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I've tried to imagine what the Paramount/Famous Studios' "romance" cartoons would be like if they were made today. These stories are the results. |
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Page last updated 09-15-2008.
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Popeye and Olive Oyl were entering the government complex, passing through the main gate and under a sign that arched across them reading, "Welcome to NASA's George Kennedy Space Center (If We Can Lift Him Off The Ground, We Can Lift Anybody) And Cape Carnival." "Oooo, Popeye," Olive enthused, "isn't it thrilling to be touring the very place where brave men risk their lives to face the unknown?" "Shucks, Olive, me and Pappy does that every time we eats at Granny's. Arf! Arf! Arf!" "Popeye!" Olive snorted, "don't you have one ounce of adventure in your entire body?" Popeye blew a blast out of his pipe. "Adventure, schmenture! It's one of them things ya looks for all yer life but never finds it. I looked for it t'other day when I wuz duelin' The Count. Didn't find it. And I looked last week when I was retrieving Swee'Pea's toy submarine from the bottom of the Marianas Trench. Didn't finds it." Then he muttered under his breath, "Besides, bringing a swell dame like you to a military base full of mens will probilly be all the adventure I kin stands!" And sure enough, across the base in a huge observatory, Professor O.G. Watasnozzle was sitting at the controls of a giant telescope programming instructions into it via computer. Handsome, but cocky, astronaut/test pilot, Jet Afterburner was standing next to him looking at the screen where what the telescope located would be projected. The Professor said, "With this, my latest invention, Earth needn't worry about ever being hit by comets, meteorites, or even an alien space craft! I've programmed the telescope to focus in on any heavenly bodies that are in our cosmic vicinity. I'll just turn it on and..." He pushed a button. Suddenly, he bolted upright in his chair. "It's located one already! It says that there's a heavenly body...HERE? On this base!?!?!?!?" The telescope was no longer pointing up at the sky, but rather straight at Olive Oyl. The end of it formed two lips and let out a long wolf whistle. The image of Ms. Oyl filled the viewing screen. "WOW!!!" Jet exclaimed. "Your invention was right!" His heart entered a small space capsule, rocketed away from his body, and took up an orbit around Olive Oyl. Following his heart, Jet grabbed a jet pack that was lying nearby, strapped it on, took off through the opening of the observatory roof, and zoomed through the sky toward the comely lass. Olive Oyl was dreamily hugging herself. "Oh, if only I could meet a real live astronaut, a man of vision, a man of destiny, a...Huh?" She saw something moving in the air. "Popeye, look up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane!" Jet started to bring himself down beside Olive, adjusting the mini-rockets so that their powerful exhaust would hammer Popeye into the ground, and finally he landed right on top of the spot where the sailor had been. "It's a super man!" Olive gushed. Jet's heart went back into his chest - the heart and the man now acting as one. He ditched the jet pack, took Olive's hand in his and brought it to his lips. "It's a wolf, ya means." Popeye has popped his head and torso up out of a mole hill a few yards away. Jet laughed. "Son, you're packed in tighter than the astronauts who piloted the first space capsules." "Then it's time I makes a mounting outta this mole hill." So saying, Popeye reached into his shirt and took out his spinach can. He popped the green stuff in his mouth, began chewing on it, and threw the now empty can away. Instantly, the ground began shaking. Kicking his legs while were still underground, Popeye was propelling himself higher and higher and dragging earth along with him. The mound grew taller the more Popeye kicked. Finally, when the mound of dirt was the size of a tobogganing hill, Popeye came flying out the top, like a cork released from a champagne bottle. He hurtled across the sky and landed hard in the officer's swimming pool. The water went everywhere! The pool was now bone dry, but the deck, and the picnic tables, and lawn chairs were all soaked. "I guess that's what you'd call a splashdown! Or mebbee in this case, a splashup? Ak! Ak! Ak! Ak! Ahhh!" Popeye climbed out of the pool and looked around. "Yikes! This is a real officers' mess!" He muttered, "Luckily they ain't here now, or I'd end up in a mess!" He started running back to find Olive and Jet, feeling the extra spinach boost leave as he did so. He came upon Olive as she was watching some sort of machine spinning wildly around. Popeye squinted his good eye and could make out Jet strapped to a seat on the end of a metallic arm of the device. Olive's eyeballs were going around and around inside her head as she gazed at the machine. "Oooh, Popeye," she gushed, "doesn't it make your head whirl to be with a real, live astronaut?" "Er, Olive, I thinks the reasin you is feelin' lightheaded is..." But Olive wasn't paying any attention. Her eyeballs had come to a stop and were now riveted on Jet who unstrapped himself and, despite what he had been through, confidently walked right over to her. Olive's face lit up in admiration. "How can you stand after all that?" "Yeah," Popeye piped in, "how can you stands yourself?" Jet looked into Olive's eyes. "No matter what happens to me, I'll always find my way straight back to you, Beautiful." Popeye muttered, "I gots to show Olive anybody can ride that merry-go-round before those two turns it into a marry-go-round." He spoke up, "Say, Olive, I can be an astronaut, too!" So saying, he marched over to the machine, plopped himself down on the seat, whipped the seatbelt around him, and snapped the buckle shut with authority. "Let 'er rip!" he called out to Jet. Jet began turning a dial on the control box past increasing levels of dizziness: the conspiracy plot of X-Files; Pamela Anderson; the logic of trying to reason with terrorists; keeping straight all the incarnations of the Thimble Theater cast; Eleanor Clift. When that highest setting was reached, the machine was whirling around so quickly it was practically invisible to the naked eye, or to fully clothed eyes either, for that matter. "Since your friend is going to be out of sight for awhile, how about letting me show you the other sights on this site?" Jet put his arm around Olive Oyl and gently steered her away from the machine and began to take her down a pathway. "The thought of sighting the sights with you excites me," Olive cooed. About ten minutes later, Prof. Wottasnozzle was walking past the machine. Suddenly he came to a halt. "Somebody set the machine at too high a speed!" He leaped over to the control box. "And whoever it was turned the safety protocols off!" The prof cut the power and for another minute the machine kept rotating along a full velocity. Then it began slowing a little, and a little more, and then more still. Finally, after another five minutes it came to a halt. Popeye's restraint popped open and the sailor stumbled off the seat and began dazedly walking around in circles. "Oooohh! I'd love to fall down on the ground, but I don't think I kin find it!" Wottasnozzle was concerned. "Nobody has ever been spun at that speed for so long a time! I'm afraid that you're going to spend the rest of your life dizzy." He thought a moment. "But on the bright side, you can probably run for public office." Popeye looked at Wottasnozzle - sort of. "If the five of ya would just holds still a minute, I'll cures meself." He grabbed his