This is a site devoted to casting a spotlight on those comics in the Sunday pages that for one reason or another, were never collected.
Also, I'll be paying attention to other comics worthy of wider recognition.
Before the onset of Wikipedia and TVtropes, one of the earliest sites for comparing weird factoids and arcane trivia in animation was The Cartoon Overanalyzation page, which can still be accessed on the wayback archive. They covered a wide range of subjects, like how one of Filmation’s animators was a racist who refused to draw black people, so they had him doing the backgrounds instead; which was ironic, given they worked on properties like Fat Albert, which featured nothing but black people in it.
Or, if they took the jingle for The Smurfs being three apples high literally, then these Smurfs were HUGE. (Go ahead, stack three apples atop each other) By extension, this meant that Gargamel was towering 20 feet high, and Azarael was the size of a mountain lion.
While purveying my old notes that I’d been accumulating, I came across several observations of mine that I wanted to contribute, but waited until I had at least three to consider them worth sharing.
I’ve had dreams where I’m reading books about comics that never existed. Chief most among them, unprinted rejected strips of Calvin & Hobbes. On one of these occasions was coming across a description of Warner Bros. Cartoon characters in Chuck Jone’s informative volumes, Chuck Amuck and Chuck Redux. The passage I came across was delving into the psychological analysis of Yosemite Sam, who was created to be more of a challenging foil for Bugs Bunny, because Elmer Fudd was simply too easy to deal with.
Yosemite Sam hates being surprised. Every time he confronts Bugs Bunny, he is always surprised.
When I checked these books, I was surprised to see that the relevant passage wasn’t there, since it seemed to fit so perfectly with the element that defined the overexcited pirate/cowboy/tycoon.
In other instances, it's noticing certain traits that while being innocuous in showing the broader implications of ignorance, how such portrayal can wind up helping others suffering similar symptoms without calling them out on it. In this instance, I came to the conclusion that Baloo from TailSpin had Dyslexia. Some of the most creative people happen to be Dyslexic, which goes to show that the barometer for intellect and creativity is not just limited to people who know how to read. Rather, they ways they circumvent to get around the barriers required to recognize familiar words takes some creative managing. As long as they’re happy doing what they do, whether it’s tinkering with solid materials or working with their hands, rather than trying to force themselves into the synesthesia that is converting written symbols to sound.
This is most obvious in the episode Vowel Play, where he downplays the usefulness of spelling things properly. That is, until the code he’s explicitly expected to spell the skywritings in the correct manner, lest City Hall gets bombed.
If it were only one instance, that could be enough, but another example that bolsters my theory comes when he has to reapply for his expired flying license in On a Wing and a Bear. In that, he’s overly anxious when he’s overlooked by an instructor who spells out instructions in alphabetical order, rather than his natural routine he’s more accustomed to.
Though there is some new software out there to make fonts of similar letters slightly different, making them easier to tell apart.
Going back to the Smurfs analogy, they were some of the most ubiquitous merchandising forces of the 80's, rivaled only by Pokémon and Garfield, and parodied in The Simpsons as the infantile Happy Little Elves. If they were released today, chances are they’d capitalize on more recent fads aimed at the extreme youth market, like Teletubbies or something. But back then, Smurfs were the closest comparison we had. They were introduced without much fanfare, and then promptly forgotten in later seasons for more worthwhile mindless entertainment along the likes of Itchy & Scratchy. I just found it disappointing that while there was episodes devoted to comics, paying tribute to Watchmen Babies & Stan Lee, there was never an episode where Comic Book Guy acknowledged the existence of the comics the Happy Little Elves came from.
Like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and CyberSix, which selected only the surface elements of a rather adult comic, Bart & Lisa would’ve been mortified to find out that the comics of the Happy Little Elves were satirical takes on society, deep distrust in the system they were in, and subtle political commentary on current events taking place back then. And despite the politics being over 60 years out of time, the issues they raised were just as relevant today.
