Treehouse of Horror XXV Review

One of our recent cherished Halloween traditions is viewing the annual Simpsons Treehouse of Horror special. I fall into the category of Simpsons fans who felt abandoned by the series years ago, I still tune in for Treehouse of Horror, and the once every 2.5 year Sideshow Bob episode (as well as the occasional Lisa-centric story).

I don't really know if there's a single reason for the overall dip in quality of The Simpsons. I've read everything from Mike Scully to the Fox executives, and I'm sure a lot of those things are factors. One of the problems is that the show has been on for twenty-five years, and you simply can't maintain a golden era for that long.

My personal opinion is that Seth MacFarlane success has had an unfortunate effect on the very program that allowed him his success. I don't really have a nice way of saying this, but I think MacFarlane is a heartless bully who only has on average three funny jokes per episode of Family Guy. But it seems that a significant portion of The Simpsons's writing staff is made up of people who believe that MacFarlane's bar is what they should be aiming for.

I'll gripe more about that in a minute, but another problem is that over the course of seventy-five individual Halloween segments The Simpsons have probably covered this territory. The most recent segment which truly felt classic to me was 2010's Dial 'M' for Murder or Press '#' to Return to Main Menu, both in terms of using a solid source to parody as well as taking on its own identity as a complete story with a beginning, middle and end.

Well, with suitably low expectations, let's take a look at this year's offering and see what we have to learn from it.

Treehouse of Horror XXV

 

The opening was a disappointment, but after the previous year's Guillermo del Toro masterpiece they may as well not have bothered. In fact they kind of didn't, simply showing a quick montage of the past twenty-five years and then...um...dead people on a wall? Screw it, let's go to the first segment.

 

School in Hell

 

Let me get this out of the way up front. The Simpsons needs to stop doing jokes about Christianity, simply on the grounds that they don't know how to do it. A joke has to be funny first, then you can step into offensive territory as needed. But writing an offensive joke doesn't make it funny. Now somebody tell Seth MacFarlane to write that on the chalkboard.

 

Okay, this segment starts out promising enough. Principal Skinner is always a delight in the Halloween episodes, probably because his self-restraint gets loosened up a little. Bart goes to hell. Old news, but the premise is fine. He wants to stay. That's predictable. He does well there. And?

 

There were so many missed opportunities with this concept and most of them have to do with Lisa. Suppose Bart had left hell with Lisa and then needed her to get him back there once he decided that he belonged there? What if instead of Homer being the sinner Bart had to torture, it had been Lisa? "Lisa? What did she ever do?" Or better yet, what if Bart realized that he wasn't cut out for life in hell, but it turned out Lisa actually took to it quite well? Like I say, the second half just didn't GO anywhere.

 

For the record, Pat Benatar's song about child abuse was really not a wise selection for this context.

 

A Clockwork Yellow

 

Doing a parody of A Clockwork Orange at this point in Simpsons history feels like a bit of a reach, but I'll admit they handled it surprisingly well. A special kudos for giving Moe the Malcolm McDowell role instead of Homer. Moe has always been one of my favorite characters on the show, and as the perpetual helpless powder keg his violent streak is put to wonderful use here.

 

Even if you're not familiar with Stanley Kubrick's films the jokes come fast and hit their targets. The sight of these four grown men hopping in and out of the Kwik-E-Mart is delightfully humorous on its own, but when you set it up with the line from A Clockwork Orange (that I dare not explain here) it adds a whole new layer of satire.

 

A Clockwork Yellow proves to be the strongest entry in this year's Treehouse. With a bunch of London-centric references that feel inspired without being gratuitous and a quick survey of Kubrick's career (did I miss a Dr. Strangelove nod somewhere?) this segment does what Treehouse of Horror is supposed to do.

 

The Others

 

I think the seven minute format worked against this segment. The concept of the Simpsons meeting their former selves is actually pretty sophisticated, but they don't have enough room to really explore the idea. Marge competing with herself and then getting along with herself is about as deep as they manage, but there was a real potential for something truly special to happen here.

 

I think The Simpsons should have broken with tradition and done a single story arc through the whole Halloween episode. One, you could actually have done a parody of The Others and gotten Tracey Ullman to voice the old woman. Two, if the original incarnations are ghosts, how/why did they die?

 

And three, it's kind of an injustice to not give each character their moment to really look at themselves. How would Homer really take to dealing with someone who is himself? Did Bart turn out to be the character he'd wanted to be twenty-five years ago? Is Lisa happier as a blank slate or an outcast genius? What would it reveal to us if MaggieX2 could talk to herself?