head with both of his hands (it took him ten tries, but he did it) and then began twisting it. As he did so, his neck began to stretch and to twist around itself, like a rubber band that's being wound. Popeye kept at it until his neck had too many "rings" to count. "Stands back!" Popeye warned. Then he let go of his head. Instantly, it began rotating in the opposite direction to the way the machine had gone. It sped faster and faster as the stored energy in the twisted up neck was released and the neck began to return to normal. Finally, Popeye's head came to a stop atop his regular sized neck. "There ya goes! For every acshun there's an equal and opposite reacshun. I'm as good as new!" "Remarkable!" Wottasnozzle gasped. "Now, excuse me. I gotta finds that guy that's been giving me the run around." Popeye strode off in search of Jet and Olive. He had no idea where they had gone and was experiencing a sensation unfamiliar to him, the feeling that he wanted to give up, when, as he was passing a building that housed model planet exhibits, he heard Olive's voice, "Look! There's Venus!" Inside the building, Jet was nuzzling her neck and playing with her hair. "You're Venus, Dollface!" "And look over there! It's the rings of Saturn!" "Speaking of rings, Olive, you'd look just great in a diamond one." Olive giggled. Popeye came running up to them. "Oh boy! Just look at all the detail in them models of the planiks! There's Jupidder and Bluto!" Jet glared at him. "You mean Pluto." "Arf! Arf! Arf! Ya can't fools me. Pluto is a cartoon dog." The wheels turned inside Jet's brain. "How would you like to see the planets for real? After all, you passed the first test. You can become a real live astronaut." "Likes you?" "Well, it would take you quite a while to be just like me." Olive looked them both over. "That's for sure," she said. "So when does we start?" Popeye asked. "Right now. Come with me and I'll take care of you." Jet turned to Olive. "Will you excuse us for a few moments, My Dear? I'll travel at Mack IV and get back to you as soon as I can." "Sure." Olive pulled a make-up kit out of her purse. "I'll just freshen up." As the boys departed, she pulled out of her purse a perfume bottle labeled, "Sensor Overload" and squirted some on. Then she pulled out some eye shadow that read, "Phasers On Stun" and applied it. She reached into her bag again and brought out a couple of her alluring astronaut lipsticks. She rejected the one that had the label, "It's Red, Jim," and began putting on, "She's Wed, Jim." Meanwhile, Jet was ushering Popeye aboard a huge rocketship. "This is the first spacecraft capable of reaching another star. It's powered by some sort of Top Secret fuel that they say gives more energy than any other substance in the world, but even so, the brave man who undertakes this long trip will have to be placed in suspended animation. Most men back down when they hear that." "Well, I ain't most men! Besides, how terrible can suspender animation be? I survived Limited Animation in them made-for-TV cartoons." "That's the spirit!" Jet slapped him on the back and motioned toward a glass chamber. "Just step in there and you'll be all set." Popeye entered confidently and pulled the door shut behind him. Instantly a strange gas began pouring out of nozzles in the chamber floor. "Say," Popeye said as his environment began fogging up, "ya didn't tell me there was going to . . . be . . . an . . . inflight . . . movie, . . .'Play . . . . . . Misty . . . . . . . . . . For . . . . . . . . . . . M . . . . . . . ' " He stopped talking - and moving. He stared unblinkingly straight ahead uncomprehending. Jet laughed and turned to an onboard radio. "Jet Afterburner to Mission Control. Our volunteer is all ready. Begin the countdown at any time. Oh, and one more thing. Make sure there's absolutely no spinach in the food supplies he'll need when he gets to Alpha Centauri. It gives him hives. Over and out." He flicked off the radio, raced out of the ship, and returned to Olive's side. "I've got a special treat for you, Sweetie. They're about to launch a rocket. Want to watch?" "Oooo, do I ever!" Olive wiggled in anticipation. The two walked over to the launching pad.
A huge screen on the gantry was flashing computerized numbers synchronized
with a voice that was counting down on a PA system, "Fifteen . . .
. Fourteen . . . . Thirteen . . . . Twelve . . . . "Ten!" Olive joined in. "Nine!" Jet said as he reached in front of her and took her hands in his. "Eight!" Olive announced as she turned to face him. "Seven!" Jet locked his eyes on hers. "Six! Olive stepped closer. "Five!" Jet exclaimed as he dropped her hands and put one arm around her waist and another around her shoulder. "Four!" Olive said breathlessly as he pulled her closer. "Three!" Jet puckerd up. "Two!" Olive responded in kind. "One!" They closed their eyes. "Ignition!" Jet's hand went in back of Olive's head. "Liftoff!" Jet said as their lips and mouths came together. Suddenly they both felt waves of energy flow through their bodies and a powerful force squeezed them even closer together until they felt as though the very molecules of their bodies would be merged. Both experienced a sensation of heat and their hearts started beating rapidly. Their lips finally came apart and they found it hard to breathe, as though the air around them had suddenly thinned, and as though they'd be all right if they could just return in time to a few seconds ago when they were still kissing. But even catching their breaths, they felt that surge of adrenaline and an affirmation of life that meant that they had experienced a thrilling moment that they'd always remember. "Wow! Wow, oh Wow! What happened?" Olive asked. "Were we standing too close to the rocket when it went off?" But when they turned to the launchpad, the rocket was still there! They saw that the screen had been frozen at "Five" and they hadn't been aware of it. The voice on the system was saying, "Technical glitch has been fixed. Countdown is resuming." "Huh? Then it wasn't the rocket. . . " Olive began in enraptured amazement. ". . . it was the kiss!" Jet finished happily and hungrily. The two stood gazing into each other's eyes as the voice said, "Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Ignition, Liftoff!" They didn't even look. They knew it would be anti-climatic. So, they didn't see the rocket bearing Popeye shoot up through the heavens and leave Earth quickly behind. Because of the powerful fuel, in a flash it was past the moon and headed toward Mars. Back on earth, Jet said softly to Olive, "And now, My Beautiful One, how about accompanying me to the base planetarium? I've got a private program that the two of us can enjoy alone." "Mmm, lead me absolutely anywhere, Mr. Navigator." And so it was that Jet and Olive were getting closer and closer together while poor Popeye was traveling farther and farther away. As the two entered the planetarium (and as Popeye swooshed past Uranus), Jet paused in the control room and slipped a disc labeled, "Resistance Is Futile," into the automated system. The he joined Olive under the main dome and escorted her to a plush loveseat in the center of the circular room. As they sat, Jet's arm went around Olive. The lights dimmed and the seat reclined back, back, back. The show began. Hauntingly sad, heartbreaking music began to play as millions of stars appeared on the dome and began swirling around. The narrator intoned, "The universe is an infinitely large, infinitely cold, infinitely lonely place and we are so very small." Olive shivered and buried herself in Jet's chest. The music took on a hopeful tone. "We long to make contact with someone like us, someone we can communicate