While
researching last week’s edition of this column, this author encountered a
fascinating fan theory. An anonymous Fandom summary of “Dirty Dog,” the first
of three Rocko’s Modern Life episodes
to feature Bloaty and Squirmy, ends with the following bulletpoint:
“Rocko
wonders what kind of parasites live on his dog before we first get introduced
to Bloaty and Squirmy, implying that they exist solely in his imagination.”
How
much, if any, merit does that idea hold? When you consider the full scope of
Rocko’s character as the series depicts it, you cannot rule it out. His other,
more direct interactions with insects are the keys to credibility.
But
on the whole, the thought of Spunky’s owner envisioning a sitcom on the pup’s
back is a wide stretch. The sequence the Fandom contributor alludes to has
Rocko and a Scum Away Doggy Spray pitchman referring to parasites as “nasty.”
Yet the subsequent depictions portray the tick and ringworm as fairly innocent.
Given
the title figure’s selfless actions in “Rocko’s Happy Vermin,” humanizing the
parasites would seem uncharacteristic. When he is trying to de-louse his house,
he demonstrates ethical boundaries. He hangs up on an overly enthusiastic
exterminator on the grounds that, “I don’t want to hurt the little fellas. I
just want them out of here.”
The
reason the bugs infest his residence to begin with is because he stops himself
from accidentally stepping on one, giving it the right of way. Hours later, the
two meet at the same spot before Rocko’s staircase and exchange pleasantries.
He also does not try the exterminator until after showing his uninvited guests
cruise brochures.
Why,
then, would he imagine himself polluting Bloaty and Squirmy’s air, steamrolling
a brush through their habitat or flooding it? Is there any chance he hopes it
will not kill them, but rather encourage them to relocate?
Not
likely, given his agreement with the TV spokesman that Spunky’s residents are “nasty.”
And as long as he does not see them, he is less inclined to sympathize with
them.
Granted,
Rocko is not always benevolent to bugs even when he sees and converses with
them. While sleep-deprived, he threatens Flecko’s life in his first encounter
with the fly. In their third and final run-in, he tries swatting him with a spatula.
Then
again, those two scenes see the kindly wallaby quickly revert to his
humanitarian instincts. He had only flipped out on Flecko for getting into his
nose and later contaminating his prized AAA Outback patties. Unlike his heroic
deed in between, namely sparing Flecko and friends from insectivore Ed Bighead,
those are times when he does not wish to have bugs or their residue in his
body.
Still,
he offers to let or help the fly go unharmed, and only resumes the
confrontation at the tiny pest’s provocation. Had he not been sleep-deprived in
“Day of the Flecko,” he most likely would not have hopped on his jackhammer.
But
literally and figuratively speaking, Bloaty and Squirmy are different animals
from Flecko. They reside on Spunky full-time, and pose a potential threat to
his health, even if they do not mean to.
Rocko
is, at the very least, well aware that these are living things he is dealing
with. If he is to employ even the smallest warlike side of him, this is the
situation for it. His most loyal and one full-time live-in companion depends on
him for top-notch hygiene.
None
of those realities necessitate visions of vermin trying to live their lives
amid Rocko-induced dangers. When they hang on for dear life while Spunky grips
the bathroom ceiling, Rocko is preoccupied with getting his dog to cooperate.
The only reason he might imagine that dramatic scene is if it feeds his hope that
the petrified parasites will move out on their own.
Naturally,
apart from a brief transfer to Rocko himself after the bath washes them out, the
vermin stick to Spunky. Each time they return, their adventures are swayed by
situations that send the dog to a veterinary setting.
In
“Down the Hatch,” they move a lethal vitamin tablet from the dog’s digestive
system to his ear. In “The Fatlands,” they explore a new frontier brought on by
their host’s excessive weight gain.
Unless
they constitute a unique coping mechanism, those subplots would not cross
Rocko’s mind at such times. Not when he is looking to help Spunky lose weight,
let alone racing against a 19-minute clock to stop him from exploding.
The
latter scenario lends the greatest potential to the coping-mechanism theory.
There is only so much Rocko can do to alleviate his anxiety. The thought of
Bloaty and Squirmy pulling the tablet out of harm’s way when the vet cannot may
be one method.
Of
course, if the odd-couple parasites do not exist, that makes the vitamin’s
life-saving move all the more mysterious. Not that it would matter to Rocko. If
he has had no luck eradicating any kind of dog-bound parasites, it would be
just like him to theorize a positive purpose for them.
With
that said, the vitamin does relocate by means neither Rocko nor the vet could have
enabled. In addition, the series of small explosions by less benevolent
parasites who razed the tablet reaffirms the reality of Bloaty and Squirmy.
The
vet and Heffer clearly see the popping as well. They just do not know that it
is the culmination of the tick and ringworm’s exhibit gone wrong.
Rocko’s
lack of understanding of what he sees is moot compared to his four-legged
friend’s well-being. Based on what he knows and says about parasites in
general, he cannot see — with his eyes or in his mind — how Bloaty and Squirmy
may actually further that well-being. He can and does only vaguely wonder what
Spunky’s residents are like while they work in their myserious ways.
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