Wallaby Wednesday: The wisdom and potential of Mr. Onion Head

Carlos Alazraqui has at least twice — in separate years and on separate coasts — affirmed his fondness for his breakout character’s statement, “I love you, Mr. Onion Head.”

 

He said as much in 2015 during a Rocko’s Modern Life panel at Florida Supercon. Two summers later, he restated it as “my favorite line” in an interview with AfterBuzz TV’s Keetin Marchi at the San Diego Supercon, where the trailer for the long-time-coming Static Cling premiered.

While Alazraqui did not elaborate on why that quote stands out, Mr. Onion Head is inarguably one of the more memorable bada-bing-bada-boom Rocko characters. From his startling emergence out of nowhere to his unfortunate demise via Heffer’s jaw, his lone appearance lasts 67 seconds. Yet he is integral to the prolonged drama in “Junk Junkies” and speaks sagaciously and substantively on sentimental value.

Himself an Alazraqui character — the actor said at Florida Supercon he perfomed him as a Nick Nolte impression — Mr. Onion Head packs ample resonance in a constrained container. Some of the flashbacks he evokes have regained their relevance in the countdown to Static Cling’s release this August.

As the Netflix teaser lets on, Rocko “just wanted my show back!” upon belatedly entering 21st-century O-Town. The unspecified ’90s series reportedly takes a broader effect when Rocko merely sought a piece of a purer, simpler era.

In that sense, it plays the role his pogo stick had 25 years earlier. Despite what the dealer he sells it to in “Junk Junkies” says, the object and the memories matter. This becomes clear when Mr. Onion Head steps in to tell a slew of those memories in more detail.

As the speech and the clips demonstrate, Rocko and the pogo stick “were pretty much inseparable” during his Australian upbringing. When he was still in his not-a-care-in-the-world years, it helps him maximize his energy expenditure and miles in the spacious Outback. It later helps him elude danger, then smoothly introduces him to puberty and his “first girl.”

Given that Rocko’s first crush is a fellow wallaby with a pogo stick of her own, that last point suggests the value of such sticks to the species. Being smaller than lookalike kangaroos, they cover less ground when they leap.

Being even smaller than their parents, wallaby children feel more empowered with a toy conducive to higher, longer jumping. You might say it is to them what Reebok would say its Trackstar was for human kids.

All of this comes back to Rocko with Mr. Onion Head’s help after his pogo stick gets him to his garage-sale goal. In this sense, it gets him out of trouble one more time.

Previously, while still hesitant, he admits “I guess I could” sell it while glancing at threatening reminders of his pizza debt. Once that is ostensibly out of the way, however, his conscience is clearer. Considering Onion Head’s lack of sentience in Heffer’s presence, his crucial cameo brings a Calvin and Hobbes dynamic to Rocko.

Only the toy’s owner can see him move or hear him talk, and can only do so when they are alone. Moreover, the toy is there to make its owner reconsider an ill-advised decision. Countless readers of Bill Watterson’s magnum opus hold that the stuffed tiger stands for the boy’s conscience. Being Rocko’s favorite indoor toy from childhood, Mr. Onion Head is perfect for the same role.

How perfect? He inspires Rocko to re-purchase his pogo stick before Heffer’s disfigured G.I. Jimbo sells for the squandered $500. He is a key cog on a team of toys practically looking out for each other, their owners and their owners’ friends.

But while his speech brings a slice of childhood innocence back home, he himself is prone to real-world influence.

Remarkably, at least in terms of release dates, the Rocko masterminds beat Pixar to the screen with selectively anthropomorphic toys. Mr. Onion Head’s real-life inspiration, Mr. Potato Head, debuted in the movies almost two years later via Toy Story. And that was the mere beginning of his fame beyond public shelves and private playrooms.

Odds are Rocko’s Mr. Onion Head is one of millions of copies worldwide. If the Nolte-esque speaker epitomizes the character, then he has “Chokey/Chewy Chicken onion ring spokesman” written all over him. It would be no different than the way Mr. Potato Head started hawking Burger King French fries circa 1997-98. (That gig virtually led to a Lay’s potato chip endorsements.)

Too bad Heffer could not distinguish edible onions from toys. Now all Rocko has of his Mr. Onion Head are the memories. Even if, say, one of Filburt’s children or the boy who got Rocko’s foul ball volunteered to replace him with a Chokey/Chewy Chicken kids meal prize, it would not be the same, especially due to postmodern corporate tie-ins.

But as long as Rocko hangs on to his pogo stick, Mr. Onion Head’s sacrifice will not be for naught any more than G.I. Jimbo’s.

Wallaby Wednesday: The imperative Rocko-SpongeBob connection

You cannot do the history of SpongeBob SquarePants justice without acknowledging Rocko’s Modern Life. The former would never have happened without the latter, and the key personnel overlap embodies the kinship of the two Nicktoons.

There is also barely a crossover between ’90s kids who grew up on Rocko and the Generation Zers who have enjoyed SpongeBob’s cultural rise to Rugrats proportions and beyond. For roughly a year, when the late Steve Hillenburg’s creation was finding its groove, it shared the airwaves with his first animation endeavor on their parent network.

Rocko’s removal from the rerun mill in the summer of 2000 was as good as the official death of the 1990s. But by that point, SpongeBob was raring for its encore campaign. While it premiered in the final year of the old decade, it would inevitably have to be a “show of the future” if it yearned for long-term traction.

Naturally, it would need to be its own series, especially in order to become an adhesive piece of the new millennium. But those who watched both show knew Rocko-influenced elements would help Hillenburg’s creation gain that traction.

That realization started dawning immediately in the summer of 1999, as SpongeBob’s run began in earnest 20 years ago today. After premiering its pilot as a Kids’ Choice Awards leadout 11 weeks prior, it became a Saturday staple in July.

This meant more than the start of the next level in Tom Kenny’s (Heffer) profile as he voiced the starring role. The first episode beyond the pilot also brought Mr. Lawrence (Filburt) and Carlos Alazraqui (Rocko) onto SpongeBob’s all-time roster.

