Marty Fugate cartoon 8 • 26 • 2019

"All in the Family" redux

INT, BUNKER HOUSE, LIVING ROOM - DAY
Archie and Michael in two chairs. Alone. Talking.
Michael: We agree about more than you think, Archie.
Archie: The helluva it is, you’re right.
Michael: What?
Archie: Think about it, meathead. I’m a union man. I voted for Roosevelt and Truman, you snotnose college punk. I’m more liberal than you in a lotta ways.
Michael: You voted for Nixon.
Archie: Yeah, I did. Because I’m not a liberal.
Michael: Why not?
Archie: I hate liberals.
Michael: Why?
Archie: Superior attitude, that’s why. “Recycle. Be happy when your son puts on a dress. Don’t say this word or that word. Get out of Vietnam! Do this, do that.” It never ends with you liberals.
Michael: What never ends.?
Archie: The nagging, that’s what.
Michael: Nagging? Oh that’s great, Archie. You’ve reduced my concern for peace and social justice to “nagging.” Bravo. I’ll shut up from now on.
Archie: No, you won’t. It’s OK. You’re always telling us what to do, meathead. You’re a liberal, you can’t help it.
Michael: No. I stand up for my beliefs, same as you.
Archie: “Same as me.” You think I’m stupid don’t you?
Michael: What? What are you talking about?
Archie: “What are you talking about.” (scoffs) You know what I’m talking about, meathead. Can’t you be honest for once?
Michael: “For once…?” Come on, Archie! When have I not been honest?
Archie: Yeah, la-di-dah. Get a load of Saint Meathead, here. You cannot tell a lie.
Michael: You’re projecting, Archie.
Archie: Oh yeah?
Michael: Yeah.
Archie: So what am I projecting?
Michael: I have absolutely zero idea, Archie.
(They both burst out laughing)
Michael: Yeah … Listen, Archie. (laughs) I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Seriously. I’m in the dark here. (laughs) Honestly.
Archie: (laughs) “Honestly” my ass.
Michael: What? Come on, Archie. Where’s this hostility coming from?
Archie: Where? (lights cigar) See? That’s the trouble with all you liberals.
Michael: What liberals? I’m counting one liberal in the room, Archie. It’s just you and me.
Archie: That’s a smart thing to say, Michael. Really smart. See … I’d never think of that.
Michael: I never said …
Archie: No. But you think I’m stupid, right?
Michael: No! J …
Archie: Just uneducated maybe? Unenlightened? Prejudiced?
Michael: You’re twisting my words around, Archie. I don’t think you’re stupid.
Archie: OK, fine. I’m not stupid. You say so, who am I to argue?
(They shake hands. Michael breathes a sigh of relief.)
Archie: You don’t think I’m stupid. But you do think you’re smart.
Michael: Arggggh!!
Archie: Come, on Michael. Admit it. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. You think you’re smart, right?
Michael: Right.
Archie: “Right.” Spoken like a typical liberal. I rest my case.

The Wizard of Oz. What was he thinking?

Kansas, early 20^th century. You’re a balloonist and a hard-working circus professional. Due to an unfortunate balloon malfunction, you wind up in the Land of Oz—a weird alternate reality where magic actually works. Power in this cockamamie place is divided between two good witches and two bad witches. Seeing as how you’re not from around here, your position is insecure. So you start thinking fast. And you adapt, like you always do. With the aid of pyrotechnics and projectors, you inform the locals that you’re a powerful wizard. The local yokels buy the grift, and they put you in charge of the whole place. You spend your time hiding out in a castle and keep your head down.

Then one day, this teenage farm girl shows up from Kansas. Dorothy, Dolly, something like that. With her dog, yet, and three shell-shocked rejects from the Land of Oz. Believing you’re a powerful wizard and all that crap, Diana or whatever asks you to send her home. The other specimens have their own requests. Truth is, you can’t help them. Hell, you can’t even send your own sorry-ass home. You can't admit that s***, obviously. It’d blow your whole act. But that’s the least of your problems. Seems like the Wicked Witch of the West has a beef with these chumps. Unlikely as it may seem, this cute little girl in pigtails killed her sister. The green-skinned Witch saw red. And followed these mouth-breathers all the way here trying to kill them. Long story short, Dottie or Debbie’s brought the Wicked Witch of the West to your doorstep. What to do?

You know what to do.

After a terrifying pyrotechnic display, you say, “Sure, kid. I’ll help you. But you have to do something for me first.”

That something?

“Bring me the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Kill the b****, in other words. Morality aside, the prospect of success is highly unlikely.

It’s basically liked saying, “Bring me Stalin’s machine gun. Bring me Hitler’s luger.” You get the idea.

Once they get it, these rubes will run screaming. They’ll come back with a Munchkin mob to string you up. Had to happen someday.

But the suckers buy it. They head out after the Wicked Witch armed with a bug spray gun, a net, and a peashooter.

Problem solved.