 

Basically it was a good idea that couldn't develop. And dare I say that looking at the payoff gag at the end of the episode with multiple versions of the family arriving at the house that there might actually be a solution to The Simpson's stagnation here? Scooby Doo (comment on my fan fiction damn it!) has been through multiple incarnations and styles. Not all of them are good and they each have their flaws, but the powers behind the gang are also able to breathe new life into the characters and explore their personalities in ways that you really can't with a set-in-stone formula.

 

Maybe The Simpsons is due for an overhaul. What if they tried a version of the show where a story arc ran through an entire season, with consequences and character development? I'm sure there would be a backlash but I also think people would warm up to the idea of getting back to character driven plots. It's ultimately why The Simpsons has lasted so long.

Scooby Doo's Unsolved Mystery ~Part Four: Fred's Trap

Click here for the Table of Contents for Scooby Doo's Unsolved Mystery.

Part Four

Now I could die happy. I'd gone for a ride in the Mystery Machine. The only thing that could make my life better would be an invitation into the TARDIS.

Fred Jones had to be the single nicest person I’d ever met in my life. All I’d done was send him an e-mail asking how he’d feel about a phone interview for an article on their experience at C.S. Barley’s museum. An hour later I received a response. Fred offered to drive me out to the old site. In the Mystery Machine. I melted.

Okay, poor word choice considering what Scooby had told me about the Spooky Soothsayer's fate, but it took all of my self control just to limit my giggling like an idiot to no more than thirty percent of the trip. Something about the green metallic beast just gave me a sense that I was at a home that I hadn't previously known I was a part of.

Fred and I gabbed about things and stuff; nothing crucial, just...whatever, man. Exotic locations travelled to, irreplaceable personalities met. Fred clearly missed the old gang, even though he admitted mystery solving is really better in phases than in a constant barrage of masks and menaces.

We'd arrived at the general store he and the rest of Mystery Inc. had visited so long ago. According to Fred, little about the place had changed except for the management. He'd insisted on stopping here, partially to retrace his steps and jog his memory of the event, but mostly because this store was where he'd bought the supplies on his previous trip to build the infamous trap which had ultimately failed. Fred was going to show me first hand exactly what had happened.

He'd gone on inside while I took a few snapshots of the store's exterior. I still had the chorus of "Trap of Love" stuck in my head (I'll never figure out how Fred had managed to get The Hex Girls on 8-track) and somehow it was starting to feel like the background anthem for this ongoing attempt of mine to create a story out of a situation that seemed reluctant to be created. By this point I was considering the possibility that my Unsolved Mystery piece might be a bit of a bust that I could hopefully disguise as journalism with a few carefully distracting pictures.

I finally went into the store and immediately began to scout for the Scooby Doo coffee mugs that Velma had mentioned being here. I know I could get one of those just about anywhere but it would take on a personal meaning if I could find one at this store. Fred was speaking with the woman at the counter.

"Can you tell me where your nets are?" he asked her.

She indifferently pointed him in the direction towards my spot. I quickly surveyed the cans of fluorescent spray paint and extensive collection of personal flash lights until I found what I thought he was looking for.

"Is this it?" I held up the biggest butterfly net I could find.

"Not exactly," he joined me and grabbed an armload of bulbs. "There is probably a large roll of fishing net."

"So large enough to drop on someone."

"Actually large enough to build a bigger butterfly net," he said proudly. "I remember the crane was designed to sweep down sideways and scoop up the ghost like a fish in an aquarium."

"Is that way more effective?"

"It depends on where we are. With lower ceilings you sometimes have to improvise." He found the netting he needed and began loading up my arms with wire and batteries. "So Sheriff Braxton?" he asked me, returning to our previous conversation in the van.

“Velma said that the signs were pointing to the Sheriff until you all found that ticket stub to PhantomCon.”

“Yeah, I always thought there was something about that guy. But him dressing up like the Soothsayer never seemed to make much sense.”

I could tell Fred really wanted to agree with me, if for no other reason than to confirm the person inside the costume hadn't in fact been killed. But in truth I was really reaching for straws.

"Technically the Sheriff was never ruled out. What if the ticket stub was a red herring?"

Fred grumbled. "I've never liked those."

