,

To try conclusions, in the basket creep

And break your own neck down.

 Peach. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,

And breath of life, I have no life to breathe

What thou hast said to me.

Mario. I must to England; you know that?

Peach. Alack,

 I had forgot! 'Tis so concluded on.

Mario. There's letters seal'd; and my two schoolfellows,

Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,

They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way

And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;

 For 'tis the sport to have the enginer

Hoist with his own petar; and 't shall go hard

But I will delve one yard below their mines

And blow them at the moon. O, 'tis most sweet

When in one line two crafts directly meet.

 This man shall set me packing.

I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.-

Mother, good night.- Indeed, this counsellor

Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,

Who was in life a foolish peating knave.

 Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.

Good night, mother.

Exit Peach. Then exit Mario, tugging in

Kamek.

[kellyjshi-blog]

Enter Queen and Polonius.

Polo. He will come straight:

Look you lay home to him,

Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,

And that your Grace hath screen’d, and stood between

Much heat and him. I’le silence me e’ne here:

Pray you be round with him.

Ham, within. Mother, mother, mother.

Queen. I’le warrant you, fear me not.

Withdraw, I hear him coming.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now, Mother, what’s the matter?

Que. Hamlet, thou hast thy Father much offended.

Ham. Mother, you have my Father much offended.

Que. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.

Ham. Come, go, you question with an idle tongue.

Que. Why how now, Hamlet?

Ham. What’s the matter now?

Que. Have you forgot me?

Ham. No, by the Rood, not so:

You are the Queen, your Husbands Brothers Wife,

But would you were not so. You are my Mother.

Que. Nay, then I’ll set those to you that can speak.

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge:

You go not till I set up a Glass.

Where you may see the inmost part of you?

Que. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me?

Help, Help, ho.

Pol. What ho, help, help, help.

Ham. How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducate, dead.

Pol. Oh I am slain. [Kills Polonius.

Que. Oh me, what hast thou done?

Ham. Nay I know not, is it the King?

Que. Oh what a rash and bloody deed is this?

Ham. A bloody deed, almost as bad, good Mother,

As kill a King, and marry with his Brother.

Que. As kill’d a King?

Ham. I , Lady, ‘twas my word.

Thou wretched, rash, intruding Fool, farewel,

I took thee for thy Betters, take thy fortune,

Thou find’st to be too busie, is some danger.

Leave wringing of your hands, peace, sit you down,

And let me wring your heart, for so I shall

If it be made of penetrable stuff;

If damned Custom have not braz’d it so,

That it is proof and bulwark against Sense.

Qu. What have I done, that thou dar’st wag thy tongue,

In noise so rude against me?

Ham. Such an Act

That blurs the grace and blush of Modesty,

Calls Virtue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose

From the fair Fore-head of an innocent love,

And makes a blister there. Makes marriage vows

As false as Dicers Oaths. O such a Deed,

As from the body of contraction plucks

The very Soul, and sweet Religion makes

A rhapsody of words. Heavens face doth glow,

Yea this solidity and compound mass,

With tristful visage as against the doom,

Is thought-sick at the act.

Que. Aye me, what act, that roars so loud, and thunders in the Index.

Ham. Look here upon this Picture, and on this,

The counterfeit presentment of two Brothers:

See what a grace seated on his Brow,

Hyperions Curls, the front of Jove himself,

An Eye like Mars, to threaten or command

A Station like the Herald Mercury,

Now lighted on a Heaven kissing Hill:

A Combination, and a form indeed,

Where every god did seem to set his Seal,

To give the World assurance of a man.

This was your Husband. Look you now what follows.

Here is your Husband, like a Mildew’d Deer

Blasting his wholsome breath. Have you Eyes?

Could you on this fair Mountain leave to feed,

And batten on this Moore? Ha? have you Eyes?

You cannot call it Love: For at your Age,

They hey day in the blood is tame, it’s humble,

And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment

Would step from this to this? What devil was’t

That thus hath cozen’d you at Hoodman-blind?

O Shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious Hell,

If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bones,

To flaming youth, let Virtue be as Wax.

And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame,

When the compulsive Ardure gives the charge,

Since Frost it self, as actively doth burn,

As Reason panders Will.

Que. O Hamlet, speak no more.

Thou turnst mine Eyes into my very Soul,

And there I see such black and grained spots,

As will not leave their Tinct.

Ham. Nay, but to live

In the rank sweat of an enseamed Bed,

Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making love

Over the nasty Sty.

Que. Oh speak to me, no more,

These words like Daggers enter in mine Ears.

No more, sweet Hamlet.