Now, ironically enough, The Simpsons have entered a holding patter of irrelevancy, their best years being long behind them, but they were also the force behind Prime-Time Animation and approaching subversive subject material in a humourous way. And the American market being what it is, humour is the only way to guarantee an audience.
For the last three weeks, I've been suffering an annoying bout of neck pain combined with a migraine, neither of which seemed to go away. Normally, I bury myself with work to ignore such trivial annoyances and focus on other duties, but it turned out the mass amount of material I needed to work with was what was causing the pain in the first place.
My irritation started when after having completed the first part of a lengthy project, found out that there were other steps that needed to be added... and the papers needed weren't ready yet. I like to assemble my files in a routine assembly line manner, and the constant factor of having to open and close literally hundreds of folders all the time was not a feasible design in my mind. I attempted to leave these folders open, but they wound up taking up more room than expected. Sure, it was inconvenient, but to me, the prospect of having to reopen folders with potentially sensitive material that could slide around anytime seemed more important to me. These folders weren't designed to be opened and closed so many times. Then, on one particularly stressful moment around the photocopier, I had a minor meltdown, and was told to leave early. Even though my outburst gave me some well-needed cooling downtime, I still felt inconvenienced that I couldn't help out as much as I could.
Even after the job was finally finished a week later, the pain still lingered.
The sense of pain surrounding my body has always been a little weird. When one part of my body hurts, it usually stays that way for a few days, until it fades away. ...at which point, another part of my body which seemed perfectly fine before starts hurting again. For instance, my knee might start hurting for a few days, before the pain transfers to my elbow.
While looking up my symptoms in a medical handbook, and looking at the boolean logic ladder, I was wondering whether any of the potential causes were from a ruptured muscle, or a slipped disc. Since I was still able to walk and move my head, it seemed safe that neither of these options were plausible, and it was most likely the result of a pulled muscle.
I pointed out that the cause could've very likely been from when I accidentally fell out of a bus. It was something that just happened last year, when the bus I was riding was taking a detour the other way it was supposed to go. At a stop, I leaned out the door, holding the handlebar to look at the digits on the side to see if I'd gotten on the right one, since I couldn't see the number from the inside. The driver, not knowing my intention, and figuring that I was getting off, pulled away from the curb, just as I was trying to hold onto the closing door I was gripping. I landed on my back, my backpack cushioning the brunt of the blow (and ruining a pill capsule I was keeping spice in), but my head still slammed against the pavement, knocking my neck back. The driver and passengers checked to see if I was alright. Physically, I was fine, and managed to get back to my seat, but while resting my head against the wall, the vibrations made it difficult for me to relax, because I was still in shock, and starting to feel the effects of the fall on my neck. That occurred to me when I was riding the bus lately, and noticed I couldn't relax as usual.
Equally annoying was my inability to sleep properly. Having a hurting neck doesn't work wonders on a pillow, if the pillow you're sleeping on has been deflated to the point of limpness. Much later, I was given a replacement pillow, but not a Dakimakura Anime pillow. (While I like having a pillow pressed up against my stomach while sleeping, I consider those things to be rather worthless, since you can't see what's on them in the dark) Turns out the new pillow needed some time to contort itself to my shape, and I was more comfortable with my old pillow.
But this lack of sleep was further exacerbated by a Reoccurring Dream I kept having. No matter what I did, I kept coming back to the same scenario: a young girl left in the Upper left corner of a park. No matter what I did, I couldn't get rid of it, no matter how hard I tried. I kept worrying that this was some kind of prophetic subliminal message . Otherwise, why harp on the same scenario multiple times, when it has no meaning for me? The dream only changed slightly when I shifted sleeping positions. I was now leaving the park from a slightly different angle. While the surroundings were annoyingly similar, there was a subtle difference - the girl mentioned that the area was beautiful, and never wanted to leave. Upon waking, I wondered if that was the reason. That is, my subconscious refused to let me go until I worked out an answer. It must've been, because I haven't had that dream since.