"Okay, let's say Daniel did go to PhantomCon and somewhere along the way he did inadvertently drop his ticket stub. If you guys hadn't stumbled across it where would the investigation have gone?"

“I don’t know. Coincidences are pretty rare in mystery solving. I think what Velma was getting at was that Daniel gotten there when we had. Until then no one in the museum had even heard of the Soothsayer. ”

"That they admitted to," I said a little more enthusiastically than I was intending. "Somebody is lying about something."

"Well, this is true," Fred laughed. "nobody ever told Shaggy to look for clues in the kitchen."

We set a mountain of stuff on the counter in front of the worker. She shot us both a glance. "Is there anything else?"

"Do you still carry Scooby Doo coffee mugs?"

She huffed. "Try looking under that stack of old ponchos."

One thing I learned from this whole experience is that Shaggy doesn't get enough credit for bravery. I stood outside the abandoned Barley Museum with a chill running down to my ankles. 'Creepy' was an unqualified euphemism to describe the face of this decaying yet still hungry façade that we were about to voluntarily set foot into. "I can't do this," I thought, fully agreeing with the imaginary horror movie audience in my head screaming at me not to go in there.

"All right," Fred lit up, paralleling his flashlight, "Let's go."

Fred Jones was fearless, perhaps psychotically so, and Velma certainly had the same lack of flight response. I hadn't met Daphne, but either she was as unconcerned about her well-being as the other two, or she fed off of Fred's charisma. The latter was certainly what I was doing. The moment he said "Let's go" my feet obeyed, despite how convinced I was that I would be jumping into his arms at the first floor squeak.

We were in the foyer area and Fred shone his flashlight beam on the opposite wall. "That's where Barley's coffin used to be." He waited patiently for my response before kindly giving it to me, gesturing at my camera. Oh yeah. I forgot I wanted to remember this whole experience. -snap-

Fred gave me a quick tour of the now empty rooms he and the gang had explored. I traced the barrel's path which had deposited him outside during the final chase. -snap- I saw the room where Daphne had been stashed after her kidnapping. -snap- The hallway where Velma had lost her glasses. -snap- And the entire time Fred was completely nonplussed by the overwhelming sense of dread this place induced in me. I'll admit, after the series of causal "There's where Daphne found the ticket stub",  "There's where we had the collision with Daniel" and "There's where Lindsey screamed about the presence of the dog" I was feeling significantly more at ease.

Finally at long last we went down into the cellar where the trap had failed and the Soothsayer's fate had been sealed. It was completely empty now, save for a few cobwebs and dust. Fred got to work rebuilding a mock-up of his trap in the exact spot he'd had it previously, right at the bottom of the staircase.

"Do you need me to do anything?" I offered.

"No thanks. I have a rhythm to this," he replied.

Based on the skeleton of the trap, it looked as though Shaggy and Scooby were to have gotten the Soothsayer to chase them down the stairs where the well-timed release of the trap would cause the huge net to scoop up anyone at the bottom of the steps and then rotate on an axis to dump the victim into a predesigned location.

"What used to be down here?"

"Some sort of processing machine. There was a huge vat of molten wax in the middle of the room." He seemed uncomfortable mentioning it.

"Was that where the Soothsayer fell?"

Fred only nodded, still being focused on the task at hand.

"Could he have been fake?" I suggested.

"The spooks usually are."

"I mean if C.S. Barley had been dealing with wax figures, could the Soothsayer you captured have melted because it wasn't real?"

"Believe me, I'd love to say that's what happened," said Fred. "But I heard a scream as he went under the surface."

I was getting tired of holding the camera so I put it on the floor while I sat on the bottom step, mulling the mystery over. It took me a few moments to work up the courage to ask, but I figured if I could handle the museum I could handle awkwardness. "Could you be wrong?"

"About what?"

"The scream."

I guess I threw off Fred's rhythm, because he stopped working and looked at me curiously. I'd hoped I hadn't hurt his feelings.

"When I was at Velma's bookshop," I explained, "I had an unexpected run in with her wax figure. My own brain added a growl to him, which under other circumstances I might have sworn I'd actually heard."

"You think I imagined the scream?"

"You'd just watched you trap drop someone into a vat of boiling wax. Stress can play tricks on you."

Fred ran that through his mind a few times, and I could tell that the thought of not having been involved in someone's death was giving him hope. "You think Velma was right all along?"

"I don't know. Did Daphne hear a scream as well?"

