Now that I think about it....

Upon reflection, I guess you could say my childhood was rife with avoiding visits from the “Swat team”. Contrary to the name, the “Swat team” was not a team at all, rather it was one person: my dad. He dubbed himself the illustrious title, which was self-explanatory: get out of line and your exterior gots a-swattin'.

As you can imagine, growing up was like living in a maximum-security prison where my ass was in constant jeopardy; stuffing my underpants with Nintendo cartridges to cushion the impact of an open palmed heiny assault was as commonplace as fiddling with my little whopper.

When I wasn’t attending “Swat team” functions (which usually met over my old mans’ knee at caught-you-with-a-Penthouse o’clock), I found solace in the ultimate escape from reality: cartoons. The late 80s had the best friggin’ cartoons this planet has ever witnessed. I mean what do kids these days have? Eye sores like that little yellow abomination from Pokemon and Sponge Bob Square Pants, a hobo who looks like he rapes Goldfish. They don’t hold a candle to G.I. Joe, Ducktales, Transformers and the myriad other animated paradigms my generation grew up venerating.

Entertainment value aside, I believe cartoons may have contributed to the desecration of my character. I remember watching Peter Pan religiously as a child, oblivious to the radiating pedophilia innuendos. How Disney ever got away with creating a character like the prepubescent penis pulling pedophile Captain Hook blows my mind. Think about it: Captain Hook lives in Never-never land, a place where little boys never grow up. He parades around with Smee, a dude who looks like he just logged out of the “Big Bird Chat room”. And that hook on his hand? Come on…that was no work of a Crocodile, that’s the punishment for grabbing kids butts in Never-never land.