One day, the pain got so bad that I couldn't even stay long enough to help out as much as I could. Dealing with one localized pain was bad enough, and could be dealt with, but two from opposing different sides was another story. I took muscle relaxants and aspirin to help ease the pain, but neither seemed to work. I looked my symptoms up online, and found there was a rare symptom where a neck pain could be the indirect cause of my headache. Finally desperate, I went out and got some medication specifically designed to deal with tense neck muscles. Those worked better than the other brand, and seemed to work.
And yet, even with the new medication and applying cold compresses, my neck still hurt. My parents were starting to become concerned. My mother suggested a massage therapist she'd gone to recently, who had "magic hands" that made one of her persistent pains in her back go away after just two sessions. Now, my mother is somewhat sensitive, having particularly fragile bones, and yet she still routinely goes out to play tennis, even though it causes her tennis elbow, along with tennis ribs, legs, spine, wrist, and any other body parts that require sports function. When she gets injured, she always gets cranky on account of not being able to move, so I have to hope for a speedy recovery, so things will become peaceful around here.
I'm normally apprehensive about letting others touch my body, since I'm rather sensitive and ticklish, but given my mother's high referral and my desperation, I was willing to give him a chance. Especially since the right side of my neck didn't hurt much - but by now, my leftside was starting to feel sore.
A week later, my headache had subsided somewhat, though it had turned into a variation of the white elephant effect - it only hurt if I thought about it. By then, I was in the waiting room of the legendary masseur, waiting for my turn to come up. An appointment was made back when it seemed my neck was on the wane. If it'd gotten any better, I could always cancel, no problem; but if it worsened, he'd have a slot to fit me in.
I was filled with apprehension about what I would be going through, since my general knowledge of massage pallors was limited to what I read in comics and seen on TV, most of it with negative connotations. But then, humour plays off of things that go wrong, than on what goes right.
I figured that chances were that I'd be flat on my stomach for most of the session, being bored out of my skull, so I'd brought a book with me so I'd have something to occupy my time. Most people would fill their time with music or books on tape, but since neither are obvious choices for me, I'm left with less options.
However, it turned out that there was much more internal movement involved than I thought. First, I was told to sit on the table, while my back was prodded using various pressure points. Then, I was laid on my back while he poked the underside of my back while pressing alongside my ribs. Other times, he would be pressing the underside of my back, while moving my arm around. Then I sat up again. He would be testing both sides of my body, feeling around for what areas needed attention. Throughout the session, I was rather ticklish, because some of the points he pressed were rather sensitive. I'm rather touchy about being touched.
Throughout the procedure, the masseur talked about various things, most of which I missed since he was facing away from me. Obviously, this was related to how barbers tend to ramble on random stuff while cutting hair, and since he hadn't had a Deaf client before, he didn't know how to talk appropriately to me. I had to have what he said repeated back by my mother who was in the room. One of the subjects that came up was that he knew someone who had a baby, and their parents were communicating via sign language.
Now, this kid wasn't born deaf, but overcoming the hurdles of lack of speech communication was no small task. They figured they might as well get started via visible finger movements.
My mother remarked that the signing baby was much more proficient in learning sign language than me, since I never expressed much interest in it, beyond the basic alphabet, numbering and easily identifiable movements. I responded with, "Well, that goes without saying." Then, I repeated back what I just said slowly, like when Witch Hazel realizes she's just made an unintentional pun. "Goes. Without. Saying." I have a knack for coming up with appropriate stealth puns that aren't cringeworthy in the heat of the moment.
When he was finished, the masseur had reduced the pain down to two spots on either side of my neck. They still lingered, but at least I had a specific point I could localize, rather than a scattershot broad area. And yet, even with this expert manipulation over my upper body, I still wound up hurting days later. I was starting to lose sensation in my arm.
