The Death of Looney Toons, A Review of Coyote vs. Acme by Dave Green

As I mentioned in the last post, I took the family to Coyote vs. Acme on opening night, this past Friday. To be clear, “the family” means my Ethiopian (US Citizen from Ethiopia) wife and our two young kids, 4 and 6. This was the kids first trip to a movie theater and the main reason for the delay is I won’t take them to anything that even smells Woke/DEI/Commie. Naturally this eliminates nearly everything not produced by Angel Studios or Uwe Boll. And neither of them have made anything I want to show the kids.

When my brother, nephew (18), and I went to Mortal Kombat II, I nearly chuckled audibly as I turned the corner to see the small-ish crowd was comprised of a bunch of men my age. How embarrassing that I expected a regular smorgasbord of folks.

On Friday, the ticket-scanner dude was sure to chuckle when he saw what we were headed to watch what he called, “The funniest movie of the year. You’re going to love it.” I agreeably told him that from what I saw I was thinking that his assessment would prove correct.

This time, as I turned the corner, and probably a bit earlier in the movie-going experience if I’m honest, I was again surprised. There were no kids. There were no children in the theater. Maybe a tween was there. But otherwise, it was old farts like me. Unlike MKII, this time I was a bit perplexed. Why wasn’t this movie becoming the next Nemo?

Watching partly through my eyes, and partly through my wife and children’s eyes, I discovered the reason. Despite my best efforts, despite my every effort the world has gone soft. It is impossible to find comedy in destruction. Anything that is attacked is soon defended—and defended as the most worthy cause ever.

To be clear, the entire storyline of the very funny and enjoyable film is that cartoons do not suffer. The premise is that the same rules that would apply to people do not apply to cartoons. In short, Coyote loses. (Keep in mind, Coyote always loses.) Practically, this means that we can do things to cartoons that we cannot do to people (or animals, plants, oceans, prisoners etc). Sometimes we can even benefit from having tortured, destroyed, blown up, annihilated, dropped, glued, electrocuted, abused, squished, smooshed, and killed cartoons. And, of course, they never actually die. Why? Because they are drawings.

But here in 2026land, the weaker a person is, the stronger. The lamer, the more perfect. The more injured, the most healed. The uglier, the more beautiful. The dumber, the smarter. The more shameful, the more noble. The fatter, the hungrier. And to beat all, the stronger is the meaner. The unfunny result, not that you need to be told, is our drawings have Civil Rights. The failure of Coyote vs. Acme is another birth pang of Civil Rights 2.

In the end, despite Mr. Green telling a whole story, a complete story, and a story which made sense (or as Twain put it–the story “accomplished something and arrived somewhere”), he killed the Looney Toons. Or we killed the Looney Toons. Hard to say.

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I have to add before I go to press that I see the path forward–not the particulars, but the general way. The Looney Toons need a Frank Miller The Dark Knight Returns treatment. I doubt that I am the individual to do more than espouse hope for such a project. But I mention it in case any true artists reading this are facing writer’s block. I’m picturing, a la Bruce’s fireball ending to the car race opening, an even slicker Bugs Bunny initiating the larger comeback story by–all timed to absolute bangers–battling Elmer Fudd as usual, but this time it’s all modern. Fudd is wearing real hunter’s camouflage patterns. He is using some AR variant (school shooting/mass shooting type)—way too powerful for his intended prey. And then Bugs points out all the problems with Fudd’s myriad decisions, which infuriates Fudd, to the point that Fudd really tries to kill Bugs only to find him—not slipping down a rabbit hole—but becoming some oppressed minority. And it has to be the most spectacular version of the minority. Burka wearing, bruised face Muslim woman. Super fat woman at the convenience store. Liberal, childless professional in remote work with a dog walking into the Teams meeting. I am talking the most obnoxious depiction of our twisted Civil Rights 2 reality. But it must be hilarious to kids. Like all the stereotypes are plainly funny in all the ways that make kids laugh. The kids laugh at the ridiculousness of Hunter Fudd giving up when he sees what kind of rabbit the suave Bugs is at heart (but we know is a disguise). And then you go through all the Looney Toons characters and bend them to contemporary versions of the spirits which gave them a heartbeat in the beginning.

But until and unless this happens, the Looney Toons are toast. Even a fan of this movie knows that.

No Yes

Any person who engages ancient languages with curiosity soon discovers that the word “yes” isn’t available. For me, it was in studying Biblical Hebrew that I came across this fact. Seriously, look up the word “yes” in your OT concordance and then search the Hebrew (or Aramaic) word behind any “yes” you find. The semantic domain will be “right” “true” “honest”, but not what we mean or do with “yes”.

You’ll find the interwebs and AI’s explain that “yes” is a late development due to its “conceptual abstractness”. Okay, Boomer.

How does it work then, I wondered? How could people ask and answer questions without such a simple word?

Then, today, it occurred to me.

And, as you’ll see, I cannot commend enough to study the Bible through the lens of children talking—if you’re undertaking the task as a native English speaker in 2026.

So I ask my daughter, 6 yrs old, “Did A- go to school with you yesterday?” (See where I’m going?)

My daughter replies, not with “Yes” or “No”, but how? She replies, “Sometimes A- goes to school with us.” Or whatever similar seeming method to withstand interrogation.

And the engagements with my kids (and Ethiopian family members—who incidentally tell me they do have “yes” in their native tongue, but which I have come to believe cannot possibly be what we mean by “yes”) are always like this. I ask a yes or no question, and they answer without yes or no.

It’s all clear now.

I can actually calm down. To me, I am doing them a favor with a yes or no question. But from their perspective, they don’t have an option with which to reply other than narrative answers.

Kinda fascinating, if frustrating.

You’re welcome.