with, someone with whom we can explore the great mysteries of life." Now Olive sighed contentedly. The narrator continued, "And so signals are constantly being sent out in hope of one day receiving a response back that will mean the end of our quest, " while Jet softly played with Olive's hair and blew in her ear. "When that day comes, nothing will ever be the same. We'll never be alone again!" Now the song, "I'm In The Mood For Love," wafted its way through the room. "It will be as though the heavens themselves are celebrating!" Beautiful comets and nova explosions filled the screen. Jet and Olive were kissing again and the stars they saw now had nothing to do with what was being shown overhead. Out in space, Popeye's rocket was passing a floating sign that said, "Now Leaving The Solar System. No Restroom Facilities For Billions And Billions And Billions Of Miles." Inside the rocket, Popeye's pipe began twitching ever so slightly in his mouth. Then he blinked. He wiggled his pinky. A shudder went through his body and he began to stretch, moving freely. "Ak! Ak! Ak! Ak! Ak! Me vitaliky was too much for suspender animation. It's like the doc sez whenever I goes in for my check-up, 'Popeye, you're a myskery to modern science!' Comes to think of it, some people also say that as they is lookin' me over for the first time. Oh well..." He stepped out of the chamber and began strolling over to the view port while singing, "Oh, my body it won't slow down, even when that gas comes 'round. I'm Popeye the sailor..." He stopped and his jaw dropped as he gazed out into space. "Toto, I don't thinks we're in Kansas anymore. 'Course I never been to Kansas. Maybe it looks like this." But then he spied a floating billboard with a picture of a UFO alien on it. It said, "Vote for Gray #3,257,231. He feels your pain (thanks to Group Mind). Remember to go to the polls on Antares IV." "Yeow! I is deep-sixed in deep space! How does I stop this runaway rocket? Hey, there's a radio! Maybe I can contact Earth, or at least not miss Dr. Laura." Popeye walked over and turned it on. Suddenly, back on Earth, Popeye's voice came over all the speaker systems on the base, including the one in the planetarium. "Popeye calling Earth! Popeye calling Earth! Warning! Warning! Danger! Danger! I'm lost in space!" Olive broke away from Jet and sat up. "It's Popeye!" "So what?" "He sounds like he's in trouble! We've got to do something!" "We will. We'll put him on our Christmas card list." Jet grabbed her shoulders. "Come on back, Babe, and keep the kisses coming." Olive jumped up off the loveseat and out of his grasp. "What kind of hero are you? If you were in trouble, Popeye would help you. That's the way he is." "Okay, Okay. Let's get to Mission Control and see what's up." Meanwhile in space, Popeye was desperately rummaging through the rations. "Spinach, Spinach! What I needs is Spinach!" But Jet had seen to it that there wasn't any. On Earth, Jet was pointing to an open hatch that had a huge, thick, vault-like door. "Mission Control is right in there." Olive hurried past him and entered the room. Jet was on her heels and as soon as they were through the hatch the door clanked shut behind them and it sounded like about twenty different locks definitively snapped into place. Olive looked around. They were in some sort of living quarters. "Hey, what is this place? It's not Mission Control!" "How right you are, Gorgeous! It's an isolation chamber designed to test how groups will function alone in space. And it's got time locks. Which means that for the next three months it's just going to be you and me and Love makes three!" He advanced on her, holding out his arms. "Now you keep those hands to yourself, you overzealous explorer! You're not taking me where no Olive has gone before!" She ducked underneath his outstretched limbs, scooted past him and made for the door. "I'm getting out of here!" She began banging on the door. "Knock yourself out, Doll. I'll wait until you stop for my next kiss. After all, we've got plenty of time." "I'll never stop, you phony baloney hero, you wolf in Airforce Officer's clothing!" In space, a light bulb suddenly appeared over Popeye's head, "That usually means I gots an idea. I wonders what it is. Oh, yeah! This ship runs on the most powerful fuel known to man. It's gotta be..." He ripped a fuel conduit off the wall and out poured a green substance. "It is! It's spinach!" Placing his mouth under the open pipe, he filled up, chewed, and swallowed. His theme music played in the background. He began to take a deep breath swelling his head and his chest to enormous proportions. Popeye, holding the air in, turned the bowl of his pipe until it pointed away from him. He then exhaled with tremendous force. A mighty stream of fire came out of the pipe and propelled Popeye up, up, up. He smashed out of the rocket and into space. But which way was home? Then, very faintly, he heard Olive's voice, "HELP! HELP!" He took off in the direction of the sound. (NOTE TO THE READER: Yes, I know sound doesn't travel in space, but do YOU want to be the one to tell Popeye that?) Back on earth, Jet had made himself some microwave popcorn and was sitting on the couch munching it while enjoying Olive's vain attempts to escape. "I keep telling you," he laughed, "there's not a force on earth that can open that door for three months." SCRUNCH -- WHAM!!! The door was ripped off its hinges. "Then luckily for her, I'm from outer space," Popeye declared. "Now I'll save the tax payers some money by launchin' ya into orbit without a space ship." He hurried over to Jet and delivered an uppercut that sent the cad through the roof, literally. Jet soared through the atmosphere and finally collided head first with a Fox TV satellite that was circling the globe. Millions of people who were tuning into "Cops" heard the theme song, "Bad boys, bad boys, what ya gonna do," but were treated to the view of a dazed Jet's face. Back in the isolation chamber, Olive Oyl was hugging Popye. "My Hero!" Then she coyly said, "Say, Popeye, I know of a planetarium nearby which has a great show. Care to accompany me?" "Sure, Olive, I love to look at stars. Maybe we'll see Ernest Borgnine!" Winking at you, The Reader, Olive led Popeye away. THE END! |
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Olive Oyl paused outside two closed double doors as she and Popeye toured Universe All Studios. A large poster of a handsome man in a tux preparing a fancy meal hung on the wall and proclaimed that inside was "The Home Of Bluteau, The European Chef! Check your local listings, if you can decipher them, for station and time!" "Oh, Popeye!" Olive was excited, "Just think! Inside that studio is where my favorite television program is taped!" "Ya likes shows where guys spill food on their monkey suits?" "No, silly! It's such a romantic program! The whole idea of somebody spending so much time, money, and care in order to have a pleasurable experience just does something to me inside." "Not me! I likes me food quick - spinach right from the can. No muss, no fuss..." "And no romance," Olive said quietly with disappointment in her voice. She stared at the poster and let out a deep, longing sigh. Inside the studio, Bluteau (A.K.A. Bluto in his native Brooklyn - the closest he had actually ever been to The Continent was watching "Red Dwarf" and "Robot Wars" on PBS) was rehearsing for the next day's taping. He was saying, "And now we shall use ze brussel sprouts, lima beans, and asparagus to make..." He glanced up and saw Olive on the security monitor. "....CHEESECAKE!!!" He coughed, "Er, I mean, um, when one iz preparing Japanese Puffer Fish, one must take out ze poison carefully and throw it all