To Protect The World From Devastation
Before I launch into my bitter Dennis Miller-Lite rant, I should provide a bit of explanation: d.a.m.n.i.t. stands for Diatribes About Miscellaneous Nightmarishly Irritating Things, or for short, my soapbox. Like the puppeteered cadaver on 60 Minutes, I will use this forum to launch a bitter salvo at the decaying world about things that haven't the slightest bearing on anything. Remember, all opinions presented are in no way reflected by the editor, unless he agrees with them.

Back In The Day
When I was young, I foresaw myself watching Saturday Morning Cartoons for the rest of my life. I couldn't fathom how adults watched some doughy guy in a suit drone on about skinny kids covered with flies and numbers running across a screen while various anthropomorphic ducks, cats, and turtles traveled through time fighting ninjas, dinosaurs, and robots... or if it was a good episode, a combination of all three. The animated medium was all but unbeatable for a few exceptions – The A-Team for one (though but even Mr. T was better animated without that fool Murdock). Who wouldn't want to have some kind of way to watch people carrying swords and laser guns into bloodless combat 24-7?

Although my dream of constant toonage was achieved with the advent of Cartoon Network and Toon Disney, my childhood dream of eternally watching M.A.S.K. while chomping on Crunchberries has gone the way of my plan to make parachutes out of curtains. See, the flip side of the cartoon coin is that nearly all the good shows have migrated to these places like a gated retirement community, where Uncle Scrooge and Megatron can frolic hand-in-hand through elysian fields while Cobra Commander and Grumpy Bear engage in the love that dare not speak its name by a sun-dappled brook. All the old cartoons of my wasted youth have moved on to these greener pastures, where people who appreciate the subtle nuances of Darkwing Duck (commonly known as 'virgins' or 'losers') can enjoy them.

This has left the old neighborhoods of this vast overextended metaphor in shambles, as the streets have been infested with 'witty' shows about school and suburban life that went out of style with 'Doug.' Sharing airspace with this equally reprehensible ilk is the target of the week which took me far too many paragraphs to get to: monster-raising cartoons.

Mr. Bitterness
My resentment for these 30-minute commercials with the proliferation of various cartoons with 'mon cleverly inserted into the title is so pure and focused, it's the Everclear of hatred. This already entrenched trend bankrupting foolish parents with no end in sight claimed it's latest victim: volunteering my own eyes in an experiment, I sat through the entire 5 hour Saturday Morning arc (7-12AM) and came out on the other side with that feeling that rape victims describe as never being clean again. Imagining the broad, coarse, sweaty hands of a network executive forcing me to the ground as spiky-haired children and their stylized pet sidekicks pried my eyelids open, I stared into the RGB void.

And with a cheerful 'Pika-pi!' the void stared back with dead eyes.

Inspired by the Barney of the new millennium, Pokemon has hatched many a foul offspring: Beyblade, Medabots, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Monster Rancher – the same game with different names. At least Cartoon Network is getting it right: if you must import cartoons, pick good ones.

I know that immediately I run the risk of sounding like Grandpa Simpson left alone with the Comic Book Guy, wailing: "You kids don't know what entertainment is! Kung-fu mutants and giant mecha are where it's at!" Truth is, those shows have their flaws too – I can barely sit through an episode of Thundercats without laughing myself to the edge of unconciousness about the plot. And certainly, the thinly veiled marketing pitch rivals or even surpasses some of today's animated fare; everyone from Teddy Ruxpin to Jackie Chan has been sent on some kind of asinine quest to collect something. Yet with these monster shows the collection NEVER STOPS. It's a self-perpetuating engine of corruption that's vast and pervasive – even the Transformers series is not untainted by its evil.

Actually, in the midst of stereotypes and their syrupy-sweet monosyllabic pets across the world is a warped parable reflecting the competitive spirit of childhood today. Seriously, before you hit the back button, think about it. Adults are the trainers, pitting their monster offspring against each other in everything from grades to soccer. It makes sense that children would want to be the abusive daddy or overbearing closet alcoholic mother and raise their own pets. Poorly trained children are beaten easily by the better trained ones, who evolve quicker.

Thus, I've come up with a way to deal with my anger. I call it Color-Coded Perfect Paradise Collection Eternal Smile Fantasy #8 – following a young transvestite constantly trying to upgrade his clothing and collect all the various Venereal Disease badges to become the First WorldTran Champion. With his fellow cross-dresser pals Glen and Glenda and a magical pair of talking red stilettos, he'll have to collect and work the ultimate outfit at each tournament along the way. Of course, trying to foil his adventures at every turn will be Team Peekaboo and their incredibly glamourous wardrobe, not to mention the Christian Coalition and every drunk guy who's awoken in his own personal Crying Game. Expect to see it on Showtime for Kids! this fall.

After all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Then train a lot and hit 'em from behind with your strongest attack; they'll never see it coming.

JapaNerd! Bellyaching Monologue Blast - GO!