The Internet Movie Database credits Lawrence as a customer in the “Bubblestand” half of the July 17, 1999 episode. In the second segment, he announces the surfing contest and voices the annoyed ice-cream salesman who fields multiple pants-splitting jokes from SpongeBob.

Meanwhile, IMDB bills Alazraqui as two types of fish and a “Loser” in the “Ripped Pants” segment. As a tweet from Alazraqui on May 1 of this year indicates, that segment is where one fish he voices first encourages SpongeBob’s antics.

Up to that point in the burgeoning SpongeBob chronicles, Kenny’s star character had been unequivocally exuberant, but only in front of two or three people at a time. His onscreen audience is larger when he accidentally tears his trunks and leaves the beach embarrassed before a bystander notes his comedic potential. For the rest of that segment and many more to come, SpongeBob is more outgoing and eager to amuse himself and others.

Intentionally or not, the setting-off sequence mirrors Alazraqui pitching Kenny for a Rocko audition. The fish later identified as Scooter catches SpongeBob’s knack for silliness the way Alazraqui unlocked Kenny’s pathway to enlivening Heffer. In both cases, the speakers reverse the recipients’ initial dearth of self-confidence.

As Kenny told Parade’s Michele Wojciechowski in 2015, he was a “shy show-off” growing up. “I was always funny to a select group of friends, but I wasn’t like the class clown with the lampshade on my head.”

Landing his first IMDB credit 10 years prior to SpongeBob, Kenny subsisted largely on stand-up for the first quarter of the ’90s. But while that earned him moments in the late-night sun on a laundry list of talk shows, he finally stuck somewhere via Heffer on Rocko.

As he told Wojciechowski, and has said elsewhere before and since, his connection with Alazraqui on the Bay Area stand-up circuit bridged him there. At every public opportunity, such as the 2012 cast reunion for a “Wacky Delly” live reading, Alazraqui jokes that Kenny owes him a sliver of his earnings.

But perhaps Kenny and Hillenburg continuing their business relations with him is sufficient. Apart from Winslow on CatDog (1998-2005) and Mr. Crocker on The Fairly OddParents (2001-2017), SpongeBob has generated Alazraqui’s greatest volume of post-Rocko credits on Nickelodeon.

The only way to perfect the reciprocation would have been to have Alazraqui voicing SpongeBob’s best friend. That was not to be, but the two other since-ended Nicktoons allowed him to establish his range.

Kenny has done the same beyond Nickelodeon, particularly through a slew of Cartoon Network programs. But with assists from Alazraqui, followed by Hillenburg, he got what the former had first; namely the titular voice on a resonant Nicktoon.

Tangled up in yellow

Kenny, who Hillenburg had in mind for the role of SpongeBob when the series was still a sketched-out concept, is the first to acknowledge the common threads between his topmost Nickelodeon characters. Along with Dog on CatDog, Heffer and SpongeBob are endearingly energetic, marble-missing, yellow-tinged man-children.

Last Wednesday, Vanity Fair ran a video interview on its YouTube channel, capturing Kenny’s reaction to fan impressions of his characters. Going deep into his analysis, he singled out the latter two on their generally limitless optimism.

“There’s never any negatives with Heffer,” he told the magazine, “and SpongeBob’s kind of like that too.”

As it happened, Kenny’s colleagues on SpongeBob gave him ample material early on to establish that continuity from Rocko’s deuteragonist to the new show’s protagonist. While young viewers want to root for SpongeBob, much of the comedy stems from his obliviousness to downsides, danger, rules or regulations.

On August 21, 1999, the segment “Hall Monitor” had the title character taking the honorary position too far beyond proper boundaries. His behavior in the uniform outside of school ultimately lands him in trouble with the town police.

How could any Rocko fan with analytical inclinations have not thought back to “Uniform Behavior” after seeing “Hall Monitor” unfold? Before SpongeBob does so at the expense of Bikini Bottom’s public safety, Heffer, in Filburt’s words, lets the badge go to his head, to the detriment of Conglom-O’s security.

Through hallucinations in the form of the Seven Udders of Justice, Heffer’s disoriented conscience gives him a pep talk on the eve of his first and only night on duty. SpongeBob, after a long wait for his turn as hall monitor, delivers a protracted and passionate speech on the honor. Both subsequently see crimes that are not there, then crack under undue, self-imposed pressure when their environment gets dark.

Of course, between those two storylines, only Heffer ends up in prison, on one count of indecent exposure. SpongeBob will not streak until much later in Season 1, as he learns a hard safety lesson in “Hooky.”

Delayed gratification

Other hard-earned lessons come to each character when they realize their limits. With Rocko’s “Mama’s Boy” and SpongeBob’s “Jellyfish Jam”, Heffer and SpongeBob’s respective party guests become pests. They would rather carry on the loud music and dancing to no end while the host wants to retire for the night.

Individually and with the company, respectively, Heffer and SpongeBob take things outside and come away slightly more responsible than before. For the sake of continued comedy, though, they only learn so much from that for so long in the saga.

But on more decidedly uplifting notes, each yellow fireball also rides his optimism to succeed in apparent fool’s errands. From the first season of SpongeBob, “Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy” comes to mind. The series star and his starfish friend Patrick may not get their favorite superheroes back in their original form. But they do shake them out of retirement and get them back on TV.

Previously, Heffer had defied Rocko’s qualms about racing to Flem Rock before its bulldozing demise. Despite various speed bumps, detours, vehicular breakdowns and one bout of road rage, “Road Rash” culminates in the travel partners getting an exclusive view of the national park’s final eruption.

They get there with the help of Rocko acquiring some of Heffer’s infectious determination after the latter’s uncharacteristically runs low. While the sight they reach is smaller than advertised and quickly gives way to a fast-food restaurant, Heffer admits that “It’s more glorious than I ever imagined.”

Some may say the same about the project that came to define Hillenburg and Kenny in the 21st century. Or, if it is not glorious, it is objectively far more successful than most insiders or critics imagined. Multiple theatrical films, theme park rides, Macy’s parade balloons and a Broadway musical speak to the franchise’s mainstream power.