in ze garbage, wrapped in..." He locked his gaze on the security monitor, "...ze most beautiful thing I've evair seen!" Bluteau shook his head, threw down his utensils, dropped his accent and said, "Aw, the heck with this! I've got to meet that girl!" He rushed toward the doors. Outside, in the hallway, Popeye was trying to drag Olive away from the poster. "C'mon, Olive, let's goes to the Peninsulas Of Adventure section. I hear they gots a raft ride that's all wet and a show with a singin' sailor that I gots to see." "Oh... okay, Popeye," Olive argued reluctantly, "After all, I'll never get to meet Bluteau anyway." The doors burst open, slamming Popeye flat as a pancake against the wall behind one of them. Bluteau took Olive Oyl's hand, kissed it, and said, "Nevair say 'nevair,' ma cherie!" "It's you! It's you! I... I... I don't believe it!" "And I can't believe my good fortune in meeting you. Would you care to see my studio?" In response, Olive let Bluteau take her arm and the two of them walked through the doorway. The double doors closed behind them. Popeye peeled himself off the wall. But he was still two dimensional! "Blow me down! Or maybe blow me up again! I needs to gets me dough to rise!" He pulled a little bit of flat spinach out of the flat can in his shirt, threw it into his mouth and swallowed it. Instantly, he "popped" back to normal. "There! Now that's the yeast of my problems. Arf! Arf! Arf!" Popeye started to go through the doors, but suddenly noticed the red spinning light on above them. He stopped in his tracks. Words began to form on the small screen below it - "Do not enter..." "Yeah, I knows! 'Filming in progress.'" But instead the message completed itself, "...playboy at work!" "Oh, my garsh! Olive Oyl!" Popeye ignored the light and barged in. Bluteau was standing in back of Olive with his hand on hers as he was helping her stir a mixture in a bowl. "That's ze way," he murmured softly in her ear. "Stirring things up iz one of my favorite things to do." Olive gave him a flirty giggle. "And you're doing it so well, believe me." Popeye came up to them and extended his hand. They stepped slightly apart. "Popeye's the name, Mr. Bluteau. So you is the main gob in this here galley?" "I am a chef, sir," Bluteau sniffed. "Ain't that what I said?" Olive broke in. "Popeye, he's teaching me to cook." Popeye muttered, "Yeah, literally!" Then he spoke up. "How about giving me some lessons, too?" "All right. Go down in to ze wine cellair and get me a bottle of sherry." Bluteau indicated an elevator. "Sure thing! Everybody needs a little whine with their dinner, particularly Swee'Pea when I tries to makes him eat beets." Popeye scrambled into the lift and hit the button. The doors closed and the elevator descended. Bluteau watched until the indicator light told him Popeye had arrived at the basement level. Then, he opened the fuse box next to the shaft and cut all the power to the elevator. "Now to get back to heating The Dish up!" Racing back to Olive, he once again positioned himself in back of her, and placing his arms on top of hers, directed their hands into a large bowl of dough. They began kneading it together. "Touch makes ze experience more pleasurable, Gorgeous," Bluteau said as he nuzzled the nape of her neck. "Mmmm... you're making me want to stick with you, in more ways than one." Olive held up one of her hands which was attached to one of Bluteau's by a glob of batter. They laughed, looked into one another's eyes, and puckered up for a kiss. "I gots that Rotgut you uses for cookin', Bluteau." Popeye was coming toward them waving the bottle of sherry. "What?!? How did you get back up here?" Bluteau demanded. "I rode the dumb waiter." Popeye pointed to Oscar who was leaving through the double doors muttering, "Duh, how can I give anybody the Blue Plate Special when all of our dishes are white?" "So, what's next, Bluteau?" Popeye asked cheerfully. "I need a can of mushrooms from ze storage room. Take one from ze very bottom of ze stack. It will be the freshest." Popeye ran into the store room and seconds later, just as Bluteau had counted on, Bluteau and Olive heard and felt a huge, room-shaking CRASH!! Bluteau looked into the storage area. Cans of all kinds of food were scattered on top of each other all over the place. From the middle of the mess, Popeye poked his head up. "Er, sorry, Bluteau, but I had an avalanche, or in this case, an ava-lunch." "My supply system ruined!" "Don'ts worry. I'll gets everything in ship shape for ya again." Popeye began to work. Bluteau led Olive Oyl away from the store room. "It will take your friend hours, maybe even days, to straighten things up. While we're waiting, Beautiful, why not have a date? Say, a candlelight supper of foods from around ze globe just for you in my penthouse apartment on top of zis building?" "Me? On a date with Bluteau? I accept, Kind Sir, only I don't have anything formal to wear." "What you have on now iz feast enough for my eyes, but, if you wish, you can go check out the wardrobe department." "I'll be right back." Olive walked out. Bluteau watched her go, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, then gave himself a big hug. But, suddenly, his reverie was cut short. "I'm all done, Bluteau! What's the next ingreedyink?" "That's impossible!" Bluteau raced over to the room. "I didn't know how ya wanted things organized, so's I dids it likes I do at home. I separated everything into 'Food I Likes' and 'Food I Doesn't'." Sure enough, there was a small pile of spinach cans next to a monstrous mound of everything else. Meanwhile, Olive had found the wardrobe department, but no dress she really liked. Then she spotted one on display in a case on the wall. The words in front of it read, "In Case You Need To Start A Fire, Break Glass." She picked up the small red hammer hanging next to it and did so. Olive pulled out the slinky, black, off-the-shoulders number. "This will do nicely," she said to herself. Back in the studio, Bluteau had had enough. "Leave my kitchen at once!" he ordered Popeye. "Your kitchen? Say, it just occurs to me, I ain't ever seen you cook nothing. I'll bet you're a big phony! If you're such a hotshot chef, make me a pie!" "Okay." Bluteau picked up an unopened 100 pound bag of flour and, using his super strength, raised it above his head and then sent it crashing down with all his might on top of Popeye, smashing and scrunching The Sailorman into a flat, round shape on the floor. Bluteau flipped Popeye up with a spatula and into a pie plate. "I made you a pie. In fact, now you're a Pop Pie!" Then he kicked the spinach can that been squeezed out of Popeye's shirt during the scrunching process over to the far side of the studio! He shoved Pop Pie into a large oven and turned the temperature dial past the settings "500 degrees... 