Oh No, It’s Ren & Stimpy

maxresdefault ren___stimpy


Based entirely on true events. Certain details may have been massaged for dramatic effect.

Suggested Audio Jukebox ♬

[1] Happy-Go-Lively

[2] Tom Fool

[3] Happy Feet

[4] Star Parade

[5] Hit and Run

[6] Big Show Theme

[7] Inferno

[8] The Log Song



I must be some kind of eediot. When the opportunity presented itself recently to reunite with some of my all-time favorite childhood heroes, the wealth of options at my disposal were beyond plentiful and I hadn’t the vaguest idea where to start when making my selection. Naturally the first thing I did was to contact Looney Tunes and attempt to procure the much sought after services of Wile E. Coyote, but alas, he snubbed my invitation as he had a brand new pair of rocket-propelled roller skates he was desperate to try out and they took priority over any sub-par social engagements. Thus I opted for The Powerpuff Girls instead and they were only too happy to accommodate my request for a nominal fee. I was thrilled and all was going swimmingly until late last night when I headed over to pick them up in my stretch limo, only to find that the years haven’t been particularly kind to Blossom, Bubbles or Buttercup. It appears that all that exertion endeavoring to save metropolis from the tyrannical Mojo Jojo had taken its toll and the sisters somehow found themselves hooked on class-A drugs shortly after the final series wrapped.


I was understandably devastated and, with time marching on, needed a suitable replacement and fast. It was then that some smart guy suggested Ren & Stimpy and, like the overenthusiastic imbecile I am, I jumped at the chance to book them up. Had time not been at such a premium, then perhaps I would have spent more time weighing up any potential pros and cons before leaping in with both feet. However, the rules clearly stated that failure to commit would result in being paired up with Disney rejects Clarence The Cow and Sneaky Pete and, while okay in small enough doses and on their own, the three-way dynamic would no doubt have been too excruciating to bear. Besides, I had a lot of fun with that emotionally wonky chihuahua and his dimwitted cat and a reunion proposed more of the same harmless hijinks so I was all over them like phlegm on a head scarf. That was until I found out where they’re currently stationed.


While sure it was very nice once you get inside, first impressions of their penthouse apartment were far from encouraging. I guess it’s no less than I should have been expecting, after all, they taught me everything I know now about the fun that can be had with mucus. Tentatively, I stepped into the fray and began rooting around for clues as to their whereabouts. Bizarrely, neither Ren or Stimpy were anywhere to be found, and it appeared that I would be required to put in the legwork to solve this conundrum before my dreams could be realized. My first stop was the shower room as I figured all this snot gobbling would prove messy work and, chances were, they’d be partaking in a good soapy scrub down before bedtime. They weren’t and I’m not altogether sure that the young lady there was particularly impressed by my wide-eyed lingering or chosen shade of lipstick.


This was fast becoming a wash-out and I wasted no time in contacting their agent to enquire about their no-show. However, after an admittedly enlightening ten-minute conversation about whether crabs can ever carve out a career for themselves in tightrope walking, we finally got down to the peas and carrots and my heart sank when I learned the tragic news. According to him, Ren had suffered a nervous breakdown shortly after the final episode aired, and was being kept under close supervision in an undisclosed location somewhere in the facility. As for his gorm-free friend, well that was anyone’s guess as he hadn’t been seen hide nor hair of since. This damn near bought a tear to my eye as neither of them deserved such hardship after a lifetime’s service to tickling my funny bone. I guess that’s the thing about fame as it may be all well and good for the fifteen minute slot it occupies but, once it passes, things often turn dreadfully awry. Just talking about it now is getting me welling up and I gave my word there’d be no tears so would prefer if you refrain from using the zoom on that thing.


Fabulous, now the whole world knows about my ongoing battle with fungal conjunctivitis. I was already aware that the camera puts on ten pounds but didn’t realize the extra baggage would consist of snot. At any rate, after the sadness began to pass, a new emotion stepped up to take centre stage and, with tears now out-of-the-way, all that was left was to have myself some uncontrollable tantrums. Of course, I had to remain mindful of my surroundings as the last thing I wanted was to be labelled a migraine and combatted with a handful of paracetamol and a good night’s sleep. Besides, I just had to find Ren and rescue the little fella before his next planned course of shock therapy. I had no idea what to expect but, whatever those expectations were, I think it’s fair to say that they were effortlessly exceeded once I cast my eyes across the padded cell and spotted him staring directly at me sporting a smile that can only be described as mildly deranged.