With the character being an extension of the artist via his voice, SpongeBob has practically given Kenny the equivalent of what Rocko promised the American Balding Eagle could achieve by ditching wigs. He has made Kenny what Wedgie Boy made Rocko for one segment of his own show.

So far there are no signs of an Alazraqui character supplanting SpongeBob on the billboards and posters. But a project catalyzed by Alazraqui in the recording booth should keep collecting an intangible debt.

Wallaby Wednesday: Could Filburt be a volunteer for medical research?

Leave it to Turtystrol — the medication advertised during NickRewind (nee The Splat) programming — to defeat its own purpose.

The psychological toll and physical symptoms of chronic, overwhelming worry are Turtystrol’s target. Yet it is known to inflict “shellshock and extreme cases of hives,” which likewise signify flight when one wants to fight. It is also not advised for those who are prone to “wicked nightmares.”

Filburt is the unfortunate, natural poster child for all aspects of this fictitious prescription pill. As useful as it could be for him, it is ultimately liable to exacerbate his difficulties.

Odds are medical and pharmaceutical researchers know this because they tested it on him first. In the Rocko’s Modern Life chronicles, several signs point to a borderline career in clinical trials for the turtle.

Filburt’s trademark myriad of ailments could both stem from the studies and prompt him to participate in more. Multiple episodes bear evidence that he has become morbidly enthused by the idea of taking ill. If doing so spells an opportunity for a handy paycheck, such as attitude is at least somewhat understandable.

As Dr. Hutchison tells Filburt’s friends, he “got excited” when his symptoms of amphibial glottal bloaticitis emerged. She had previously been annoyed by Filburt’s insistence that his rash is more than minor skin irritation and reluctantly taken him to the hospital. He later returns to Rocko’s house with “terrible news” that “the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with me.”

Granted, in both instances, it is possible that Filburt’s “excitement” is of the negative variety. It could be more along the lines of psychosomatic hysteria, and he may believe the “fools” at the hospital had misled him to pointless worry.

But further evidence points to desire rather than dread. When Rocko beholds Filburt’s stockpile of used soda cans in his trailer basement, he concludes, “So this is why he never works.”

If there is any truth to that theory, it is only partial. Sure, recycled soft-drink containers can fetch as many as 15 cents apiece in participating states. At the time of Rocko’s original run, Michigan was the gold standard at a 10-cent refund. And incidentally, the map showing the path from O-Town to Holl-o-wood vaguely suggests the series takes place in or around the Great Lakes State.

With all of that said, one generally needs to purchase the beverage before returning the can. The only way to make the refund program profitable is by emulating Kramer and Newman in an episode of Seinfeld. You had better believe some people have done that, only to be foiled on legal grounds.

Odds are Filburt is not inclined to engage in such state-crossing misdeeds. He lacks the means, let alone the intestines, to knowingly attempt anything illicit.

 

But that very characteristic susceptibility to nausea can explain his mass soda consumption. When one’s throat, stomach or both are that uncomfortable, few potables go down easier than ginger ale or a lemon-lime carbonated concoction.

Knowing him as well as they do, Filburt’s friends may occasionally gift him with those beverages. But Rocko clearly does not know the side of Filburt that accrued enough cans to make ends meet without regular employment.

The majority of the beverages must therefore be part of his compensation from the research labs. They are fundamentally free for him. Likewise, he is free to trade in the used cans at an O-Town depository.

For a trailer dweller, that could be a crucial way of supplementing the checks he gets for his troubles at the lab. When he vaguely says he gets the cans “here and there,” he is most likely circumventing the subject due to a sense of stigma.

Just because Barney Gumble volunteers his volunteerism does not mean everyone in that field is comfortable doing so. Filburt would just as soon have his friends believe he does not have regular gigs of any kind. He furthers this notion when he and Heffer are filming the Kind-Of-A-Lot-O-Comics portion of Rocko’s video to his parents, jokingly suggesting that they “shoot some videos of where we work every day.”

That is as far as he will push the envelope on his employment status. As “The High Five of Doom” reveals, he will not even jot down accounts of his lab experiences to himself. As therapeutic as that could be, there is too much chance someone will read it. That potentiality comes to fruition when Rocko and Heffer discover the science-fiction novel he fills his notebook with instead.

Then again, the plot and details of that story may draw inspiration from the lab. In another money-saving move, Filburt substitutes complimentary restaurant mustard for expensive cologne. He could have inside knowledge ahead of the general public from participating in a promising experiment.

For his sake, one would hope Filburt can find a more enjoyable career, one that comes with less pressure, anxiety or uncertainty. But maybe his own attentiveness and resourcefulness could make his attachment to clinical trials his eventual ticket out.

Who needs Turtystrol when you can make yourself confident with aromatic mustard-based cologne? If everyone did what Filburt does at the Chewey Chicken, odds are mustard would not stay free for long. But since this is his discovery, it would only be fair if he could capitalize if and when the practice becomes profitable.

He has certainly paid his dues, even while getting paid to serve as a reptilian lab rat.

Wallaby Wednesday: What is Rocko’s most American episode?

Depending on what stage in life and education one started watching Rocko’s Modern Life, the show offered a jumpstart on a few key names and images in American history.

For this author, Rocko’s original run coincided with early elementary school. During that time, the United States presidents most synonymous with Presidents’ Day were ingrained in my knowledge. The same went for the fundamentals of elections and voting for public office.

Anything pertaining to World War II, including the name of the event, and immigration would come later. With that said, once those were introduced on a later elementary syllabus, some illustrations and terminology rang Rocko bells. Ditto General George Custer, who makes a cameo at the end of “Feisty Geist.” Who knew he was a real-life figure before taking a unit on the Black Hills war in social studies?

And while the series mentions no actual national parks, the Rocko universe contains its share of natural American treasures. Visting those locations is one of many definitive American activities to form the crux of a Rocko segment. Others include engaging in the democratic process, taking in a ballgame and learning about the country and locale’s roots.

On this Fourth of July eve, we break down the American elements of six Rocko half-episodes. Assess the storylines, images and dialogue, then decide for yourself which one is the most uniquely U.S.-oriented.