750 degrees..." all the way to "Hydrogen Bomb." He kept Pop Pie in for a few minutes, then took the plate out and placed it in the freezer. He adjusted the temperature downward, "Ice Cream... Frozen Vegetables... Pauly Shore's Career... Artic Circle... Absolute Zero." Inside the freezer a solid block of ice formed around Pop Pie. By now, Olive had returned. "I'm ready for our date, Bluteau. Is everything all set here?" As she walked in her outfit past cooking thermometers, their bulbs popped. "Indeed," Bluteau realized, "I was just finishing up a bit of business here in order to ensure that we'll have absolutely no interruptions tonight." He turned from the freezer and saw Olive Oyl. He instantly morphed into a wolf and gave a long howl. "Owwwooo!" Olive seemed confused and a little suspicious. "What are you doing?" He morphed back and got into character again. "Er... that's Greek for 'Any Gentleman would be pleased to dine with such an enchanting creature as yourself!'" "Oh, it's okay then." Olive relaxed and happily took Bluteau's hand and they walked into the elevator together. Bluteau pushed the button, which was shaped like a heart, for his penthouse. It began pulsating as they ascended. In fact, the floor indicators on the LCD inside the elevator weren't numbers at all, but a sequence of hearts that got progressively larger. Each appeared in turn and began beating louder and faster than the one before it, as the elevator passed the floor it represented. Finally, the indicator for the penthouse came up and thumped more wildly than all the others. It grew and grew and grew in size, until it seemed as if it might burst, then the elevator doors opened. Bluteau escorted Olive into the lavish, spacious penthouse and over to a banqueting table that was laid out with a sumptuous feast. The lights had been dimmed and Bluteau lit several candles positioned around the table. Soft music was playing in the background. "Oooo, everything is absolutely scrumptious!" Olive was looking over the food. "It certainly is." Bluteau was looking over Olive. "And the main course will be magnifique with a little sauce." So saying, he reached out and grasped a ladle, dipping it into a gravy boat filled with sauce. Bluteau then brought the ladle over to Olive Oyl and dribbled some sauce on her shoulder. Before she could react, he opened his mouth, placed it on her shoulder, and sucked, kissed, and licked the sauce up. Olive felt goose bumps running up and down her body. She was enjoying it, but warning bells suddenly went off inside her. "I think maybe we shouldn't try to rush through the meal or we both might end up with indigestion," she dropped the gentle hint. "We need some time to make small talk. Get to know one another. Enjoy each other's company. Feel comfortable and like everything is really going down okay and sitting well for both of us." Bluteau only laughed, "Ha! Ha! Ha!" He plunged his fingers into a bowl of whipped cream, withdrew them, and smeared the sweet, white stuff across Olive's lips with one swipe of his hand. He grabbed the stunned girl and pulled her close, giving her a big kiss. As their lips broke apart, his tongue darted out and licked off the remaining cream. This time, Olive was not amused. "Now, look here, you! When you said you wanted to have me for supper, I didn't know you meant you wanted to HAVE ME for supper!" "And why not, Babe," Bluteau had suddenly dropped the accent and the act. "You're the most delicious thing in the room." He reached out for her again, but Olive whirled around and began running for the elevator. Bluteau calmly pulled an incredibly long piece of spaghetti from a plate on the table, made a lariat out of it, tossed it, and lassoed Olive around her waist. He yanked on his end of the "rope" and Olive yo-yoed back to him, getting all wound up in the spaghetti in the process. When the helpless lass reached Bluteau, he kissed her again. Then she began running away a second time, spinning around and unwinding as she went. "Help, Popeye! This guy's trying to butter me up! Popeye, he plays with his food! Help, Popeye! I'm really into his supper!" Olive screamed. But down in the studio there was no response. The frozen Pop Pie couldn't even hear Olive Oyl, much less do anything to aid her! Back up in the penthouse, Bluteau had placed his end of the spaghetti in his mouth and was sucking/chewing it, drawing more and more of it in each second. Olive was being dragged toward him across the carpet! When she was almost to him, her struggling finally succeeded in breaking the strand that held her fast. The plucky miss jumped onto the table and ran through the dishes, grabbing a corkscrew as she passed. Olive plunged it into the cork wedged in the top of a bottle of champagne which was chilling in a bucket of ice. She then balanced herself , placing her right little toe on top of the cork. She pulled at the corkscrew, the cork came out with a violent POP, and it propelled Olive Oyl through the air and across the room. "To the elevator and beyond!" Olive let out a cheer as she went sailing along. "I'm going to make it out!" "Shorten that to 'I'm going to make out!'" Bluteau shouted with anticipation as he picked up a sofa with his massive strength and hurled it over in front of the elevator doors, effectively blocking Olive's flight path. "Oooff!" Olive landed on the couch. She saw Bluteau running toward her. "Talk about out of the frying pan into the fire!" Olive waited and timed her leap off the couch just right so that she ducked under Bluteau's outstretched arms as he lunged at her. She ran back toward the table. But, unfortunately, she was looking over her shoulder at Bluteau and wasn't watching where she was going. She tripped over an ottoman and plunged head long into a gigantic cake that had been placed on a cart near the table for dessert. Bluteau immediately grabbed two forks and began voraciously wolfing down the cake. From deep inside of it, Olive's muffled cry could be heard, "Help, Popeye! He's rapidly working his way to the special filling in the center! Oh, Popeye, where are you?" But where Pop Pie was, he was in no condition to help. However, over in the Peninsulas Of Adventure section of the park, something strange was happening. The teenager who wore a sailor's costume that looked familiar was going on a break. He pulled off his mask and started to put some money in a vending machine. "Hey, do you hear that?" He asked a buddy standing nearby. "Hear what?" "Sounds like someone's calling for help!" "I don't hear anything." Suddenly the teen, acting like a man possessed, plopped the mask back down over his head. "Course not, cuz you is you and I yam what I yam!" "Huh? Why are you talking like that? You're off duty!" "I gots no time to chats with ya now, on account of me Sweetie's in trouble." He raced away through the park yelling, "I'm comin', Olive!" The teen was drawn, as if by a magnet, to the studio. He burst through the double doors and began frantically racing around it, looking for Olive Oyl. He tripped over the freezer's cord, unplugging it from the wall. As he fell, he knocked into the side of the freezer, tipping it over. Its doors opened and its defrosting contents slid across the floor. Suddenly, a pipe slowly raised from Pop Pie's plate. A sucking noise could be heard and the spinach from the discarded can was vacuumed into it. Popeye's theme song was heard and our hero sprang up out of the plate, restored to normal. "Thanks a bunch, Young Fella," he said to the teen. "What... What happened? What came over me?" "It's the uniform that does it, Matey. Wear it proudly! Now, if you'll excuse me, I gots a damsule in distress to save and a goose to cook!" Popeye took a deep breath, turned his pipe upside-down and blew a powerful column of flame out of it, which lifted him off his feet and up the elevator shaft like a rocket. In the penthouse, Bluteau had succeeded in uncovering Olive Oyl. "And now, Tidbit," he said as he puckered up, "you're all mine!" "And you're excused from the table!" Popeye snarled as he flew into Bluteau, giving him an uppercut. The villain fell into a bowl of boiled spuds. "That's where a masher like you belongs - in the potatoes!" Popeye declared. Bluteau picked himself up and snatched a long, sharp knife off of the turkey platter. He hurled it with all his might at Popeye! Popeye just sniffed, "Who does ya thinks ya are now - George Washingting Carver? Well, nuts to you!" He caught the knife by its hilt, flicked his wrist, and sent the blade spinning back through the air like a buzz saw. It made short work of the turkey, cutting the roast bird into perfect slices. "Hmmpht! I wonders why Poopdeck Pappy thinks that's so hard to do every Thanksgivin'!" Bluteau advanced on Popeye, bellowing in rage. Popeye said grimly, "I was gonner be mercy full to ya and just gives ya a Medium punishmint, but now I sees ya gots to be Well Done!" He and Bluteau began throwing punches at each other. "Atta boy, Popeye!" Olive cheered, "Spice things up! Pepper him with blows! Tenderize him good, good, good!" Popeye wound up his arm for his Twisker Sock. "Here, chew on this!" He connected and Bluteau flew through the air, crashing unconscious into the television screen of his entertainment system. "They is right when they says there's nuthin' good on Tee Vee. That show is canceled due to low ratinks, not ta mention low morals." Popeye then turned to Olive and, affecting an accent said, "Ah, now, my dears, how would thou likes to dine weeth me?" "I'd be delighted!" "Only let's go to Rough-House's diner. Ze simple fare, she iz often ze best I think." "That's for sure," Olive sighed happily as she hugged her simple man. THE END |