I’m not altogether sure who they are but, whatever they had done to him, was downright inexcusable and I fully intended to make both a song and a dance about the despicable treatment of such a cherished childhood hero. However, the last thing I wanted to do was leap to unfounded conclusions, and it seemed important that I question Ren about the treatment he had been subjected to before going off at the deep end as I normally do. Granted his straps had clearly been done up way too tight but, that aside, there appeared no visible signs of ill-treatment. Not that I was about to fall for the happy, happy, joy, joy act as I knew, beneath that winning smile, was a scared young chihuahua who no longer had any idea what season it was, let alone day of the week. The only thing that felt right at that time was to head on over and take him gently in my arms so I did precisely that and he instantly nuzzled into my shoulder like a forlorn puppy. Evidently he was distressed although you wouldn’t have known it from the delirious grin he was hanging onto like airport luggage. If it was true what they say about smiles being infectious then I would likely be in quarantine myself before lights out as this particular wide beam had pandemic written all over it.


The rotten bastards had flat-out ignored his dental plan and left this once rather dashing leading man resembling a smashed-up grand piano that had just been crane-lifted from the foot of a quagmire. In situations such as these, someone has to pay, and the callous swines responsible for this negligence were about to do so with their lives. That was until good old rationale kicked in as Ren only supplied one half of the equation and his significant other Stimpy was still very much at large. Retribution would need to be placed on the back burner indefinitely as this voyage of grim discovery was still very much in its infancy and I wouldn’t rest until the two were finally reunited. However, there was no way I was about to leave these infidels to their own devices after the war crimes I’d been made privy to so I contacted my old poker buddy Jim and requested he take them into temporary custody while I pressed on with my mercy mission. In case you were wondering, Jim is the last limbless invertebrate in the earth you want to go messing with. 


While justice had now been served, Ren was visibly weak and it seemed unlikely that he would have the strength to join me in my search for his companion so I hit speed dial once again and this time requested the services of another old flame of mine, a rather agreeable young lady who goes by the name of Tits McGee. He would need to be nursed back to health and couldn’t hope to be delivered back from the brink without somewhere warm and cosy to rest his weary head or the kind of natural protein that bottled milk just can’t provide. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer like this and the pair seemed to hit it off in no time so I felt like I had done my bit and left them to bond while venturing off into the unknown to track down the elusive Stimpy.


The problem was that, without a floor plan of my current coordinates, I hadn’t the faintest idea where to locate him. To ever hope to catch a Stimpy, one must first be prepared to think like a Stimpy, and this proposed to be an interesting exercise if nothing else as he’s hardly the most balanced individual at the best of times and incapable of applying logic or anything like regular thought processing. Thankfully, he appeared to have left a clue for me in the most unlikely of places.


You see, inside Ren’s earlobe was a solitary coin and I’m fully aware of how Stimpy loves a flutter so it was clear to me that I had to find the nearest casino and would no doubt find him sprawled out across the blackjack table making a spectacle of himself as was customary. That may have been all well and good in theory but this place was a great deal more vast on the inside than I had first anticipated and there were no helpful signposts to denote which pathway I should be taking. Given that I’d stumbled across Ren topside, it seemed only shrewd that I trek south, and the conveniently placed alimentary canal offered a relatively peril-free route to the lower levels so I set off excitedly. Actually, I took a well-deserved soak down first as I’d begun to omit the vague smell of an otter’s asshole and that was only going to get worse where I was headed next.


Now reinvigorated thanks to the most delightful mint and tea tree shower cream I ever did lather my loafer with, the game was very much on and I reassured Ren (who was perking up considerably under Ms. McGee’s doting dominion I might add) that I wouldn’t so much as contemplate returning without his beloved sidekick in tow. Of course, I understood that the road ahead was likely to be fraught with great peril and, if under any illusion, then the strange disembodied voice that reminded me that “THE ROAD AHEAD IS FRAUGHT WITH GREAT PERIL” pretty much cleared up any lingering hopes that it would be fraught with cotton candy. And so it proved as, no more than five minutes into my pilgrimage, I ran into the first of a trio of passing acquaintances.


Ordinarily the sight of Spongebob Squarepants hanging about in the urinary tract would be reassuring but it appeared as though he had been restrained not entirely of his own free will. It would have been all too easy blaming this on the pair of loved up snails loitering in the vicinity seemingly with intent but, if there’s one thing I know about gastropods, then it’s that they suck at tying knots. No this had to be the heinous handiwork of someone far more malevolent, the kind of criminal mastermind very much aware of my presence here and looking to send a crystal clear warning. I racked my brain to think of a villain this nefarious and precious little was forthcoming. However, as I tentatively made my way into the digestive system, it all started to make sense. God I wish it hadn’t.