"She said she did," answered Fred. "Of course she felt even more responsible. She was on that side of the room waiting to release the sandbags on the Soothsayer when the net got to her spot. When her dress got caught on the lever opening the top of the vat it-"

He was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and shutting. For a moment we just stared at each other. Several possibilities ran through my head (most of them involving the Soothsayer and a missing journalist) before I made the connection that the van was outside and Sheriff Braxton had made his feelings about Mystery Inc. quite clear.

"Are we supposed to be here?" I asked Fred.

"No. Run," he advised.


My one chance at a really classic Scooby-Doo chase scene was undermined by my own stupidity. I'd forgotten my camera down in the cellar. And of course when I went back for it I sprung Fred's trap and wound up being carried across the room in the netting I'd helped him purchase.

Yes, it was indeed the Sheriff, just not Sheriff Braxton. Sheriff Henning, in between helping me out of the trap and trying not to laugh out loud, informed us that Sheriff Braxton had recently left his old job to make a run for Governor. He'd left explicit instructions to arrest any member of Mystery Inc. on sight, which Sheriff Henning was choosing to ignore in exchange for a photograph of him with Fred. I was happy to oblige.


We were back in the Mystery Machine and "Trap of Love" was back in my head. I couldn't help but feel a little discouraged by the revelation about Sheriff Braxton. He'd evidently been trying to run for Governor for a while now but hadn't managed to stir up the necessary funding. When Sheriff Henning told us that I thought "That's it! We've got the motive!" only to then figure out that Braxton hadn't run in any previous elections, suggesting that he hadn't walked out of the museum with whatever had been locked in the coffin.

That also inadvertently answered my question about Velma's Scrapbook. With Braxton going into politics, people were going to try to dig up dirt on him. At some point, someone would be asking the same questions I was asking, and Velma (consistently being a step ahead of the rest of us) was going to have the information ready to go for anyone who made their way to her bookstore. Like I said, discouraged.

Of course, Fred was in great spirits. He clearly missed the chase, and even though we'd accomplished jack sprat I could tell he'd really had fun. And honestly, so had I.

A few miles down the road and we were laughing about the whole thing. Fred assured me that getting caught in one of his traps was a rite of passage, and he even admitted to being as terrified as I was when we heard that front door. I guess he's not inhumanly fearless after all.

"Thank God the new Sheriff was a Mystery Inc. fan," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed, "It's always nice when we have a positive impact on people who recognize us."

They'd definitely had a positive impact on me. From the moment I'd spotted Shaggy in that café I'd been compelled to want to get involved in some-

Wait. What was it Shaggy had told me?

I pulled out my laptop where I had the transcript of his conversation saved and scrolled through it. Looking...for...

"Greebus!" I said without thinking.

"Greebus?" Fred chuckled, "What's that?"

I stared at him in personal bewilderment. "I think I just solved the mystery."


Scooby Doo's Unsolved Mystery will conclude with Part Five: Daphne's Treasure.

The Carousel: Splash Fiction

This is a quick one. I'm taking an online humor writing course and I churned this out for my first assignment. I hadn't posted anything new from The Carousel in a while, so I thought it might be time to start redirecting my brain in that direction, considering nanowrimo is almost three weeks away.

The First Step



In the past, Zel had looked forward to the school year beginning, but with an entirely new group of classmates she couldn't shake her anxiety. She was grateful to have received an invitation to a pre-semester pool party even if after forty-five minutes she was still all but invisible to the host and his thirteen close acquaintances.

 

Zel accepted that some of the blame was on her; after all, she'd faded into the background almost immediately on her arrival. Instead of romping with the louder students or finding a spot to lay out with the more sedate subset, Zel had taken to doing what she always did whenever she was nervous, putting things in their proper places. At this point, the beach chairs on the side of the pool were perfectly aligned, every beverage cup was precisely filled to three fourths of the way up, the table cloths were straightened and the shoebox full of compact disks were now alphabetized.

 

She sighed, staring at the mess of colorful candies in the bowl in front of her that she felt compelled to sort and separate. I shouldn't be here, she thought. Yes you should, she told herself unconvincingly. I'm miserable here. You'd be more miserable if you thought you were missing something.

 

Two voices in her head bickered back and forth while Zel stood immobile in her spot by the snack table. Three of her new classmates scurried by, each grabbing a drink she had poured for them but taking no more notice of her than they would a lawn ornament.

 

So what now, she thought. Start on the garage? Get in the pool, she ordered herself.