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"Oh, Popeye," Olive said excitedly, "today we start our new jobs at Macro Tech." The two were walking through the hallway on the top floor of a modern skyscraper office building. "Yeah, Olive! This definitely does compute. Ak! Ak! Ak! Ah!" Popeye laughed. "Just think! I'm going to be the private secretary to Bluto Van Megabyte, the world's richest man and one of the most handsome, eligible bachelors in America," Olive sighed. "But he's so busy, he probably won't even pay much attention to me." However, as Olive walked past the water cooler, it came to life, gave her a wolf whistle, and the water inside it came to a boil. As she went under smoke detectors and sprinkler systems, they went off. She sashayed past a copier and it began putting out page after page with the words, "I love you," on them. Olive and Popeye went through the huge, magnificently paneled, oak doors that led into Bluto's office. Popeye began to introduce himself, "Popeye..." Olive cut in, curtsying, "And Miss Olive Oyl at your service." Bluto looked up from his terminal with a bored expression on his face. But when he saw Olive, his eyes popped out and his jaw dropped open. An x-ray of Bluto's heart at that moment would reveal a computer screen appearing inside it that read, "On line - And How!!!" "Very pleased to meet you, Beautiful," he said. "Thanks, boss!" Popeye piped up. "I does try to takes care of meself. Glad it shows!" Olive looked around the office and gasped in delighted amazement. It was the size of a small palace with plush carpet, a swimming pool, a sauna, a huge entertainment center, a gymnasium, and more. "Your office is dreamy, but where's mine?" "You'll share all this with me," Bluto replied with a wave of his hand. "Anything that's mine is yours." "How utterly, utterly!" Popeye butted in, "How about my office, Bluto?" "Down the corridor, take the elevator to the last sub-basement, walk the hallway til you're in the next zip code. Then turn right." When Popeye got there, he found a minuscule cubicle that he couldn't even fit entirely into. "This must be what they mean by RAM space." He lowered his head and charged the outer wall of the basement, butting it a hard one. It instantly moved back three feet. The Sailorman did it again and again until he had ample room. He dusted off his hat. "Luckily my cap is hard wear. Arf! Arf! Arf!" Suddenly, Popeye heard cheers from around the basement as techies found that they could move around, and even out of, their cubicles. "There are other people down here!" "I can walk! I can walk!" "Free at last! Free at last!" Popeye was puzzled, "Gee, I thought guys like you wanted to be glued to your computer screens." "No," one techie replied, "it's just that we couldn't move our heads!" Meanwhile, Bluto and Olive were sitting side-by-side on a couch. Bluto was saying to Olive, "I need you to take a personal letter." She prepared to take dictation. "Dear Miss Oyl," he put his arm around her, "since I met you this morning I've become a believer in love at first sight." "Oh, Mr. Van Megabyte, you're making my shorthand tremble," Olive giggled coyly. "Call me, Bluto." He went to kiss her. Popeye burst through the doors. "Found me office. Now what's me first assignment?" Bluto got up and quickly tossed 40 thick manuals off a shelf onto Popeye. "See if you can get our newest system to boot up. The info you'll need is probably in there somewhere." Bluto laughed to himself. Popeye's voice tried to make itself heard from beneath the pile, "That'll takes a long time." "Fifteen months if you work non-stop day and night with absolutely no breaks or interruptions. So get on it, Lad. I know I can count on you." "Yes, sir!" Somehow Popeye managed to lug the manuals back to his cubicle. As he sat there scratching his head, surrounded by open books, and sweating bullets, he said, "I can't makes heads nor tails out of this stuff. Forget the manuals. I uses me fists." He bopped the computer and it instantly turned on. "Sometimes the old-fashioned ways are the best!" Up in Bluto's office, Olive was trying to plug the cable for a new attachment into the back of the boss' massive terminal. She got all tangled up in the existing cables until she could hardly move. "Help! This hook-up's got me hung up!" she cried. "Don't worry, my dear. I'm right here and I'd never let any harm come to you." Bluto stepped toward her magnanimously. Popeye hurried onto the scene. "I'll saves ya, Olive! As a sailor, I loined ta say, 'Nuts,' to knots!" He grabbed a cable and gave it a powerful yank. Olive spun around at superspeed like a top, yanking connections out of ports right and left. Finally, the wind from the Olive-tornado shoved them back into their proper places, but this time all the cables were neatly organized. Olive herself finally came to rest in a large plush chair. "Oh, Popeye," she gushed, "you sure know how to turn a girl's head - not to mention the rest of her!" Bluto rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm...I've got to delete this hacker if I'm ever going to get a monopoly on Olive's heart." He turned to Popeye and Olive, raising his voice. "Good job, lad! I think you're up to handling one of the company's greatest challenges." He began whipping CDs at Popeye. "Debug these important programs. Nobody else has been able to." Incredibly, Popeye was catching each CD and stacking it on top of the previous one. He ended up carrying a huge, teetering tower that reached to the ceiling. He stumbled and shuffled his way out of Bluto's office trying to keep his burden balanced as he headed for his cubicle. "Wa...Wa...Whoa! I ain't goner makes it. These programs might crash! I better debug 'em right here." Popeye began puffing and puffing on his pipe until a cloud of dense smoke arising from it enveloped the tower. Instantly, thousands of tiny coughs could be heard. Then minuscule, robotic-looking insects began pouring out of the CDs, gasping for air as they headed for the elevator. Popeye chuckled. "Let that be a lesson to yuz on the dangers of second-hand smoke in the workplace." It was now time for lunch and Bluto was escorting Olive to his sumptuous, private dining room. There on a candle-lit table was food that Olive instantly recognized as, "My favorite food!" She sniffed the air, following the trail of a scent until her face was firmly planted on Bluto's cheek. "You're wearing my favorite cologne!" From overhead speakers, soft, romantic music started playing. "That's Winston Sharples! My favorite composer! How did you know?" "My marketing department knows everything about everybody. I