Ham. A Murderer ,and a Villain:

A Slave, that is not twentieth part, the tythe

Of your precedent lord. A vice of Kings,

A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,

That from a shelf, the precious Diadem stole,

And put it in his pocket.

Que. No more.

Enter Ghost.

Ham. A King of shreds and patches.

Save me: and hover o’re me with your Wings

You Heavenly Guards. What would you gracious figure?

Que. Alas he’s mad.

Ham. Do you not come your tardy Son to chide,

That laps’d in Time and Passion, let’s go by

Th’ important acting of your dread command? Oh say.

Ghost. Do not forget: this Visitation

Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.

But look Amazement on thy Mother sits;

O step between her, and her fighting Soul,

Conceit in weakest bodies, strongest works.

Speak to her, Hamlet.

Ham. How is it with you, Lady?

Que. Alas, how is’t with you?

That thus you bend your Eye on vacancy,

And with the Corporal air do hold discourse.

Forth at your Eyes, your spirits wildly peep,

And as the sleeping Souldiers in th’Alarm,

Your bedded hair, like life in Excrements,

Start up, and stand an end. O gentle Son,

Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper

Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?

Ham. On him, on him, look you how pale he glares,

His form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones,

Would make them capable. Do not look upon me,

Left with this pitious action you convert

My stern effects: then what have I to do,

Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.

Que. To whom do you speak this?

Ham. Do you see nothing there?

Que. Nothing at all, yet all that is I see.

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?

Que. No, nothing but our selves.

Ham. Why look you there: look how it steals away;

My Father in his habit, as he lived.

Look where he goes even now out at the Portal. [Exit.

Que. This is the very Coinage of your brain,

This bodiless Creation ecstasie is very cunning in.

Ham. Ecstasie?

My Pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,

And makes as healthful Musick. It is not madness

That I have uttered; bring me to the Test

And I the matter will re-word: which madness

Would gamboll from. Mother, for love of Grace,

Lay not a flattering Unction to your Soul,

That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:

It will but skin and film the Ulcerous place,

Whilst rank Corruption running all within,

Infects unseen. Confess your self to Heaven,

Repent whats past, avoid what is to come,

And do not spread the Compost or the Weeds,

To make them rank. Forgive me this my Virtue,

For in the fatness of these pursy times,

Virtue it self, of Vice must pardon beg,

Yea curb, and wooe, for leave to do him good.

Que. Oh, Hamlet,

Thou hast cleft my heart in twain.

Ham. O throw away the worser part of it,

And live the purer with the other half.

Good night, but go not to mine Unkle’s Bed,

Assume a Virtue, if you have it not, refrain to night,

And that shall lend a kind of easiness

To the next abstinence. Once more good night,

And when you are desirous to be blest,

I’ll blessing beg of you. For this same Lord,

I do repent: but Heaven hath pleas’d it so.

To punish me with this, and this with me,

That I must be their Scourge and Minister.

I will bestow him, and will answer well

The death I gave him: so again, good night.

I must be cruel, only to be kind;

Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

Que. What shall I do?

Ham. Not this by no means that I bid you do:

Let the blunt King tempt you again to Bed,

Pinch Wanton on your cheeck, call you his Mouse,

And let him for a pair of reechy kisses,

Or padling in your neck with his damn’d fingers,

Make you to ravel all this matter out,

That I essentially am not in madness,

But mad in craft. ‘Twere good you let him know,

For who thats but a Queen, fair, sober, wise,

Would from a Paddock, from a Bat, a Gibbe,

Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so?

No, in despight of Sense and Secrecy,

Unpeg the Basket on the Houses top:

Let the Birds fly, and like the famous Ape,

To try Conclusions, in the Basket creep,

And break your own neck down.

Que. Be thou assur’d if words be made of breath,

And breath of life: I have no life to breath

What thou hast said to me.

Ham. I must to England, you know that?

Que. Alack, I had forgot: ‘Tis so concluded on.

Ham. This man shall set me packing:

I’ll lug the Guts into the Neighbour room;

Mother, good night. Indeed this Counsellor

Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,

Who was in life a Foolish prating Knave.

Come, Sir, to draw toward an end with you.

Good night, Mother.

[Exit Hamlet tugging in Polonius

[sohannabarberaesque]

Just being the Cattanooga Cats isn't exactly enough these days

First Kitten: Do you like to climb poles? Second Kitten: No; I'm not that kind of a cat.

--from Capt. Billy's Whiz Bang, December 1924

Sometimes, those midnight biscuits-and-gravy breakfasts the Cattanooga Cats are legendary for can generate some innovative ideas for improving their concert tours. Especially when some variety as goes beyond merely performing light-hearted and whimsical country-flavoured pop music (not to mention Scoots bringing up some anecdotes and thigh-slappers of stories drawing heavily on personal experience to open the second part of the show).

