I Eat Cannibals: Part 1

[This story came about as Mrs. Curmudgeon is trying to break me to the harness of “binge watching”. I’m slow to grok the idea. I’m the sort that never moved beyond a season’s TV taking a season to watch. After a single episode, I reflexively drift. She’s the normal one, waiting a week to see the next installment of whatever’s on TV is geezer-think nowadays. I still mourn the passing of the old TV’s rabbit ears. But, this old dog can still learn new tricks. I’d been working too hard in 2018 and in early 2019 deliberately set out to “potato” on my “couch”.]

Mrs. Curmudgeon patiently let me reject elevently dozen “binge watch” options (I’m picky!) until I settled upon Venture Bros. I totally love that show! If you’re looking for lowbrow entertainment that’s still got a decent dose of whit I highly recommend it.

For those of you who haven’t seen it, the premise is obscure but perfect. The main protagonist, Rusty Venture, is a grown up Johnny Quest analogue. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about; Johnny Quest is a 1960’s Hanna Barbara children’s cartoon that either sucks or was awesome depending on your level of misty attachment to youthful experiences. YMMV if you grew up in a different era. If you’re a Millenial, it might trigger you; you may need to weep… not that anyone will care.)

Venture is cosmically uncool and part of a population of hapless “super scientist” hero types that run around mostly destroying cool weaponized toys (and in the case of Venture, squandering the inheritance left by a far more successful father). He and his his two (idiot/cloned) sons are protected by a Led Zepplin playing bodyguard (Brock Sampson). Brock is exceptionally good at killing things, oozes testosterone, and (as God intended) drives an orange 1969 Dodge ‘Hemi’ Charger. Brock is usually busy because the other half of the cast is a loose gaggle of “supervillians”. They’re equipped with super weapons, hair brained schemes, and armies of henchmen. (Brock tends to depopulate the latter, earning him nicknames like “Swedish murder machine” and “FrankenMullet”). For their part, the bad guys are nominally members of a trade union called “The Guild of Calamitous Intent” (motto: “Hate you can trust”) which may or may not be run by David Bowie. Shakespeare, it is not, but they had me at Guild of Calamitous Intent. Has there ever been a cooler name? Where do I sign up? (Click image to go to Amazon.)

In case you’re wondering, my favorite character is the Mighty Monarch. He’s as dogged in his pursuit of Rusty Venture as While E. Coyote was of that damn roadrunner. He has all the great character traits of a satirical nutjob. He shoots first and asks questions later, goes off half-cocked, laughs with glee at his own crazy plans, and genuinely loves his super hot also-villain wife; the ever patient Dr. The Mrs. Monarch. The best part of the Monarch is that nearly his every utterance is a loud proclamation! After a few drinks I probably sound like the Monarch. (Heck, I’m probably never more than a half a bottle of tequila away from acting like him.)

I began to grok bingewatching!

All this leads to season six, episode two. Mrs. Curmudgeon and I had been taking turns whipping up mixed drinks and I was grudgingly admitting this whole “bingewatch” thing had potential. The series’ writers, which had been clever and mixed it up in every episode, turned the dial to eleven with creativity. They felt it necessary to make an entire episode based on an obscure Duran Duran music video from 1983. Down the rabbit hole I went.

Stay turned for when it all goes to hell…