“Spitballs”

Besides revolving around America’s national pastime, this episode depicts some characteristically American aspects of baseball fandom.

Rocko wants nothing more than to replace his shredded foul ball by authentically recreating the experience of catching one. Heffer wants an up-close, in-person glimpse of his idol, Spike Hammerhead, doing what he does best, followed by an autograph.       

In between, he chows on a steaming ballpark hot dog and indulges in other concessions. Meanwhile, both game-goers proudly wear their giveaway jockstraps. And why not? They each paid $50 for their tickets, so any free merchandise is a nice throw-in.

“Road Rash”

If the Rocko universe ever lives up to chorus of “Big Yellow Taxi,” it does so within this storyline. In the final scene, an American national park gives way to a parking lot for a piece of corporate America.

Throughout the preceding plot, Heffer takes Rocko on his quest to check Flem Rock off his bucket list while he still can. Time is as precious as the slice of the country’s natural majesty he yearns to see. But in an ironic twist, another chain of prototypically American fast food helps the travelers beat the clock.

While embodying his homeland’s not-so-flattering stereotype of slobbery and overeating, as he is wont to do, Heffer wins a pork restaurant’s hot dog-shaped vehicle. The replacement for his destroyed motorcycle gets an equally timely kick of “extra relish” from a gang of benevolent bikers. And from there, he and Rocko have the distinction of witnessing a last and a first on the once-cheirshed site.

One might take Heffer’s immediate shift in attention from the rock’s unceremonious (as promised) removal to the prompt installation of the new Chokey Chicken a sad commentary on American apathy. But as he and Rocko dine, he renames the existing national parks still on his checklist. One of those attractions, the world’s largest slice of processed cheese, even combines consumerism with mystique.

“Kiss Me, I’m Foreign”

If title cards alone decided this contest, Rocko’s depiction as the Statue of Liberty would all but clinch the distinction.

As it is, the ensuing episode portrays a test of how far an immigrant will go to preserve his keep in America. Since an error prevents him from being rewarded for doing everything right, he resorts to a sham marriage.

When that arrangement yields trouble, Rocko admits that, if he must make the choice, he would rather preserve his friendship than his residence. Fortunately, he and Filburt buy enough time for the immigration department to correct its own blunder.

 

“The Emperor’s New Joe”

While the story they tell Rocko carries uncertain credibility, the Chameleon Brothers are undeniably pursuing the American dream from an immigrant’s perspective. Their ambiguously Central European accents and breadth of enterprises throughout the series confirm their longing to bring their ideas from home to the land of opportunity and share a symbiotic relationship with consumers.

In this episode, that relationship is so crucial that they hastily bring their first skeptical café customer, Rocko, to the back and explain themselves. But even before another yarn for another patron makes the first less believable, they cannot convince Rocko to try their coffee again.

The all-American tactic of twisting one’s arm with please-buy-us-or-we’re-ruined melodrama does not work on the Chameleons’ fellow immigrant. In the show’s greatest patriotic speech since Heffer pitched the road trip to Flem Rock, Rocko reminds everyone, “We are not ruled by a tyrannical czar. A person has a right to do what they choose.”

He then supports his case with a quote by Thomas Jefferson before being ejected and derisively called “Honest Abe.” Lincoln’s likeness also appears in the background during Rocko’s speech in the form of the Lincoln Memorial. Ditto George Washington on the one-dollar bill plus the Capitol Building and a monument to the flag-raising at Iwo Jima.

The quote in question comes directly from the third president’s actual first inaugural address, and makes a valid point on dissent’s place in democracy.

“Ed Good, Rocko Bad”

Rocko’s naïve trust in the American electorate combines with the electorate’s naïve distrust in him to doom his dog-catcher campaign. The upshot is a demoralizing plunge from when he wins over the townspeople as a citizen activist in “Zanzibar.”

Premiering in the summer of the 1996 presidential cycle, “Ed Good, Rocko Bad” satirizes the extent and effects of attack ads. It highlights the superficial advantages of advanced campaign funding and how they can sway swing voters.

On the other hand, with its twist ending, it gives an example of ballot proposals at their best. Even if O-Town does not really know who they are putting into office, they do know and decide on his duties (pun unavoidable).

“Floundering Fathers”

This segment begins with Rocko, Heffer and Filburt transporting a collection of hot dogs combined to look like a hamburger. But as synonymous with all-American barbecues as that may be, Ed denies them a float in O-Town’s all-American parade.

Bighead’s xenophobic exclusion of the Australian-born Rocko sets off the segment’s plot, as everyone tells their interpretation of the city’s history.

Heffer’s version packs the most U.S. history terminology. By name-dropping Davy Crockett, minutemen, Lewis and Clark, Abraham Lincoln (or Abraham Heffer), redcoats, the OK Corral and the first Thanksgiving dinner, he tells what retroactively comes across as a hybrid of Drunk History and the Rocko segment “Yarnbenders.”

Ed similarly claims he is descended from a Founding Father, John Quincy Bighead. Unfortunately for him, he gets a serving of humble pie instead of apple when he learns John Quincy had cheated the land’s first residents. None other than Rocko’s ancestor divulges this fact, prompting a tribal leader to collect the centuries-old debt.

Wallaby Wednesday: When Virginia Wolfe pulled a Homer

Five years after “Homer Defined” and a decade and a half before Bob’s Burgers, Virginia Wolfe exhibits multiple dimensions of Linda Belcher while pulling a Homer in her most prominent Rocko’s Modern Life segment.

Season 4’s “Driving Mrs. Wolfe” sees Heffer’s adoptive mother enlist Rocko as her unlicensed behind-the-wheel instructor. With presumably no permit in hand, she lets her motherly habits cloud her capacity for literal street smarts.

All the while, she alternates between exuding enthusiasm and scolding her son’s friend when his justifiable fear boils over. The gusto and admonishment are both, most naturally, misplaced in the situation.

The naivete-driven misadventure approaches its climax when Virginia determinedly agrees to “play” with a demolition-derby heavyweight. The start of that confrontation marks a brief fast-forward ahead of the rewind at the start of the episode. It also marks a rare fourth-wall teardown, as Rocko prepares to explain how he got there.