It was the notorious Powdered Toastman and there’s nothing whole grain about this particular yeast smuggler. I’d heard on the grapevine that he’d recently parted ways with partner in crime Pat Bagel after making a less than gracious remark about his poppy seeds. According to reports, Powdered Toastman hadn’t taken the split at all well and had since committed himself to far less savory pursuits. I didn’t want to go in half-baked as it would have been all too bread and butter for one so adept at using his loaf. Fortunately he hadn’t yet discerned me so I hung back and watched on as he did battle with the digestive system, which appeared utterly incapable of breaking its stubborn opponent down. This went on for several agonizing minutes and I was growing ever more mindful of the hazard entailed with spreading myself too thin as I’d invariably end up in a jam. Stimpy was priority here and the very crust of my reasoning to embark on this thankless journey in the first place. With the bit now firmly between my teeth, I pressed on, and made it around three baby steps before happening across my next and most all-inclusive distraction to date.


Now one hot mama I could resist out of hand, but three is a lot easier said than done, particularly taking into account my fondness for the ukulele. The very last thing I needed right now was to be serenaded by a trio of tantalizing harpies but I figured I owed them a fair hearing so took my seat on the left kidney and did precisely that. The way I saw it, this could present me with an indication of where to find Stimpy, and perhaps they’d throw in a hand job for good measure as the redhead was evidently gagging for it and I considered her lack of elbow joints a distinct positive. Their ode, curiously titled Come Inside The Stinking Hole O Weary Traveller was somewhat open to interpretation but also so dreadfully catchy that I could but tap all ten of my toes in unison and perform a pagan dance in their honor. By the time they reached the all-important string section, I’d started to come across light-headed, and needed a moment to regain my posture. It was then, as my eyes acclimatized, that the answer stared me straight in the face.


Cheap food is something I knew full well that Stimpy wouldn’t turn his nose up to but The Stinking Hole also boasted numerous other facilities including an on-site casino no less. My heaving loins would just have to wait as I had a rescue mission to complete dagnabbit and it would take more than a triage of admittedly fine-looking specimens to distract my attention from the task in hand. Besides, their pimp just so happened to be none other than Powdered Toastman and I knew he’d have something to say about the unsolicited loan of his prize slags. Upon entry, I was caught off-guard to discover that Stimpy was nowhere near the blackjack table as anticipated and, instead, in the front lobby praying to the poultry gods for the safe return of his cherished buddy Ren.


It was clear to me that the unfortunate recent turn of events had supplied significant burden the likes of which he couldn’t possibly be expected to bear without the possession of a pair of shoulders. For the first time, I felt a momentous sense of pride, as I was about to put his tiny little mind at rest and reunite him with his bedraggled associate, therefore saving the day and earning myself the much coveted savior rosette in the process. Confidently I strode across to greet him but, if I was going to get a blind bit of sense out of Stimpy, then I’d first be required to witness his usual lunchtime ritual.


While the waxy nose goblin balanced precariously on the tip of his paw was unquestionably something of a keeper, it couldn’t disguise those sad eyes and I knew this was providing scant consolation for the loss of a loved one. Perhaps this finger food would slide down smoother once I’d reassured him that his pal was actually alive, if not altogether well. With that as my stimulation, I introduced myself and informed him of Ren’s whereabouts. Needless to say, while the relief was palpable, Stimpy looked as sick as a parrot on scag at the mere suggestion that it was currently touch and go in that department. You’d think that out of sight translated to out of mind wouldn’t you? However, when the dimensions of said mind are even more slight than the ball of snot you’re currently masticating, that’s as improbable a conclusion as they come.


Horrified is the operative word here and I instantly wished I’d been more vague when relaying this bogus intelligence. Knowing that I’d dropped a bollock, my first consideration was to put things right and rush him back to his ailing compadre before he suffered a similar kind of psychological shutdown and began foaming at the mouth like a backstage Cosby. This is where a little ingenuity on my part saved a whole heap of unnecessary heartbreak as I’d been prudent enough to impart a trail of ominous green/grey breadcrumbs leading directly back to the infirmary where Ren was currently recuperating. The news was far less than encouraging back at base as Tits McGee had bleeped me to say that he was no longer latching on and, when Ren doesn’t latch on, you just know things are some way from rosy.