 

"Screw it," Zel muttered, tossing off the T-shirt she'd been concealing her bathing suit with. She strode to the bottom rung of the still unused high diving board and slid to the top like she was defying gravity. Zel had been diving her whole life, and if anything was guaranteed to get her noticed, this would be it.

 

She stepped all the way to the edge and surveyed her potential audience. They still hadn't noticed her, but she knew the loud rattle of the diving board would soon take care of that. And the complicated dive that she was focused on would leave an unforgettable impression, she was sure of it.

 

Zel paced herself backwards, carefully gaging the distance for her graceful leap, unconsciously counting the steps as she went. Four, five, six, then nothing. Zel's mind raced with the realization that she had stepped backward off the side of the diving board.

 

She instinctively twisted her body in an attempt to keep from falling off, and while she managed to complete a full pirouette, her balance was no longer accessible. She bounced off her back and rolled into midair.

 

Still trying to recover from the literal misstep, Zel tucked and straightened, at least getting her feet pointed downwards. It was at that moment she became aware of the lower diving board which had somehow escaped her attention over the past forty-five minutes. Not having expected to land on anything other than water, her whole body went limp as she absorbed the entire impact in an unconventional impact roll, starting with her knees and thighs, continuing with her stomach and ending with her face. It was a smooth roll indeed, barely affecting the lower board's motion. She landed in the pool in what could only be described as an inverted swan dive.

 

Zel stayed underwater for as long as she could, hoping to retrieve her dignity before finally surfacing to the unanimous gaze of classmate eyes who had been confused as to where she had come from.

 

"Did you guys see that?" she asked in resignation.

 

After an undeniable pause one of her classmates responded. "No, could you do it again?"

Editorial: The Curse of the Halloween Soundtrack

October has always been my favorite month. The weather finally settles on a manageable spectrum, the Pumpkin Spiced McBurrito is available at every Kentucky Microwaved Chicken, and it all leads up to the holiday season's opening act of Halloween; that one day out of the year where death is cordially invited to the masquerade.

If you've ever hosted any kind of social gathering at this time of year, you've inevitably had to deal with mixing a CD of Thriller, The Monster Mash, Ghostbusters, and then a bunch of songs that just barely qualify for the theme to fill out the remaining 68 minutes. You can tack on the Vienna Yodeling Choir's rendition of Toccata Fugue in D Minor or Tommy Shaw's version of The Munsters, but it's really going to be a stretch to make the tracks last all night.

Why is it so hard to find decent Halloween music? You'd think the demand for it would really compel artists to pull out the A-material and try to knock Michael Jackson out of that sole anthem spot. When I was in elementary school, we sang a LOT of Halloween songs, in English and in French (something about a phantom delivering a package I believe). We had professional records and we had song sheets of alternate lyrics to Christmas Carols. We even wrote a few ourselves. It was an exciting time of the year.

But maybe the problem is in how one markets Halloween songs. If the music is geared towards children, the fiends are more likely going to be up to mischief instead of ripping the flesh off of bystanders; with the possible exception of a Shel Silverstein album. And considering the appeal of Halloween still taps into our collective inner child, the really dark stuff doesn't necessarily play well the innocent side.

Another problem is the nature of music, it tends to be reassuring even in minor keys. Dick Smothers once described a hypothetical situation of staring down a darkened alleyway and seeing shadowy figures moving around; correctly identifying it as an unsafe place. But then changing the situation so the figures were all singing together, and suddenly the alleyway takes on a warm, inviting feel. Basically it's hard to be scary and harmonious at the same time.

But then again we're not talking about fear, we're talking about Halloween. And while fear is certainly associated with the holiday, the core of Halloween is about stepping out of one's comfort zone and experiencing something one doesn't ordinarily get to experience. There's a general mentality of unease about what the world could do to you, but a trust that you'll still get home safe and happy. It's kind of the roller coaster of the holiday fair.

So with all that in mind, I've combed through my memories of the past 41 Halloweens to dig up a few of the songs I've encountered that somehow manage to capture the musical feel of the holiday and have some lyrical connection to the world of the spooks. I'm making it a point to only find one song per artist/writer while avoiding musical soundtracks (The Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Nightmare Before Christmas, etc.) as well as 'goes without saying' songs like Rockwell's Somebody's Watching Me. Here they are in alphabetical order.