That presentation could be a court-mandated public-safety speech as part of his plea bargain for unauthorized behind-the-wheel training. Rocko gives no indication that he possesses a driver education instruction certificate, and thus should not let Virginia take him on the road.

Both parties should be in legal trouble, but their could-have-been-worse debacle bears several potential cases for a lighter sentence. A clean driving record on the former’s part and sound citizenship on the part of both are safe to presume.

One should also not overlook the neophyte motorist’s impressive performance, both on the road and at the derby. Parking-lot light displacements and railroad-crossing failure aside, the student and the not-formally-qualified instructor avoid doing any harm.

The only visible damage afflicts Rocko’s besieged car. That is until the pair take George Wolfe’s new car on a wrong turn into the demolition derby.

 

Against all odds, all of the destruction at the derby hits those who are expected to take dents in that setting. Virginia and Rocko, however, escape personal injury and property damage without the former even making sense of the peril.

Virginia can therefore say she pulled a Homer — both by driving safely when logic says she will not, and by winning the derby despite not knowing how the competition works.

Strictly speaking, the third-season Simpsons episode that coined the phrase defines pulling a Homer as “To succeed despite idiocy.” Idiocy is a strong word, even for Homer. After all, he averts a nuclear meltdown twice in as many tries by correctly choosing the right button at random. Even if it is dumb luck, multiple strokes of it look less accidental than one ever will.

Besides, “Homer Defined” premiered two years before the title character is found to be working at the power plant despite lacking a requisite college degree. Substandard training is therefore a more operative noun than idiocy when one refers to pulling a Homer.

It is the same situation with Virginia in the driver’s seat. Unfamiliarity with demolition derbies and a dearth of vehicular experience in general are her harrowing flaws on this wild ride. In short, she is driving and doing so harmlessly despite having yet to earn a license.

You could condense those flaws into the word incompetence, which everyone has in certain areas by nature or from lack of education. That is what Virginia hopes to rectify when her biological son Peter expresses qualms about her driving the family car.

“Well, I can learn,” she replies in a tone that adds a silent, How hard can it be?

Naturally, learning is much harder than she assumes, though her confidence does not wane much after she gets behind the wheel. Granted, she does start learning with the help of Rocko later in the segment. Nonetheless, logic dictates that she cannot learn enough in one day to qualify for a demolition derby.

 

Of course, she never does try out, let alone qualify. Instead, she steers into the fairgrounds arena after missing the exit to Rocko’s house and continuing to misread the map. For that reason, you could also substitute absent-mindedness for idiocy, and Virginia is still en route to pulling a Homer.

Whether it is through misplaced attention or an utter lack of knowledge of the event, she does not even recognize the setting when she drives herself and Rocko into the derby.

Yet despite knowing little of what she is doing, she wins, thus completing her answer to “Homer Defined.” Her short-term memory commits enough of Rocko’s reverse-driving, zigzagging and braking lessons for her to outmaneuver every opponent.

Most derby winners, like the last and most formidable opponent standing, thrive on offense. Conversely, Virginia plays constant keepaway, which would ordinarily be maligned as cowardly in this competition.

But being no ordinary, let alone informed demolition driver, Virginia innocently believes she has encountered chaotic traffic and rude motorists. To her credit, and surely to Rocko’s relief, safety is her priority now. (If only she had rated that over politeness when they crossed the railroad.) It works to their advantage and, as a bonus, it keeps George’s car pristine, just as he intends.

With that said, as he hitches a ride home with the entire Wolfe family, Rocko loads up on seatbelts. By that point, George is at the wheel, and will do everything in his power to keep the car and (by default) its passengers unscathed.

But despite winning the derby, Rocko indicates no one is winning his trust in traffic for a while. His greatest source of relief is the chance to quit while he is ahead.

There is no need for him to channel Aristotle Amadopolous, who admonishes Homer for succeeding by happenstance. But given the parallels, this is Virginia’s first of two strikes before the anti-charm third time she drives unlicensed.

She had better achieve that formal training before she causes a traffic accident without even involving herself in traffic.

Wallaby Wednesday: Did Heffer encounter Peaches more times than depicted?

“Have you learned nothing?” asks an exasperated Peaches disguised as Rocko, snapping Heffer out of his nightmare within a nightmare.

Besides his request to stop at Chokey Chicken upon waking up, ample evidence confirms he has not. As “To Heck and Back” demonstrates, Heffer’s conscience does its best work when he is asleep. It lends him a clearer memory and stronger moral willpower than it does in his waking hours.

Yet its best does not suffice, let alone carry much resonance into real life. If it did, Heffer might have been more wary during his only waking encounter with Peaches Rocko’s Modern Life depicts.

Based on that appearance and the preceding one in his dream, he has seen the demon before. His memory of that encounter, however, is only good for creating an accurate rendering of Peaches in his “To Heck and Back” nightmare.

Early in the following season, one might detect a continuity error in yet another dream sequence. Really Really Big Man recognizes an enlarged Rocko as “that kid from the comic shop” and reminds him of his successful Heimlich maneuver. Per Heffer’s dream, that is what salvages the steer’s soul after a brief stay in Heck.

But upon further review, the fact that this incident is shown in one person’s dream and referenced in another’s lends it more credibility, not less. It is a momentous development in Rocko and Heffer’s friendship, even if the latter learns little from it.

Regardless, it is hard to imagine it never infiltrating either party’s minds as they sleep. It does just that for the rescuer and the rescued. Moreover, it need not have coincided with any Heffer-Peaches run-ins to do so. Dreams have a way of combining and revising a person’s otherwise unrelated lived experiences.

 

How many times have you dozed off and drifted into a setting from your first job out of college, only to encounter people you have not seen since your preteen days there? Or maybe you had a disbelief-suspending sequence set in your most memorable childhood vacation spot but inexplicably featuring cameos by high-school classmates who never indicated they have traveled there?

When, how and under what circumstances Heffer first meets Peaches may never be known. That notwithstanding, multiple subsequent encounters stop short of unequivocally confirming the first.