wanted this moment to be absolutely perfect." "It is! It is! It is!" Olive squealed with glee. The two sat down to eat, gazing dreamily into each other's eyes, when, suddenly... "Oh, boy, lunch!" Popeye was back. Bluto muttered to himself, "One more nanosecond and she would have been mine." He cleared his throat and said politely to Popeye, "Very sorry, My Boy, but this dining room is for executives only. Don't worry, though, I'll fix you a doggie bag to go." So saying, he began to fill a plate. "Gorsh, Boss, that's mighty kind of you," Popeye said. "Oh, yes, Popeye," Olive enthused, "Bluto's real generous! Why, do you know that he's given me a raise every half hour? Not to mention a mink coat and a sportscar!" Surreptitiously, Bluto took out a bottle marked, "Sleeping Pills: Distilled Essence Of Corporate Board Meeting," and began liberally sprinking the pills over the food. "There you are," he said, turning and presenting the plate to Popeye. "Thanks, Pal! I'll take it down to my cuticle right away!" The Sailorman rushed out, licking his lips. Bluto licked his, too. "Now to upgrade my love life!" But when he turned toward Olive, he found her on the other side of the room, sitting at a terminal with her computer glasses on. "Huh? You're back to work?" "Well, of course. I have earn my raises, don't I?" Olive asked innocently. Bluto zoomed over to her side and got down on his knees beside her chair. "You earn your raises just by being here. Why, when you're in the room, I feel like a customer in an electronics store seeing our latest version of PORTALSTM going on sale." "Oh, Bluto, you make my head swim. No, wait! It's probably because I'm looking at you with these glasses on." She took them off. Bluto began kissing her hand. "Ooohhh, Bluto, you're giving me a strange sensation. No, wait! That's probably just my carpel tunnel acting up again." Bluto kissed his way up her arm. "Bluto, Bluto, Bluto, you're sending shivers down my spine. No, wait! I probably just set the air-conditioner up to high trying to protect the computers." She glanced over at the thermostat. Bluto took her head in his hands and gently turned her toward him again. "Ahh," he began, "your skin isn't microsoft, it's macrosoft. Your eyes are like two high resolution monitors displaying my favorite website. Your hair is soft as fiber optic strands transmitting a message to my heart. Being with you is like being on the net. Time vanishes." "You sure know how to process your words," Olive gasped. C'mon, Babe, it's obvious that you and I are totally compatible." Olive giggled coyly. "I'm not sure how to reply to this message." "Let's merge our files with a kiss!" Bluto puckered up. Olive responded in kind. They moved even closer. But just as their lips were barely starting to touch, Popeye popped up between them, forcing them apart. "Funniest thing happened," he said. "Right after lunch, I was getting real sleepy, and I could of swored I wouldn't be no good to anybody for the rest of the day, so I stepped outside for a breath of fresh airs. The minute I lefts my place of work, I felt revitalicized. The guys in the cellar say it happens to them every afternoon at quitting time. Now, I'm rarin' to go!" "You'll be going, all right!" Bluto couldn't hide his anger and frustration any longer. "You'll be going as email to Outer Mongolia!" So saying, he delivered an uppercut to Popeye which sent the sailor sailing across the room to crash, stunned, near another computer. Bluto rushed over to him and put one hand on his head, the other on Popeye's feet, and began to squeeze Popeye in and out like an accordian. "First, your files need to be compressed," Bluto snarled. Then he began stuffing Popeye into an access port. "Hey, you!" Olive shouted. "What are you doing to Popeye? He ain't formatted for that application! Stop it! You're violating protocol!" But Popeye now was inside the computer. Bluto stabbed a button labeled "SEND" on the keyboard. Instantly in Outer Mongolia, Popeye appeared inside a computer screen belonging to a user of attilthehunnet.net. Popeye could see an Outer Mongolian staring through the screen. Popeye began pounding on the inside of the glass. "Lets me out! Lets me out!" The user was worried. "Oh, no!" It's a virus wrecking my hard drive! Never open strange email!" His finger jabbed the delete key. The screen went dark. Popeye was gone! Meanwhile, in the office on the other side of the world, Bluto plopped himself down in an office chair that had no arms. He gave a mighty push off the floor with his legs and sent the chair, and him, rolling across the floor on its wheels to Olive Oyl. It thudded into Olive and she landed on Bluto. "Now that you've been fully installed on my laps' top, howzabout that kiss, Gorgeous?" Bluto put his arms around her and began making kissing motions with his lips as he pulled her closer. "Access denied, you low-down-downloader!" She shoved him in the chest and broke free. Olive raced to the oak doors, but Bluto touched a button on a computer console and suddenly steel plates slammed down from the ceiling blocking them. A screen appeared on the plates with these words rolling across it, "Secure Document. Password Needed To Enter. Forgot Your Password? N'yah! N'yah! N'yah! N'yah! N'yah!" Olive whirled around to face the approaching Bluto. "You let me outta this pentium penthouse, you, you, you, wolf in chic clothing!" She then ran over to Bluto's private elevator located on another wall. She punched the lobby button. A question flashed on an LCD above the buttons, "Are you sure you want to exit this program?" Olive punched in, "Yes." "Maybe you'd like more time to think?" Olive hurriedly typed, "No." "In order to exit this office, you'll need to punch the 'ENTER OFFICE' button and then look at the menu options." By that time, Bluto was practically breathing down her neck. She took off at top speed across the office, with Bluto in hot pursuit. Olive screamed, "Help, Popeye! Save me! I want this connection lost, and fast!" Popeye came to, floating in limbo. Strange symbols drifted past him. "Cyberspace," he muttered, "some final frontier." Suddenly, Olive's pleas come to him from somewhere. "Help, Popeye! He wants to make me more user-friendly! This wolf is trying to join my web-ring! Save me!!" An arrow floated by. Popeye grabbed hold of it and propelled it and him by kicking his legs, over to a suspended spinach icon. He double-clicked on it. Suddenly, his theme song was playing and spinach rained from the sky. He opened his mouth and greedily took it in. Suddenly the word "UPGRADE" appeared across his biceps. Back in Outer Mongolia, in the real world, Popeye came bursting out of the computer. Using his pipe for jet propulsion, he shot into the sky. At speeds approaching that of light, he streaked to the office. "Nothing beats Spinach for instantaneous data transfer," he thought. Popeye burst through the steel plates, transforming them into molten slag as he did so. He smashed into Bluto, sending the brute flying, head-first, into a computer monitor. "You has performed an illegal operation," the Sailor pronounced. "This application will be terminated." Popeye zipped to the keyboard and typed in "Destination: Voyager Space Probe." He whacked the SEND key. Bluto was sucked the rest of the way through the monitor and, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Olive came up to Popeye, threw her arms around him and gave him a big kiss. "Ooooh, Popeye, you're the only help feature I'll ever need!" Popeye began to sing: "If your patience is short,
THE END |
Popeye arrived at the movie studio gate early one morning. "Ah, another great day of making me pictures for me fans. Oh boy!" He was admitted inside.