Some Thoughts About Dearborn After Light Review of Last Night’s Events

-In his infamous documentary Pumping Iron, Arnold has a conversation with Lou which discusses whether it is better to be the king of the hill (defending from all comers) or the singularly focused threat on the way up. America is obviously the king of the hill. With this status comes threats and enemies and trolls and jokers etc. Islam needs to be relegated to the myth section of the bookstore, but I am not sure of the path to make that happen.

-In recap: a bunch of (in the case of Dearborn, presumably legal) immigrants outbred and then outvoted natives. At face value, I have no issue with this.

-If we believe the mohammedans lie at will (we do believe they lie and they do lie), I am not sure that talking with them is the answer.

-If my above recap is correct, one path would be to move to Dearborn or any other similar towns and out politic them. But that seems like a weird goal to have and a weird life to lead. Most people simply move for better jobs, not a crusade.

-In my recent readings on Vietnam, the Civil Rights Movement, and the Revolutionary War before them, I am struck by how turbulent the times and events were. And yet here we are.

No, I Don’t Think You Do—smh

“We’ve been reading that Huck Finn book you used for school.” The student would have known by “we” the man meant, “your mom and I”. “It has some highlighting in it. Would you say that it is a previous student’s or yours?”

The driving age step-son answered, “Probably mine.”

“Oh,” said the step-dad, who for 8 years has tried to impress upon the lad the penultimate nature of truthfulness. “I was going to say, ‘If you had said it was some other kid’s annotations, that it seemed like a kid just marked up things because he had to, without actually meaning to mark where he highlighted.’”

There was a slight pause, not long enough to indicate shame, then a ready confession , “That was the first book I read at [excellent charter school]. So I probably highlighted at random because I didn’t understand what annotating meant.”

“Ah. Okay.”

Silence ensued for the next few hundred yards of road.

The man began again, “Would you say that you understand what annotating means now?”

“Yeah. I mean, sometimes, I still probably make extra marks because my hand is there with the highlighter and all,” the boy rambled, still not betraying he understood the nature of the path he had set off on. “And anyhow, they don’t really check highlighting anymore. Now they look at the notes in the margin.”

The family finally arrived on the home stretch.

The dad resumed, “So what I am trying to understand is why you would try to fool them instead of ask for help. Like highlighting at random is some kind of deception, versus just asking for additional explanation.”

“Then my homework scores wouldn’t have been good,” the teenager countered. Against all odds and historical evidence, he delivered his next claim with moral superiority, approaching outrage. “You want me to get bad grades?!”

I looked at A-, I mean, the man looked at the student in the eyes. The student pulled his backpack from the trunk without breaking eye-contact, in some sort of primal posturing ritual, taught by who knows who.

The man, from a the street corner just beside hopelessness, concluded, “Yes. I would rather you always tell the truth and fail.”

My Style Solution to Trans Insanity (Laughably Unserious, If Ultimately Provocative)

A recent debater on Triggernometry said, “So the sex that was recorded um and the gender that was recorded on their birth certificate, you can say, ‘Actually that was a mistake’.”

I assure you, dear reader, that I am earnest when I ask this, no matter how it sounds. But I ask, “So, if we stop recording gender/sex on birth certificates, how does a person know they’re trans? If that is the mistake, then why not nip it in the bud right then and there? Birth certificate has name and weight but no recording of a gender/sex?”

Has anyone heard this approach of mine in a debate or discussion forum? Please do share if you know how they respond.

Point of Clarification from One Closer to the Revolution

Washington Irving, in his 5 volume biography of GW, mentioned a book called “History of the Siege of Boston, and the Battles of Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill; Also, an Account of the Bunker Hill Monument; with Illustrative Documents” by Richard Frothingham.

For the historians, I am not a comparative history scholar. So take it easy on me if other historians disagree with Frothingham. Just the same, I cannot imagine anyone providing evidence to discount the sentiments in the following paragraph.

To the modern patriots: I am not sure there is a parallel behavior available to us. What say you? All the militia groups I ever hear tell of seem legitimately illegitimate. And I have to admit I trust the military. The stories of Mohammedans becoming cops causes concern. But I think we have time. What say you? Am I burying my head in the sand? Is there a modern minute-men worth joining?

In sum, my point in sharing is to make sure we teach the right history to our kiddos. With or without membership in any gun-toting club, we can all do this.

Just Stop. Stop Saying (and Believing) “AI Got It Wrong”

Every time that someone says or types “AI got it wrong” all we know is that person does not know what AI is.

So, let’s all remember Mark Twain’s admonition, “It is be to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt.”

(To be clear, AI is a substantively different way of computing. It is not a person. It does not think. It is not bound by morality. It does not have a soul or free will. It is not ever right. And it is not ever wrong.)

I Feel Like I’m Looking Through One Eye

“It just doesn’t stop,” the dad said to his daughter at the table. She was finishing Cheetos (“the big ones”) before starting on her cookie.

“It does stop,” the girl corrected.

“What? It is playing again right now.”

“No, when we were playing outside it stopped at 20,” she insisted.

He was perplexed, but never forgot that every moment is another chance at achieving communication.

“A-. The stereo is still playing. It doesn’t stop,” he circled back.

“No,” big breath, “it stops at 20.”

A glimmer of hope appeared.

“A-. Let’s try again. The stereo keeps playing. But the CD only has 20 songs. Is that what you’re trying to say? That there won’t be new songs forever and ever?”

“Yes. It will play only two times. Then it stops.”

“Okay. That makes sense. Now we are communicating. Doesn’t it feel good to communicate? To actually say things that have meaning?” he lectured in his particular fatherly way, leaning in close to her face for Old Testament emphasis.

“Yeah,” she said distractedly, bravely meeting his eyes, before adding, “I feel like I’m looking through one eye!”