1. Black Sabbath, 1970 (artist: Black Sabbath, album: Black Sabbath)

What are the odds of three Black Sabbaths on one project? It must have been a pretty common name in the seventies. Okay, when parental groups talk about heavy metal corrupting young minds and turning them to the occult, this is probably the song they are referring to. Now I'm not a fan of Ozzy Osbourne, but this song captures the mood of sheer horror probably better than anything since. Unlike most heavy metal in which the singer usually assumes the role of the force in power, Osbourne takes on the role of the prey. The fright of the song comes from Osbourne's vocalization and how easy it is to believe that he believes it's really happening.

2. Feed My Frankenstein, 1991 (artist: Alice Cooper, album: Hey Stoopid)

It takes Ozzy Osbourne to make Alice Cooper seem toned down. Cooper's whole career has been about embracing the darkness of the human soul presumably because it's undefeatable any other way. You could probably pop in his whole Welcome to My Nightmare album on Halloween and be covered. This song is more about the fun side of darkness with Frankenstein serving as the metaphor for the Mr. Hyde inside Cooper's Dr. Jekyll.

3. Fright Night, 1985 (artist: The J. Geils Band, album: Fright Night Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Yeah, I said no soundtracks but this awesome movie (which trumps everything about its pathetic remake) wasn't a musical, with each song working just as well out of context. Good luck finding it though. It's never been released on CD. It's one of the few songs I know of that's literally about a vampire while being club danceable.

4. Ghost of a Chance, 1987 (artist: Cris Franco, album: none-Square One Television)

I would NEVER directly encourage anyone to take advantage of the many convenient ways to transfer an otherwise unobtainable song off the internet into one's personal collection, BUT if you're looking for a nice obscure Halloween song for your collection I'm happy to submit this catchy little gem. It's a kid's song teaching them the basics of probability, set to the plot of a pizza delivery guy who gets trapped in a haunted house with a poltergeist, some snakes and a mummy. His fate is unspecified.

5. The Monster is Loose, 2006 (artist: Meat Loaf, album: Bat out of Hell III: The Monster is Loose)

It's a similar concept to Feed My Frankenstein, except Meat Loaf's monster is loose because he's fed up with being contained while Cooper's Frankenstein is out because it's the way it is. Writer/producer Desmond Child does his best Jim Steinman imitation to mixed results. The lyrics on this song are silly, but the gothic music more than makes up for them.

6. Mr. Death, 1995 (artist: George "The Fat Man" Sanger, album: none-The 11th Hour)

Another hard to find track; go to Youtube and search for "I can't take a breath without seeing mr. death" (okay, I guess that wasn't so hard). If Black Sabbath is the most inherently frightening song on this list, Mr. Death is easily the eeriest. Between what sounds like a backwards drum track and lyrics that could almost have been improvised, the singer's resignation to his fate is haunting and oddly engaging.

7. Nature Trail to Hell, 1984 (artist: "Weird Al" Yankovic, album: "Weird Al" Yankovic in 3-D)

I thoroughly explicated this song during my blog series on Weird Al last June/July, but the thing that makes this one is the heavy chord progression. There is a fun factor to the more popular slasher films (otherwise people wouldn't watch them) and Nature Trail to Hell accurately celebrates the gladiatorial spirit of the masked maniac.

8. Original Sin, 1989 (artist: Pandora's Box, album: Original Sin)

This one is a bit of a cheat I suppose, but give it a listen and tell me it doesn't feel like you're in a dark chasm surrounded by other lost souls screaming to feel anything. There have been a few covers to this song, but the (no pun intended) original contains the most powerful use of the We Will Rock You drum beat in music history.

9. Queen of Spades, 1978 (artist: Styx, album: Pieces of Eight)

I don't know if this song is emulating the classic Alexander Pushkin story or if it's just about a really intense game of Old Maid but this song really nails the fortune teller/witch/sorceress archetype. The lesson here is: don't gamble. You'll lose. Probably die if you're lucky. Maybe get trapped forever to the sound of that diabolical laugh straight out of nightmares. Based on Tommy Shaw's guitar outro this one doesn't have a happy ending.

10. Those Meddlin' Kids, 1999 (artist: The Hex Girls, album: Scooby Doo & the Witch's Ghost)

But let's wind down on a note of hope and innocence, shall we? Damn right we shall. The soundtrack to Scooby Doo & the Witch's Ghost has quite a few solid tracks including an awesome instrumental version of the classic theme song. But Those Meddlin' Kids by fictional eco-goth band The Hex Girls is my absolute favorite. Poor grammar notwithstanding, the song sums up the timeless quality of the 45 year old animated series perfectly; some monster needs to be overcome, enter 'the gang' like the handsome stranger of the old tales of the west. What better way to wish the world a happy Halloween?