It was pointed out that a potential likely source of my pain could've been from sitting at the computer for long hours at a time. Of this, I'm unashamedly guilty. However, the cause could've very well been the unfortunate positioning of my keyboard. Previously, I'd had my keyboard facing away from me, so I could rest my arms on the table. But because I kept notes that I meant to write down later, I put those in front of my monitor, putting my keyboard closer to my chest, where I'd write via my armrests instead. This new position meant that instead of writing straight ahead, I was now writing at an unnatural angle, which could very well accounted for my neck problem, because I was twisting my body around instead of facing forward.
Sandalwood hay bales on sale
"She takes everything literally!"
Aw No! Not again!
What? Calm down!
They have to harvest the wheat every year, don't they?
Yeah, but...
...how would he like it if I walked all over his plate?!
Where does Milk come from?
"The supermarket?"
Whut? You're going on a great vacation?
Yup! I'm wandering the countryside.
When The Hunchback of Notre Dame was released in 1996, it was heralded as a new trailblazing path for Disney movies in moving beyond mere Fairy Tales. But Disney had apparently forgotten that they'd done adaptations of more serious works in the past before. Ranging from Ichabod Crane andMr. Toad, to the first five minutes of The Jungle Book that was faithful to its source material, before becoming the Baloo show.
And then there's The Fox & The Hound, probably one of the most depressing movies ever made.
Though, if you've been browsing clickbait links, you may have come across a factoid that the book was Miles more soul-crushing. The story changed from a parable about how our roles in society determine our motives, to a fable about childhood friends from opposite sides becoming unintentional enemies.
Finding a dead tree version can be considered costly, since it hasn't been reprinted since its publication.
Fortunately, there's an electronic version available, so it isn't completely lost to the ages. (Too bad I can't stand the platforms, since their scrolling pages give me a headache) The majority of the following is lifted almost verbatim from the TVtropes Literature page, with minor revisions.
Ironically enough, the book's theme more closely resembled the atmosphere surrounding the Animation studio in producing the cartoon film. As one of the final projects completed by the remaining fabled Nine Old Men, the movie was plagued with a troubled production history. There were numerous conflicts of interest between the old guard and the new generation on how to best do background details, and refusal to use the latest technology under budget restrictions.
The result was Don Bluth becoming discouraged over the 'stagnant' Disney, moved out with a dozen other animators to found his own company... which specialized on lengthy chase scenes and nonsensical plots. Still, for all his faults, he was the closest thing Disney had to a legitimate rival for a very long time.
Tim Burton was reportedly so traumatized over being unable to draw a fox properly ("my drawings all looked like roadkill") that he didn't return to the company for almost a decade.
Tim Burton literally went insane trying and failing to replicate the Disney style. Highlights from his tenure include locking himself in his closet, biting people who came near his desk and wandering the halls after having his wisdom teeth pulled and letting his mouth bleed all over the floor. His time at Disney didn't last much longer.
While there is a hound named Copper and a fox named Tod, that's pretty much where the similarities end. For starters, the two never meet or spend much time in childhood to form a lasting fraught relationship that's doomed from the start. Instead, the titular fox is raised by a hunter (not the same one who killed his parents) who's also raising a terrier puppy. To prepare his pets for the outside world, he runs a simple experiment on them by rigging up a plate of food to deliver a shock if touched. The terrier takes several shocks to get the idea, and completely forgets the plate's unpleasantness in a few months. Tod gets shocked ONCE and never goes near it again. A trait of learning things quickly, which is essential for survival.
Another difference is the portrayal of the animals' mindset, which is closer to Patrick Süskind's Perfume. From their point of view, their major import of information comes from their overwhelming sense of smell, rather than sight. Copper's eyesight is so bad that he seems to consider clear colour vision to be a Bizarre Human Sense.
Also, Tod's repertoire of hunting skills and evasive maneuvers are made up of various tricks that worked once and are repeated verbatim - he doesn't question WHY something works, he just knows that it DOES.
