Eighties Cartoon Flashback: Pimp My Ride

The 80s were a golden age for cartoon antagonists.  As proof, I submit that from thence came such figures as…

Dr. Claw: The most frightening right arm in children’s television.

Or…

Cobra Commander: From a faction of baddies including, but not limited to, demolitions experts, snipers, and a freakin’ ninja comes the guy known only for his nasally voice, perpetual whining, and wearing a welding helmet to work.

And who can forget…

Shredder: The last time I crossed my arms, I needed twenty-six stitches.

And the reason they were great was this – they were allowed to do more than mildly inconvenience the protagonist.  This is unlike modern times where, if a thirty-minute animated special doesn’t end with the good guys and slightly less good guys holding hands/paws/hooves and performing a musical number, it’s cited in court cases involving serial murder.

You’re gonna be my friend, or this unicorn horn is goin’ right up your wazoo.

However, I have to acknowledge there is a singular problem with my everything-was-better-in-the-80s theory.  There is a flaw in my logic of sufficient dimensions that a guitar-shaped motorcycle could be driven right through it.

Yes, those are exactly what you think they are.

I give you the Misfits, antagonists for the Jem television program, which ran from 1985 to 1988.  Her – Jem’s – tagline is that “she’s truly outrageous.”  As antagonists, the Misfits (a rival pop band) are not entitled to a tagline, but they should have one to the effect of “we’re truly incompetent.”   But even with that said, my primary problem with the Misfits is not their stupidity – let us not forget that even the distinguished Shredder suffered from more than his share of intellectual shortcomings.  No, my problem with the Misfits is the guitar-cycles, which appeared in exactly one episode, but for which I cannot forgive them.

Seriously – what the hell?

To make my point, I’ve taken the liberty of making a comprehensive list of everything wrong with this picture.

1. Zero points of articulation mean the Misfit guitar-cycle doesn’t so much corner as rely on a combination of prayer and the curvature of the earth.

2. Seat?  We don’t need no stinkin’ seat.  And apparently we don’t need any discernable form of suspension either.  I’m assuming riding this thing is a little like being run out of town on a rail.

A slightly more dignified form of transportation.

3. Presumably, she’s riding it inside because, to hearken back to point one, she was unable to assert any directional preference and can now only hope she exits via window or the thin sheetrocked space between studs.

4. I always ride my steering-less, suspension-less motorcycle through tight spaces at high speeds without a helmet, which goes a long way in explaining why I’m riding it to begin with.

This man has lower insurance premiums than the Misfits.

5a. What kind of guitar is this supposed to be?  The Fender Crapocaster?  A Gibson Les Poop?  No – wait a minute.  It looks like it’s made of plastic and costs way too much.  It must be a Rickenbacker.

Finally an instrument that says, “I have a lot of money and know how to play ‘Smoke on the Water.’”

5b. Oh… wait… it has four strings.  It’s a BASS guitar.  Just when you thought it couldn’t get any less cool.

Finally an instrument that says, “I have a lot of money and do not know how to play ‘Smoke on the Water.’”

6. …Where’s the motor on this thing, anyway?

No one’s going anywhere until I get a push.

7. No place to put her feet.  No kickstand.  And based on the scale of this drawing, I’m assuming the Guitar-Cycle is about the size of a draft horse.  I’m also guessing that the only way to get on is to run really fast alongside it and jump…while in your high heels.  Likewise, dismounts are best done near municipal hospitals since they involve a six or seven foot fall.

Another slightly more dignified form of transportation – admittedly with an…earthier… odor. As an aside, I’m assuming the above breed is what you get when you cross a horse with the NASA Crawler.

8. The bad news is that there are no brakes.  The good news is that, in the 80s, both sexes were expected to sport enough hair to serve as an impromptu parachute.

These men have jumped out of a (Jefferson) airplane with nothing but a can of hairspray and survived.

9. Headlight?  Tail light?  Turn signals?  Admittedly, the last would be superfluous given the complete absence of a steering column, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Ma’am, there isn’t a jurisdiction on this planet where this vehicle is street legal.

Now I admit that perhaps my thesis should have been less along the lines that 80s villains were better and more along the lines of “Shredder does everything better,” which would make an awesome bumper sticker or presidential slogan.  If nothing else, his ride puts Air Force One to shame.

We big pimpin’.

In related news, I now know who I’m voting for in 2012.

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