Scooby Doo's Unsolved Mystery ~Part Three: Scooby's Snack

Click here for the Table of Contents for Scooby Doo's Unsolved Mystery.

Part Three

*Note: portions of the conversation below have been edited for clarity

Now this was a hotel room. And I wasn't paying for it, at least not yet.

My editor had been kind (possibly exasperated) enough to set me up for a weekend at the Sheldorf with only the fleeting hope that my intended guest would be able to spare me a window of his time. If he showed, I didn't know where he was going to sit, so I arranged the den area with as many options as I could think of. We had the couch, we had the table, we had some cushions on the floor. Suffice to say, I was giddy with excitement.

Tracking him down had been fairly easy, but getting through his people (talking animals have people) had been challenging to say the least. I understood their protectiveness, considering his fuzzy face was worth around a billion dollars in revenue. I'd been given a list of questions which were off limits, none of which I would ever have thought to ask until they told me not to, and instructed to expect him at any time over the next two days (meaning I might have had to snap into work mode at three in the morning).

I did think it was considerate of them to send over a large sample of the infamous box of bribery known as Scooby Snacks for me to use as an offering, which I was promptly pouring into a clear bowl. What was it about these things? They apparently had the power to coerce an otherwise rational soul into the gambling of one's life. I read through the ingredients on the box looking for something addictive like absinthe slipped in right after monosodium glutamate, but no answers there.

I'll admit, one thing that always struck me as a bit of a puzzlement was the fact that Scooby Snacks were never offered as an incentive for after you arm wrestled the sasquatch, they always served as a nudge out the door. I couldn't help but wonder if they somehow managed to activate the part of the brain which caused one to honor whatever verbal contract had just been made. Maybe Scooby Snacks should be required hors d'oeuvres at any political conference.

I actually had one up to my lips when I was startled by a knock on the door. I dropped the treat back into the bowl, vowing to never admit to what had nearly happened, and scurried across the room. I hadn't expected anyone to show up so soon, but I figured one of his people would want to coach me on etiquette for things like how to address him, how to shake hands, etc.

I pulled my hotel room door open and time stopped for me. He was sitting there in the hallway, with his huge tail wagging and a grin on his massive face that could probably meet my eye level if he stood up on his hind legs. My mouth opened on its own even if no sound came from it, and I could feel my eyes were tearing up ever so slightly.

"Scooby Dooby Doo!" he howled.

At that moment I stopped being a professional journalist and became a six year old standing in front of a familiar Great Dane. Without any conscious decision on my part I knelt down and put my arms around his big furry neck and hugged him. "Aw," I heard his friendly voice respond as a heavy paw touched my shoulder. There are some moments you don't realize you wait your whole life for.


The cost of this for me was a commitment to ghost writing (no pun intended) Scooby's memoirs. Assuming Scooby would agree to my pitch, it would mean a new source of revenue for his people, a percentage for my editor, he'd have his story published and I'd have my name in tiny print on the bottom of the cover. Who besides me wouldn't be happy with the arrangement?

An empty bowl of Scooby Snacks later, the two of us were pretty much on the same page regarding the book deal. I foresaw two potential issues. The first was that Scooby was so utterly agreeable that it would be hard for me to find those dramatic beats required for a typical reader. Not that I was worried about the thing selling; Scooby would have a built in audience and a talking animal's memoirs had never been done before so we had the luxury of pioneering a sub-genre. But it would ultimately be my reputation on the line if we just phoned it in, and I couldn't risk not giving my all. As such, I'd gotten Scooby to agree to a full chapter on Scrappy.

The other issue was going to be my ability to translate Scooby's speech mannerisms. Usually I was able to understand him, but I still had no idea what "Rozevrarera" was even after hearing him use the word at least three times.

But the meeting was so friendly and fun for me that after an hour and two pizzas (of which I think I had one slice) I was substantially more excited about the book writing process, not to mention the numerous future meetings Scooby and I would inevitably be having.

We were winding it down for the evening, and I'd nearly forgotten my original intent for speaking with him when Scooby nodded to me and said in his loveably gruff voice, "So anything else you want to know?"

"There is one thing if you don't mind."

"Nope." he smiled.