Copper knows that "human beings had strange powers that no dog could understand", such as the ability to miraculously scent trails where he cannot (which was more likely following footprints and broken branches). The formal foxhunters are even more bizarre and inscrutable. Tod is probably the character least awed by humans, and even then they still do things he finds inexplicable from time to time. Untrained curs are dumb - trained hounds can smell right through most fox tricks.
The author, Daniel Mannix, spent over a year studying foxes, which included watching them in the wild, interviewing hunters and even keeping a pair of red foxes in his home. He was also extremely well-versed in how scent tracking works. It shows.
One of the few rare instances that a scene is actually taken from the book. But there were several minor differences involved. For starters, after Tod played a dangerous game of Chicken with an upcoming train, Chief pretty much died after this gambit. While this was the motivation behind the hunter beginning a life-long vendetta against the fox who'd killed his beloved dog, Copper's reaction was markedly different. Copper was actually GLAD that Chief was killed, since his mentor picked up scents by luck, rather than in a methodical way Copper did.
Another major difference is that Book Tod pretty much hates being domesticated, and as soon as he approaches puberty, he leaves his foster home to join the wild, where he learns new survival skills the hard way - trial & error.
Tod decides being a mated fox might not be so bad after his first mate helps him kill a pheasant and later proves that a hunting pair is a lot more successful than a lone fox.
There were actually two Vixens who attracted Tod's attention. The first one was lost to a rival fox Tod fought over. Tod wouldn't find a suitable replacement to make babies with until later.
Foxes of course do not have language (In Japan, they make a 'Kon' noise), so fox parents cannot simply tell their offspring that winter is coming and that it would be a good idea to learn hunting skills in summer. Tod cannot communicate to his family that the hunter is using a rabbit-scream call as bait.
The second vixen Tod mated with picked a birthing den that had a single tunnel leading to a single burrow. Unlike the care-free Tod in the movie, Book Tod was more paranoid.. Having spent his short time as a wild pup in a generations-old fox den with multiple entrances and burrows, thinks the new home's a death trap. He's right. The casualty report - his vixen is caught in a bear trap, and of the two litters who were outright killed, only one pup survived, and presumably lived off-screen.
There WAS a Bear attack in the book, but it happened earlier, practically near the beginning, and it was Chief who saved the day, by attacking... the bear's groin area. Obviously, that couldn't be shown in a children's movie, so they resorted to having him fall off a log.
Most British fox hunts last for an average of 17 minutes. The last chapter, which details the lengthy cat-and-mouse chase between the Fox & the Hound lasted... a day and a half, covering 150 miles. This was based on a real hunt, with a Fox named Baldy, and a half-breed bloodhound named Boston. At the end of that hunt, both animals literally chased themselves to death, dropping dead from exhaustion. Book Copper fared better - he survived.
...only to have his fate sealed for him shortly after. Once Tod is killed, more through second-hand status ailments than cathartic release, the hunter has no other purpose left in life. With most of his property gone in the process, the hunter is forcibly ferried into a nursing home that doesn't allow dogs, so to avoid abandoning his faithful friend who's stuck through him thick and thin, he's forced to shoot Copper before entering. Cheerful, huh?
The worst part was that Copper was so blissfully unaware of what the hunter had planned for him that he kept wagging his tail. Once shot, the hunter hanged Tod's lifeless pelt on his wall, to remember him always.
To make up for that amount of Funky Winkerbean level of funkness, here's a child's drawing of the two titular characters in happier times.
(Setting: the interior of a hospital wing. A balding detective in a trench coat knocks on the door of an office)
Detective Flinch: Dr. Tenma?