Just as I’d feared, Ren’s blight had accelerated to such a degree that he’d slipped into a deep coma. I think it was then that I realized the unyielding power of true brotherhood as Stimpy set aside his own desolation to nurse his patient back from the brink of death to somewhere approaching full health. Never before had I observed such attentiveness, selfless committal to a cause that seemed all but lost, and a refusal to surrender defeat, regardless of how cut and dried it appeared. No wonder Ren put up with his harebrained antics as there was clearly an unbreakable bond between the two that filled me with a sense of hope that had eluded me ever since the scene in E.T. where our hero winds up twitching in a roadside ditch. Miraculously it worked and, within no time, Ren began to show signs of faint recovery. However, he wasn’t out of the woods yet, and Stimpy laid on a three-course banquet to help build his strength back up.


With every hearty chomp, Ren began to resemble the quick-witted and mildly unbalanced chihuahua I knew and loved and I was overcome with a sense of achievement for playing a small but crucial part in this process. It mattered not to me that neither of them seemed even remotely interested in anything I had to say as the most important thing was that they were thick as thieves once again and I was more than content just being privy to their typically rambunctious celebrations.


I should have known it was too good to be true as the course of true love seldom runs smooth and we were about to receive a most unwanted visitor. Granted, Stimpy’s commitment to his darling Ren’s rehabilitation was not in question, but they’d been separated for so long now that he’d come unglued and seeked solace in the arms of another. Unfortunately for him, the object of his surreptitious affection had also followed the trail back to sender and, if that wasn’t already grim enough, then the bombshell he dropped was of the variety that levelled Hiroshima.


If these audacious claims were to be believed, then Stimpy had been impregnated unbeknownst to him, and one look at his chubby ankles confirmed this data to be 100% authentic. In truth, Ren had been partly to blame for not getting this frisk-filled feline spayed when he had the chance as, the thing about Stimpys, is that they’re known for their high fertility rates. The party had been going so well up until this point but I’d unwittingly found myself staring at the straight edges of a fully blown love triangle and, if Jerry Springer’s final words were to be believed, then they have a history of getting decidedly ugly. Not altogether surprisingly, both appeared to be at different stages of their evaluation and, while Stimpy was pondering whether or not its acceptable to consume one’s young and looking rather pleased with himself, the injured party was taking this revelation with considerably less salt pinches.


Known for exhibiting a fiery temper on occasion, the injured party was gearing up for one such furious outburst and I had a sneaking suspicion that things weren’t about to end at all well. Had Stimpy have displayed so much as a slither of remorse, then perhaps Ren would have been more willing to let this foolish indiscretion slide. After all, bedside manner buys you all kind of kudos, granting a dash of immunity to boot. However, not once had Stimpy enquired as to his partner’s wellbeing, and his cause wasn’t aided by the fact that this outsider was currently dry humping his leg while throwing baby names into the hat enthusiastically. Every one has a breaking point and chihuahuas are no exception as the bough finally broke and ten shit-kicking knuckles clenched with newfound purpose.


There comes a time during any domestic dispute when any tertiary parties are best served simply fading back into the shadows and this was unmistakably one such instance. At first, I couldn’t help but feel in some way responsible for the ruckus about to explode, but I’d much rather search for those upsides than become poster boy for “if only”. At any rate, what was done was done, and the key factor here was that I’d managed to reunite two exceedingly lost souls through often thankless endeavor. The rest was up to them and, if the sight of Ren punching his nut free companion even more senseless in a vain attempt to remove the stupid smile from his face was anything to go by, then they’d be just fine.


I always try and perform at least one good deed during any calendar day and this act of kindness had my Monday motivation all but sewn up. So why stop at there when Tits McGee was still waiting for her cab to arrive and still had sufficient juice in those udders to whip up a celebratory frothy latte? It was the least I deserved and, the thing about the enigmatic Tits McGee, is that she’s never anything whatsoever less than totally up for it. I’d get to top up my protein and assist her with her lactose production for the ultimate in double-bubbled satisfaction. Alas, those expecting a happy ending may wish to look away right about now, as I think I may have bitten off a little more than I was permitted to chew. Don’t give me that look, I distinctly recall informing you at the very offset that I’m pretty much categorically an eediot. Well eediots get peckish too you know and I never did much care for the taste of logs. HA! CHOMP!


Click here to read Dorks of The World: Unite!





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