"I've spoken with both Velma and Shaggy already-"

"Raggy," he chuckled at the mention of his buddy's name.

"Shaggy had mentioned there was an unsolved mystery."

"There was?"

"Yeah, he called it the Spooky Soothsayer." The moment I said that name Scooby's recollection of the event caused him to whimper. I apologized quickly. "Was this a bad experience?"

Scooby bobbed his head. "Daphne was crying."

I blinked. "She was crying?"

"Uh-huh. Fred had to hold her."

"What was she crying about?"

"Ghost!" said Scooby like he was reliving it. I thought maybe I should drop the subject but I was already invested enough in this one mystery that it didn't feel right to back off.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Scooby trembled, and I felt guilty for asking, but then in a flash he was on his feet leaning over me in a menacing pose while snarling. He treated me to a rather complicated pantomime of what I assume his encounter with the Soothsayer had been like. I couldn't really follow it all, and at one point when Scooby was up on the table waving his paws I had to chew back a laugh, but the performance finally settled when Scooby sank down behind the sofa, reaching upwards and growling, only to disappear into silence.

I pushed past my speechlessness. "So he went underwater?"

Scooby shook his head. "Melted."

"He melted? Into what?"

Scooby made a sweeping gesture indicating a large area of the floor. "Boiling."

"The Soothsayer fell in?"

"Uh-huh!" Scooby hopped back on the couch, and I recognized his account of the events was over.

I wasn't quite ready to process what it sounded like had happened. "Velma says Daniel was the Soothsayer."

"Uh-uh!" Scooby stood firm. "Ghost!"

"Oh my God," I muttered. If I was harboring the hypothesis that Velma's memory of the story had been flawed then I certainly had to accept the Scooby's may have been as well. In fact I was hoping for it, because I'd never considered the possibility that one of Mystery Inc.'s crooks in a mask had been killed during their investigation.

But as much as I hated to admit it, it made sense. Daphne crying, the gang not talking about it, no arrest being made. I figured it was possible Velma was in denial about the whole thing, but as enthusiastic as she'd been to show me her scrapbook it made more sense that she honestly thought she'd solved it.

Wait a minute, the scrapbook. Something about that whole encounter had struck me as odd and I couldn't pinpoint what it was until now. She hadn't known I was coming but she had the scrapbook sitting behind the counter of her shop ready to be pulled out on cue. I didn't know what it meant, but my gut told me that I was onto something important.

Scooby was still sitting across from me on the couch with his head cocked to the side, studying me curiously. I wasn't sure how long I'd zoned out.

"Sorry, just thinking."

He kept staring at me, not in an intimidating manner (I wouldn't peg Scooby as capable of that) but simply trying to understand something. I guess we were in the same van.

"What's in it for you?" he asked with an agenda free sincerity.

"Me?" I looked at that sweet canine face. "In what?"

"Soothsayer," he asked, "Why you want to know?"

What an odd question, I thought. But then I realized that it was a perfectly reasonable question, just not one that I was prepared to answer. Why was I doing this? For justice maybe? Yeah, that was an unrealistic stretch. Maybe because I felt like it needed to be done? Um, sure. If I had the slightest sense of altruism I'd be recycling.

"I guess," I took a long pause and Scooby patiently waited for me to find the next words. "I grew up watching the Mystery Machine travel across the globe, always showing up at the right place at the right time and doing the right thing and moving on to next adventure. And I saw how well you guys got along with each other even though you all had nothing in common outside of the shared experiences. I mean, you were the Breakfast Club in a van."

"Breakfast!" Scooby laughed. And I laughed. It was contagious.

"I wanted to be part of the gang. I imagined I would grow up and become somebody famous and then get to be a guest in one of the mysteries, you know, 'Today Scooby-Doo meets what-my-face in the Mystery of the Marvelous Monkey Mystic'. So when I bumped into Shaggy and I heard about one of the mysteries being unsolved I thought, this is my chance to be part of the gang."

Scooby smiled at me again. He got up ready to leave, but before heading for the door Scooby moved over to me, taking my hand palm-up and placing an object in it. Then he casually showed himself out, leaving me a little sad to see him go but secure in the knowledge that we'd be having many conversations in the future as the book developed.

Mostly I was feeling grateful, even honored by the gift he had left in my hand; a token of respect which I would keep and treasure for as long as I'd be able to; a single Scooby Snack.


Scooby Doo's Unsolved Mystery continues with Part Four: Fred's Trap.