Yet at the same time recognising they're not quite the sort for Branson, Missouri; it seems they prefer carefully-nuanced country and hillbilly-music acts with subtle conservative propaganda messaging such as can appeal to a largely "poor white" audience whose patriotic feelings are crude, base and easily malleable along Shepherd of the Hills Expressway and 76 Country Boulevard.

So it came as no surprise to hear Kitty Jo "kick things up a notch" in terms of maintaining their relevance and audience appeal, if not so much on tour than at the stage of Cattanooga Klatsche, their Gatlinburg coffee house and artisan roastery, by suggesting something in the vein of that "feline circus" act as part of the Sundown Ceremony on Key West's Mallory Square as a distraction which, while not quite entr'acte material, certainly would offer more than a common concert experience bound to be stale and dated.

In effect, a side act of trained stunt felines pulling off a number of gymnastically-inclined acts bound to include a pole-climbing sequence bound to make the Wacky Races' Rufus Ruffcut look like a second-rate reject from a travelling lumberjack show of the cheapest sort. Especially considering that the climbing poles are also doing yeoman duty as scratching posts ... and the whole scored to reechy-sounding, hackneyed even, circus music to draw out the laughs, in particular a campy-sounding band version of "California, Here I Come" during the pole-climb act.

If the charge laid here, reader and fellow Hanna-Barberian, is likely one of trying to outdo The Banana Splits in seeking to reclaim their name from an awful horror-film treatment vis-a-vis concert antics and the reading of choicest examples of fan mail ... than Country, Kitty Jo, Groove and Scoots could be said to be "guilty on all counts, but for mitigating circumstances." (Especially those of a competitive nature.) Whether such will work or no (especially with the critics) is anybody's guess, which only time will answer.

**************

@warnerbrosentertainment @indigo-corvus @jellystone-enjoyer @iheartgod175 @archive-archives @themineralyoucrave @thebigdingle @princessgalaxy505 @thylordshipofbutts @screamingtoosoftly @warnerbros-blog1 @groovybribri @theweekenddigest @haiyis-dark-void @warnerbrosent-blog

[sohannabarberaesque]

So much for "taking Tiger Mountain (by strategy)" ...

[As our scene opens, we find Quick Draw McGraw doing a rather reechy-sounding rendering of the old "Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie" on his "gee-tar," even if it means annoying his burro buddy, Babalooie, to the point of sheer frustration....]

BABALOOIE, peeved off as peeved off gets: Hey Queekstraw, doesn't such a musical approach seem a little annoying?

QUICK DRAW McGRAW, explaining it in his rather absurdist way: If I may explain, Babalooie, such is basically my own original approach to dealing with the bandits and the lawless element--by strategy!

BABALOOIE: If, by "strategy," you mean such awfully ear-grating music as yours, Queekstraw, how do you exactly expect such to work?

QUICK DRAW McGRAW: Sheer psychology, Babalooie!

[As can be expected, some lawless mail-robber type, as Quick Draw would so refer, outside whose hotel Quick Draw is performing this exercise psychological, shouts at Quick Draw to knock it off, as he's probably trying to get some rest, prompting--]

BABALOOIE: Queekstraw!! Can't you see that mail train bandit you were serenading is getting hotter than heck?!

QUICK DRAW McGRAW: Which brings up my second step in this use of strategy to deal with the criminal-type elements! [Whereupon he takes a quick leave of absence to change into the old El Kabong, stunning Babalooie, naturally.]

EL KABONG, who is really Quick Draw in disguise, right down to the awful-sounding guitar serving as the "Kabonger": EL KABONG, OLE!!! Stand back, Babalooie, while El Kabong kabongs the mail thief in his slumber yonder to his JUST DESSERTS!

BABALOOIE, a bit confused: I just have to wonder whether El Kabong means stuff like flan; come to think of it, I could use some flan every now and then....

[Off in the distance, we can hear El Kabong go into his act, shouting "KABONG!!" and preparing to conk the targeted with the Patent Kabonger ... only we find the targeted having collapsed and fallen on the floor, as if from a Fatal Heart Attack.]

EL KABONG, caught off his guard: Well, whatever did you know ... our suspect dropped dead of a Fatal Heart Attack!

BABALOOIE: Which certainly has me think--

EL KABONG, interrupting: I do's the thinning around here, Babalooie--AND DOOOOONNNN'T YOU FORGET IT!!!

BABALOOIE: Meanwhile, I have to wonder if he didn't expect what was coming from El Kabong!

EL KABONG: Now that is a pretty likely possibility there, Babalooie!!

BABALOOIE: I admit that I like this El Kabong fellow; he can certainly surprise mail thieves to death by clever strategy!