The other night after dinner was fixed and eaten, the kitchen straightened up, Sam was bathed and in his pj's, we finally crashed on the couch together for a little rest and relaxation in the form of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. As I was flipping the channels in search of Disney, I came across a vintage episode of Mickey Mouse on the Cartoon Network that was just about to start. I was quite excited, seeing as how Mickey would appease my demanding toddler (Watch Mickey Peeeez!) and I wouldn't have to sit through another episode of Mickey and the gang shouting Oooooh Toodles over and over and over.
The title screen comes up and this particular episode is called "Moving Day."
"Well, this will be cute," I thought. "Just Mickey and his buddies moving on up."
Mickey and Donald appear on the screen pacing frantically around their apartment with a calendar hanging on the wall in the background. "Rent - 6 Months Overdue" it reads. The beloved Disney characters look forlorn and panicked. Not the usual, care-free attitude seen on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, but I suppose in the 30's Mickey was trying to recover from the Great Depression like most everyone else. Makes sense.
There's a loud banging at the door as Mickey and Donald run for cover, looking terrified. Mickey musters up the courage to open the peep hole, only to be punched square in the face by "Sheriff Pete" with such force he hurdles across the room. Pete busts through the door, terrorizing poor Mickey and Donald with an eviction notice.
I gasp and look over at Sam, wide-eyed, and no doubt, traumatized that his hero has just been sucker punched by who he knows as the ornery, but lovable Pete from the Clubhouse. I give a nervous chuckle and say, "Mickey's ok, Pete was just playing!" I'm thinking at this point maybe I should change the channel. But I want Sam to see that Mickey's alright, so I don't change it yet. Surely he'll bounce right back up and dance around...or something.
Nope. What happens next is quite the opposite actually. Pete corners Donald, lights a cigar with a match, and throws the still-lit match down his throat!
Oh dear Lord! Where is the remote?!
And that, my friends, concluded our exploration into the world of vintage cartoons. I hope my child is not traumatized for life.