The demon makes a few nonspeaking cameos on Earth, most notably in the crowd late in “Rocko’s Modern Christmas.” In each instance, he sports the same full-body black cloak that leave only his eyes and hands visible.

In “Road Rash” and twice in the fourth season, he is shown in his domain again. As a passing clip in “Mama’s Boy” and the crux of “Heff in a Handbasket” establish, the real Heck is not far off the mark from how it appears in Heffer’s nightmare.

The two key differences are that, in the dream, Peaches runs the place and the lakes of fire are “just for the tourists.” Conversely, “Heff in a Handbasket” depicts Peaches as one subordinate devil, and there is no indication of a more pleasant section of the setting.

What Heffer sees is what Heffer gets when he goes to Heck for real. But Peaches’ appearance and two alternating voices in his nightmare are carbon copies of real life. He must have seen it and heard it all before.

But if his choking scare does not induce that introduction to the King of Eternal Torment, what does? Clues from other outings with Rocko may give away the actual circumstances.

We know from “Carnival Knowledge” that Heffer loves carnivals. He says so himself at the start and behaves accordingly when the funfair comes to O-Town. As he and Rocko explore the rides, he contemplates the Elevator to Hell, then passes due to its price.

 

Clips from "To Heck and Back" and "Uniform Behavior" run back-to-back from 1:47 to 2:43 in the video above.

Then again, who is the say the admission to that ride was not more cost-effective at a previous time? Going on without thinking it through would not be the last time Heffer gets himself an unwitting underworld ticket while trying to have fun.

That is, after all, the premise of “Heff in a Handbasket.” It also plays into the creepy, climactic, unraveling stages of “Uniform Behavior.”

The former episode would not have happened if Heffer’s short- and long-term memory were not insufficient for his own good. Ditto his downfall as a security guard late in the latter.

Otherwise, he would not fall (sometimes literally) into old patterns in new settings, namely Conglom-O and Triple 6. In both cases, he swaps his soul, albeit melodramatically in Season 2 and naively in Season 4.

Although Peaches does not manifest himself outright in one instance, “Uniform Behavior” underscores influence from Heffer’s past demonic encounters. This is furthered by the building’s spooky midnight vibe and Heffer’s greed, gluttony and or lust for authority.

Just like his sleeping nightmare the previous season, his waking nightmare stems from his sins and suppressed guilt. That factor is less explicit here, though likely because Heffer’s mind is not at rest.

Unlike “To Heck and Back,” “Uniform Behavior” sees him out and about and working during his conventional sleeping hours. As long as that is inducing hallucinations, “Lloyd” is more likely to differ from the real devil Heffer subconsciously recalls.

In that instance, Heffer is sleep-deprived, but not sleeping. When he later pounces on the opportunity to fulfill his dream as a game-show contestant, he is wide awake, but too energized and caught up in the moment to take pause.

As such, the unique, familiar appearance, voice and name of Peaches fail to ring any bells. Specifically, Heffer’s exuberance drowns out the kind of bells AC/DC once sang about.

For that reason, it is only as if his first run-in with Peaches never happened. It had happened, but as usual, the most important details stick with him like, well, a snowball in Heck.

Wallaby Wednesday: ‘Popcorn Pandemonium’ previews in review

Nearly two decades before Screen Junkies made Honest Trailers a YouTube phenomenon, the cinema industry within the Rocko’s Modern Life universe make little effort to sugarcoat its output. Its best favor to itself is the bare-minimum quantity of films playing compared to the coming attractions.

In Season 1’s “Popcorn Pandemonium,” Rocko and Heffer catch five trailers while theater-hopping in search of a suitable seat. It does not matter where they settle, for all 19 rooms are screening Lethal Odor IX.

For those who never took Latin, that is the ninth installment of the fictitious franchise. Apart from established diehards and fans taking a belated interest, no one is likely to look past the lack of originality.

Despite this, and the false “hundreds of movies to choose from” promise, the Googa Plex Cinema draws substantial crowds. Some theaters are packed, and the line for concessions makes the post office and DMV look tolerable. O-Townies either have a low bar, little else to do or a desperate desire to be at the movies no matter what.

As the trailers tell the ticketholders for Lethal Odor IX, there is not much freshness to look forward to. Adaptations of popular characters and “real-life” events comprise the bulk of the coming attractions. But the candor within the narration confirms the studios’ collective confidence that this will suffice for mainstream audiences.

Based on what the episode shows, how convincing can each of these trailers be to Rocko’s fellow moviegoers? Who do the films promise to appeal to the most, why, how and to what extent?

This author shall answer for each of them, one by one.

Enter the Rodent: Part 7 (or Not Before I Had My Coffee)

Like Lethal Odor, this franchise is emulating Duracell. And apart from the alternate/subtitle to this installment, it does not exactly pursue personality for the names of each chapter. That is, at least, not according to the evidence this episode and trailer divulge.

But through its protagonist, the series gives the impression it is using its latest project to convey its own burnout. After pitting this master-of-martial-arts hamster against a Pittsburgh-area kung-fu group and a Cleveland football team, higher-ups are ready to sit down for something more mundane.

That should suit the Rocko world well enough. After all, many of Rocko’s adventures entail the most basic, everyday activities devolving into chaos.

As for the titular rodent, he is not the type you want to bother before he has had his morning brew. Anyone who makes that mistake can set off a dramatic plot, hence the “Hi-ya!” and presumably more that Rocko and Heffer miss as they go searching for a theater with a better view.

 

The Doo

I have never seen Scarlett Johansson’s Under the Skin, but is this supposed to be along the same lines? Is this another example of the Rocko universe being ahead of ours?

It is hard to tell, especially since this is the shortest trailer depicted in “Popcorn Pandemonium.” That brevity could be because it has the longest waiting period before its premiere date. The narrator says it is “coming this holiday season,” and Mr. Bighead’s football game may be a playoff tilt amidst an unseasonably warm January, a college spring intrasquad exhibition or a taped delay he has finally gotten around to.

Regardless, The Doo is the only film with no readily apparent inspiration or basis. Those who enjoy strange horror of Sharknado proportions will take to it with maximum zeal.