(The door opens, revealing a world-weary brunette in a laboratory coat) Doctor Tenma: Mister Flinch? You made an appointment, right? Flinch: Yes. I was hoping we could speak confidentially. Tenma: My office is always open. (Leads Flinch inside, closes door) Flinch: Lately, we've had rumours that the vigilante known as Code Name "P" is planning to take advantage of the ensuing confusion regarding the upcoming election. Tenma: (Looks a little lost) Unless it has to do with something medical, I'm not quite sure how I can help. Flinch: There is. You have access to a certain illegal drug in your possession. A controlled substance, under article C2oh25-N3O, I believe. Tenma: (Blank look) What are you talking about?? Flinch: There's no use hiding it. We've known about your operation for quite some time. Tenma: (Looks warily at the door, seeking an escape route) Flinch: Don't worry. I'm not seeking a conviction. I'm semi-retired, so officially, I'm not here. I'm far more interested in a controlled substance that I used to partake. Tenma: You?? I find that hard to believe. Flinch: (Inhales, exhales deeply into his hands) It's not exactly something I'm proud of. You see, I used to be a much more high-profile detective, helping solve some of the most baffling cases. Tenma: Baffling cases?... You don't mean to say that... you were L? Flinch: No, I wasn't THAT good. (Chuckles) No, but I took some mental-boosting pills that increased my productivity. Unfortunately, they had the side effect of cutting off my relationships. I became too grossly invested in my work. My wife left me, my colleagues could no longer tolerate my presence. My arrogance began to overwhelm getting further cases assigned my direction. Eventually, I weaned off the pills, but my reputation was never the same afterwards. Tenma: (Confused) So, why come to me then? Why take these pills at all? Flinch: In order to get into "P"'s mentality, I need to indulge deeply into the deepest darkest recesses of my mind. And my ability lately has been sorely lacking. I've always been three steps short of him, never quite catching up. I don't like resorting to this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Tenma: (Picks pills from behind secret compartment) This 'P' threat, it's pretty big, huh? (Hands pills over) Flinch: You have no idea. (Contemplates pills in his hand) Tenma: You know, it's not too late. You can still back out if you want to. Flinch: (Shakes head) I know I'm reaching. Frankly speaking, I'm scared about what getting into his state of mind entails. (Swallows pills) But I'm more scared about what 'P' might do more. Tenma: (Points towards door, hand on doorknob) Should I leave, or...? Flinch: Stay. I need somebody to keep watch over me. I have no idea how I'll react, having been off for so long. My relapse should -
(The detective stops short, his eyes bulging out. He puts his hands on his head and starts convulsing, his whole body shaking wildly, alarming the doctor. After several seconds of erratic movement, the seizures stop) Tenma: (Tentatively moves within the drug-induced detective's line of sight) ...Inspector Lynch?
(Detective Lynch removes his hands from his head in a relaxed manner, revealing the face of a smiling confident man with a cool lean predator-hungry look with razor-sharp eagle eyes constantly seeking justice) Detective Lynch: "I am 'P'."
(The screen becomes warped and corrupted) *Static plays*
(The Horizontal and Vertical warble)
(The face of a man wearing a smiling Pikachu mask appears on the screen)
P: Hello. Sorry to interrupt during a pivotal moment, but I felt it was time I had a few choice words to say.
This speech is not aimed at the general populace, but at the higher rankings of so-called men in charge.
At this current rate, your party is collapsing faster than I could possibly hope to implement.
You've openly supported a man who for all intents and purposes, was a reprehensible human being. All the proof was there for everyone with a lick of common sense to see.
The only reason you started backing him up was because he gained the popular vote with the same poisonous methodology you've used over the years to appeal to your voting base. The problem with using such a technique for so long - somebody was bound to corrupt and override the formula down to its most basic elements for maximum impact.
And what has he done since?
Insisted on a media blackout, just because he didn't like any criticism aimed at him.
Furthermore, his default first response to any perceived threat is to go straight to the nukes. And ALSO thinks that more countries should have nuclear weapons.
ANY other politician would long have apologized for their misgivings, hoped he'd be forgiven for their slights and move on. Not him. When met with anything resembling resistance - not even defiance - he digs in his heels and further digging in his roots for the hills he's willing to die on. For all your hopes that he'd change his tune once sworn in as candidate, he decided to stick to the formula he knows best, since it worked this far.