Olive entered a few minutes later. "Another day of driving the males on the lot to distraction. I can hardly wait!"
Bluto came dragging in last. "Another frustrating day of working hard to get Olive, only to have the rug pulled out from under me at the last minute by that clown Popeye. I sure wish these cartoons could have a different ending." Suddenly a light bulb appeared over his head. "That gives me an idea!" Energized, he ran over to the guard house, picked up the phone, and dialed the head of the studio. "Hello, J. W.? Remember that huge debt you owe me for all those hamburger luncheons? Well, It's Tuesday! But, I'm willing to forget it for a favor. Listen..."
Shortly, as Popeye and Olive were about to enter the Wardrobe Department to get their costumes for the day, Bluto came running up. "Just a second. Gang. I've got some bad news and some very good news. The bad news, Popeye is that your Q-rating is dropping faster than Kevin Costner's after ‘Waterworld'".
"Whoa! Blow me down! This is terrible!" Popeye yelled.
"What about my Q-rating?" Olive asked demurely.
"Through the stratosphere, Gorgeous," Bluto leered.
Popeye was anxious. "So what's the good news?"
Bluto cleared his throat. "The studio is committed to you, Popeye. They feel that, given the right sorts of pictures, you can recapture all your past glory and be a big star again. They've hired a new man as writer/director/producer for your films, a man who's totally familiar with the franchise, a man who knows your gifts well - namely, me. And I promise you," he crossed his fingers behind his back, "that the name, Popeye The Sailor, will soon be on the lips of everyone in the world again."
"Garsh, Bluto, I don't know what to say! Thanks a million!!"
"Don't mention it, Pal. Now, let's put on the costumes I've chosen for our new cartoon."
They entered wardrobe. Minutes later, Olive and Bluto emerged. Olive was in an evening gown and Bluto in a tux. When Olive and Bluto saw each other, their eyeballs popped out of each of their heads, morphed into hearts, and then went back into their sockets, turning back to eyeballs again.
"Olive, you are a site for sore eyes," Bluto sighed.
"Oh, Bluto," Olive gushed, "you're quite an eyesore yourself!"
Suddenly they heard clanking, squeaking, and crashing sounds as Popeye, in an oversized, poorly constructed suit of armor came lumbering along as best he could, toward them.
"What's am I supposed to be, a furnace?" Popeye muttered.
"No," Bluto said, "you're Popeye The Power Knight. It's what the kids are into these days. Trust me."
"If you say so."
Bluto took Olive's arm. "Now come on. We're late for our call." The two of them headed off. Popeye hopped away in the opposite direction.
"I can't sees in this thing." As luck would have it, he bounced into the commissary, tripped over a chair, and rolled under a huge can-opener. It's magnet lifted him up and placed him under the blade. The machine spun the armor around, cutting a round hole in it. Popeye crawled out. "Now I know how me spinach feels! We're supposed to put the picture in the can, not the star!"
Meanwhile Bluto and Olive had made it to a set which was dressed to resemble a moonlit garden. There was a love seat in the center of the stage. Olive sat down on it and giggled softly, "I don't think you have to tell me what happens in this scene, Bluto."
"Me neither," Popeye came running up. "You tries to kiss her, but I pulls her away at the last moment."
Bluto cleared his throat. "Not exactly. Our focus groups have determined that people don't think you face enough real challenges in your pictures. There's no suspense. Everyone knows you're going to get the girl at the end. But, what if it seemed throughout that picture that I was really getting Olive to fall in love with me? Wouldn't the audience start to worry? Wouldn't their attention be captured?"
"I guess so."
"To that end, then..." Bluto sat next to Olive, took her in his arms, and planted a voracious kiss on her lips. The paint on the backdrops melted and boiled away. The red, revolving light which indicates shooting is in progress spun around so fast it exploded. Sky rockets came shooting out of Bluto and Olive's heads and exploded above them. The fire alarm went off. The air conditioning unit came to life, sweating and gasping. It hung up a sign saying, "I quit," and went running out of the studio rasping, "Water! Water!"
"Just think," Popeye said appreciatively, "Bluto's doing it all for me. What a buddy!!" But then something occurred to him. He looked around in confusion and then went over to the couple.
"Excuse me," he said.
SMACK!!!! They broke apart, glaring at him.
"Popeye!" Olive scolded, "You're interrupting a crucial scene!"
"But I just noticed that there doesn't seem to be any film crew around."
Bluto thought fast. "Er...uh...we're using the latest technology on this picture. Nothing but the best for you! Everything is automated and the cameras are all hidden so as to not distract us from giving our best performances. Now stop worrying. Leave all the details up to us little people. Act like the superstar you are and relax off-stage until it's time for your scene."
"Wow, thanks, Bluto," Popeye hurried off. "How can I ever repay him?"
Bluto turned back to Olive and the two began smooching again.
An hour passed. They were still kissing.
"Boy," Popeye was impressed, "Bluto sure is a hard worker. I'm glad he's on my team!"
Another hour passed. Still kissing.
Popeye was playing solitaire. "Oh well," he chuckled, "waiting around is always the hardest part of making movies." Another hour passed. Still kissing. Popeye was a