The Cuddly Little Poots

Any discussion thread about this kiddie cartoon flick is sure to include observations of a Smurfs parody. This being the Rocko world, though, movies of this genre are not immune to tragedy.

The joint trailer for this project and the related Das Poot are nothing if not up front about that. In the main film, crossover character Really Really Big Man carelessly squishes at least one Poot. (That would basically be the equivalent of Superman erroneously killing a Smurf.) The other story, set on a World War II submarine, features exploding torpedoes.

Maybe these particular adaptations are not meant for the Poots’ preschool demographics. Perhaps slightly older children, embarrassed by their former fanaticism, can come and take satisfaction in the now-despised characters’ demise. This could be the Rocko-verse’s answer to anti-Barney humor.

Adding to that theory, part of the narrator’s appeal to prospective viewers is the Poots’ “line of expensive licensed products.” Obviously, shelling out for tickets to watch this commercialized crap destroyed will not restore the money parents previously spent on merchandise to please their tots. But perhaps the symbolism will deliver a little intangible satisfaction.

 

Garbage Strike: The Musical

The Chameleon Brothers sure know how to capitalize. While it is unclear whether the titular labor dispute is ongoing or one that has stopped and started repeatedly in recent years, there is already a book about it.

And now, as the closing number to “Popcorn Pandemonium” further suggests, two of the garbage union leaders are portraying themselves in their own story’s screen adaptation. Other than Jackie Robinson playing himself in his first biopic, that tactic has not been tried much.

Entertainment value aside, this implied arrangement does not bode well for those who want long-term order in the trash pick-up department. If these garbage personnel are scoring major movie deals and displaying musical-acting talent, they really can do anything that they like while on strike.

Dracula: Done to Death

The start of this trailer’s narration says it all. “It’s not new. It’s not original. It isn’t even very interesting.”

That last disclaimer comes out in comparatively muffled haste. It is as if the studio harbors collective or individual conflict on how to tout this movie.

For its part, the title carries a frank twofold meaning. Besides corresponding to the film’s implied lack of events, it agrees with anyone who believes there have been too many Dracula adaptations in too little time.

When “Popcorn Pandemonium” premiered, there had been at least seven Universal and nine Hammer screenplays of pop culture’s most famous vampire. In to several looser, further imagination-stretching stories, seven more retellings came out between 1982 and 1992.

Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula was a successful capper on that slew. But barely a year later, in the Rocko world, someone in Hollowood must have sarcastically suggested, “Why not just show a dead Dracula and have Van Helsing and his sidekick go get some bagels?"

Those bagels bring nice symmetry to the coffee the Rodent is settling down for. And if the film’s producers and promoters are beating the consumers to the enough-already sentiment, the hook just might work.

Wallaby Wednesday: Quinn Kitmitto passed good judgment on Mr. Lawrence

Quinn Kitmitto catches up with former fellow Rocko's Modern Life staples. From left to right: Writer Martin Olson, actors Charlie Adler, Carlos Alazraqui, Tom Kenny and Kitmitto.

The pineapples might as well represent the memories and the friendships that fostered them. So far in Quinn Kitmitto’s post-Nickelodeon phase, they have lasted a lifetime.

They have stuck to her web wall for all of the world to see, and therefore associate with her career. One of them is among the last things she sees before retiring for the night. In turn, it is among the first sights to greet her in the morning.

The pineapple’s presence in her 21st century life rivals that in Rocko’s Modern Life. It is not a foremost or flashy theme, but it is memorable and catchy.

In the show’s first season, for which Kitmitto was a production assistant, the mere metaphor of a spiky tropical fruit gave blue floor tiles an eye-starring appeal to a driving instructor at the O-Town DMV. With that association, they contrasted favorably with the avoid-at-all-cost “hot lava” on the white tiles.

By Season 3, Kitmitto’s second and final credited as a production coordinator, slices of pineapple were lending live-action meatloaf “a festive touch” in “Wacky Delly.”

In between, a barrage of full fruits closed the final Fatheads scene within “I Have No Son!” That two-part segment kicked off the second season, one where Kitmitto pulled momentous double duty on Rocko.

Roughly a quarter-century later, the front page of Kitmitto’s website lists dozens of the advertisers, entertainment giants and individual programs she has bequeathed her voice talent to. Of all the name drops, she saves her breakthrough role on the “Nickelodeon 90’s classic ‘Rocko’s Modern Life’” for last.

Scroll down a tad, and Rocko clips constitute the first of her three demo uploads. Scroll down further, and you will find the pet psychologist from Season 1’s “Clean Lovin’” and his monokini-clad fans in the center of an image gallery.

Behind all of that sits white wallpaper peppered with pineapples that appear to be raining.

“Ugh, the website,” Kitmitto told Pucks and Recreation in a recent email exchange. “I paid a college kid $1,000 to do that. And when I found out WIX websites are free…I felt like ‘a big dummy head!’ to quote Filburt.”

Made a moderate motif by Rocko, then made famous as an undersea house by succeeding Nicktoon Spongebob Squarepants, the fruit has never fallen far from Kitmitto’s conscience. Beyond her online display, she has a golden pineapple-shaped lamp at home.

The voice behind Mary Jane/Iron Jane in 2016’s star-studded Marvel Avengers Academy video game and Jessi on Clay Kids admits she was not purposely thinking of her career launch pad while decorating. But she can never have enough happy reminders of it, no matter how subtle.

Mark O’Hare, Doug Lawrence, Derek Drymon, Quinn Kitmitto, Tom Yasumi, Jill Talley and Robert Porter

“The pineapple wallpaper was just so cute!” she said, now coming across as her breakout character. Of the connection to Rocko, she continued, “I guess so. Never even realized that, but now that you ask, probably! Subconsciously?

“I’ve always loved the whimsical design of the show.”

Kitmitto found sounds there to love as much as the sights, and in the process heavily influenced a key character. And all within two years of finishing college.

In the spring of 1991, the Los Angeles-area native was wrapping up her degree in history at UCLA, and admittedly had “no idea what I was going to do next.” To gain class credits, she turned to DIC Animation City, where she worked on a pair of one-year wonders. Wish Kid — starring Macaulay Culkin between his two Home Alone films — and Hammerman — hosted by and named after MC Hammer — graced NBC and ABC, respectively, in 1991-92.