This is a man who openly admits to refuse to change.
All these warning signals should have scared you off. It didn't. Experience should've shown you that unscrupulous businessmen make lousy politicians. Your last Presidential Candidate should have shown you that. It didn't. Maybe now, you'd learn your lesson, but experience has taught me not to rely on wishful thinking.
Your ceiling of quality, once so high and lofty has fallen so low that it now more closely resembles a cellar floor. And yet, you continue to follow behind him, while openly resisting any serious backing. Which is it? You can't have it both ways forever. Sooner or later, you're going to have to make a decision.
The ONE politician who made no move to endorse him, and appealed others to "vote their conscience" was booed off the stage for displaying disloyalty within the party. Strange that voting our conscience is considered reprehensible. At what point does despicable actions become acceptable behavior?
This is what comes out of letting your greed dictate your political terms. We're at the point where a corporation is considered to be a person, but people are considered property. You've made emotional arguments that have nothing to do with policy, and scared your voters beyond reasonable margins using anti-intellectual stances. Annoying know-it-alls were just getting in the way with their factoids. Well, here's one for you:
I have heard grumblings of the overwhelming dissatisfaction of the incompetence of the authorities in being unable to apprehend me, on the basis that "I'm only ONE man!" Well, let me turn that back on you. You only had to stop ONE man from rising as high into power as he did. What's YOUR excuse?
And now, back to our regular feature, currently in progress.
(Brief flicker of snowy static)
(Interior of the Doctor's office is a shambles) Flinch: (Looks around, confused. Is surprised to find himself naked) What happened? I didn't hurt you, did I? Tenma: (Shaking) No, you just did some bizarre pantomime actions, roleplaying multiple theoretical scenarios using my office supplies, before stopping and writing something down before collapsing. Flinch: What'd I write? Tenma: (Tentatively hands piece of paper over) Flinch: (Reads page)
Page: It's already too late. "P" doesn't need to do anything at this point.
I've never been one to fully embrace the trial of enduring a driving lesson, even though having a driver's license would make things easier to sign up for, as an added proof of who I say I really am. (Because there are all kinds of frauds out there who'd like to impersonate me, without any of the emotional baggage I entail)
To me, a car is less the feeling of rebelliousness freedom, and more a golden albatross you're anchored to. There's the cost of having to fill up the gas tank on a regular basis, keeping the tires inflated, the windshield wipers fluid working. And on top of all that, there's the ever-persistent threat of your car suddenly experiencing system existence failure right in the middle of traffic.
Ah yes, traffic. Home of the highway, constant stop signs and the source of road rage, where the slightest distraction is the only thing from reducing your high-tech vehicle into a twisted steel death trap. If your body hasn't been fully damaged beyond repair in your metal coffin, you'll be lucky(?) enough to only scrape by with some amputated limbs, brain damage, and ruptured internal organs. Not to mention the act of having to pay attention to every single functioning aspect of the car, memorizing what each gear does, and keeping a watchful eye on daredevil jaywalkers. There's simply too many things for me to keep track of.
That's why I prefer to go the route of public transportation. Let THEM deal with the worries, while I doze away to the comfortable vibrations in the back. Not that riding the bus is that great a deal. The latest designs are nowhere as comfortable as the old models (50 seats reduced to 30), seats with no place to rest your head, too many windows that allow sunlight to glare through, and a limited number of comfortable spots that are quickly filled up. Not to mention the threat of missing your stop through inattention or not ringing the bell properly enough. And the pressure to keep a vigilant eye on making sure your bus doesn't pass you by when you're not paying attention. And the fares keep rising all the time, with no end in sight.
I'd also opt for being picked up by someone who knows how to drive, but waiting around for them to come is just as nervewracking as waiting for the bus, since people don't operate by a timesheet system. But that's them breaks I guess.