A subsequent stint at Limelight — where she assisted the company’s founder, the prolific music-video director Steve Barron — parlayed Kitmitto to Nickelodeon. Through Mary Harrington, one of Rocko’s executive producers, she was enlisted opposite Jim Leber, now a longtime engineer at at the network, to furnish the studio.

“Jim and I ordered all the furniture, desks, tables, phones, office and art supplies,” she said. “He and I alone basically created the entire layout of the office space, before the artists were even hired.”

As her story goes, Kitmitto encouraged one of the program’s eventual voice artists to ease out of his shell. At an L.A. reunion panel in 2012, Doug Lawrence remembered hesitating to audition for Filburt. Despite standing in during preliminary reads, he feared risking his established writing, animating and directing roles.

Kitmitto described Mr. Lawrence’s Filburt as a “hilarious impersonation” of The Jerky Boys, a prank-phone-call comedy team discovered by Howard Stern. She approached series creator Joe Murray, who had heard several anonymous audition tapes before learning the turtle’s identity.

Lawrence, Murray told Lisa Trainor in 1997, “personally brought so much to that character. He is tremendously talented. We lucked out having him on the show.”

Filburt made a modest six appearances in Season 1, beginning with “Canned” on Sept. 19, 1993. Over that year, he gradually evolved from an anonymous stock character to a staple in the Rocko chronicles.

By Season 2, Lawrence’s versatile presence and inclination to return a favor boosted Kitmitto’s own multifaceted career. While being promoted in the production department, she effectively had her voice-touting gesture written into the series.

 

Before she started drawing regular Internet Movie Database acting credits (not all of which, she says, are accurate) circa 2013, Kitmitto broke that ice via “Kiss Me, I’m Foreign.” The second segment of the season’s seventh episode premiered Dec. 4, 1994.

Lawrence wrote the plot of Rocko facing deportation before Heffer claims he is engaged to Filburt. The turtle promptly plays along, getting in touch with his feminine side as “Ophelia.”

Presiding over the hasty courthouse wedding is a perky young judge who adores Ophelia’s voice. So much so that she phones the couple’s residence multiple times afterward for the sole purpose of hearing it again. That is until an already irritable Filburt admonishes her to “Quit calling here!” and gets a retaliatory receiver between the eyes.

Though not named during the episode itself, the judge is known as Quinn. Lawrence had created the character with Kitmitto in mind, and successfully reversed the roles in pitching her to Murray.

“Quinn the Judge was based on me,” Kitmitto said. “It was just my regular voice, and the inside joke was the inspiration that brought on the sassy ‘You’re mean!’”

Lawrence’s voiceover magnum opus at the time also uncharacteristically killed off a lesser known Kitmitto character. “Kiss Me I’m Foreign” opens and closes with a subplot on parasitic squirrels, two of whom claim Filburt as their host.

Filburt, along with several other turtles plus the judge and the immigration officer, resorts to a hygienic squirrel grenade. Kitmitto plays the female whose husband calls the pet name “Fuzzy Lips” before their episode-ending afterlife smooth.

Apart from another cameo as Earl’s fairy dogmother in “Frog’s Best Friend,” Kitmitto stuck with production for the balance of her Rocko tenure. Her working partnership with Lawrence, who later famously added Plankton on Spongebob to his repertoire, continued through a slew of short films. She was also prepared to play Tabitha — the protagonist’s love interest on the Lawrence-created, puppet-centered Lost on Earth — before the pilot was left to rot.

Late in Rocko’s production stretch, Kitmitto moved to New Jersey to start a family with her then-husband. Raising three children would ultimately keep her out of regular work for a decade and a half. Among other drawbacks, that meant missing out on Spongebob, which would have reunited her with Lawrence, titular performer Tom Kenny (aka Heffer) and the show’s late creator Steve Hillenberg.

“I think kids who grew up watching (Rocko) are going to go nuts over (Static Cling). I believe it’s going to be a huge hit!” - Quinn Kitmitto

Despite the lack of career encouragement from her ex-husband, Kitmitto has kept her foundational showbiz relationships strong. When Hillenberg died from ALS this past November, she joined a who’s who of Rocko alumni at memorials in December and March. Since returning to L.A. and reviving her IMDB portfolio, she has taken voice classes with Charlie Adler (the Bigheads) and frequented Kenny’s standup shows.

“All of those guys are my mentors,” she said in reference to Adler, Carlos Alazraqui (Rocko), Kenny and Lawrence. “I adore them all!”

As Kitmitto continues her career, the resonance of her breakout program transcends competing entertainment giants. She teased an upcoming Disney production in which she employs a “Bart Simpson/Filburt mashup voice.”

Meanwhile, the past is finally coming back from space this summer. Netflix has picked up the long-homeless Rocko reboot movie Static Cling, for which a Melrose Avenue restaurant held a recent premiere.

Joining writer Martin Olson for the grand transmission, Kitmitto caught up with every key cog from the film. As 10 TV screens ran their product, it quickly became apparent which viewers were with the franchise from the beginning and which came later. Some may have been too young to remember the movie’s basis in its original run.

Of herself and her colleagues from that time, Kitmitto said, “We were cracking up.” Conversely, “The young peeps who worked on it didn’t seem to be laughing at certain parts.

“But what we concluded was that we were privy to the inside joke that preceded certain parts of the film. Overall it was well received. I think kids who grew up watching it are going to go nuts over this. I believe it’s going to be a huge hit!”

If nothing else, it is already doing its part to address an insatiable itch for what one may call the Orange Age. Just like their millennial consumers, the makers of ’90s Nicktoons never seem to tire of the primordial purity the shows tie in with that time in their lives.

“Most of us were in our early 20s or 30s,” Kitmitto said. “All of us young and starting off, so no egos.

“I think everyone you could ask who started off there would say the same. It was a unique, collaborative, creative, supportive experience that we all benefited from being a part of. So much love, such a wonderful time of my life.”