Since watching the Animaniacs reboot, I've been wanting to write something for it. Was originally going to do Pinky and the Brain, but decided on an origin story after watching an animatic by irestuff. Go check her out on Instagram and her amazing fanart! Was inspired by the animatic, so I cranked this out in one way. Apologize if there are any errors.
I hope you enjoy this!
...
"Just try to get it done by tomorrow!" Memlo shouted, exiting the room as he lit up a cigarette.
Borax watched and fumbled for a light, cursing as he realized he gave his last match to his superior. He looked at the projector, then at the screen in front of him.
"By tomorrow? Create a whole new cartoon by tomorrow?"
He sat down in a nearby chair, rubbing his temples. His thoughts began racing as he thought of potential characters.
Maybe a wife for Buddy? No, that wouldn't work. Maybe an enemy? No, that would require restarting the entire project, which he wasn't interested in doing.
The projector whirred, replaying the animation over and over. Buddy smiled back at him, bouncing back and forth as he walked across the field.
Borax smiled faintly. He could see each frame, each sketch, everything that he worked hard on. All the layers that resulted in the cartoon in front of him.
The clock chimed 9. Each echoed in Borax's head, his heart skipping a beat with each chime.
How was he going to do this?
...
He made his way to his office, his hands shoved in his pockets as he paced quickly through the hallways. He kept his eyes low so as not to run into anyone. Small talk was not needed, especially under his time constraints.
He opened the door, closing it behind him and locking it. He placed the key under the mat and wrote a note, which he slid under the door.
Do Not Disturb. Please Come Back Later.
Hopefully, the small yet frantically written note would discourage others from bothering him. He grabbed a sketchbook and sat down at his desk, flipping through his past designs. It wasn't his best idea, but it had to work.
He had worked previously at Disney, which he thought could work. After all, he needed a simplistic design to match with Buddy.
Rabbits, cows, mice…. it all looked the same.
He closed the book, taking a deep breath. His hands were shaking, and he grabbed his wrist to steady them.
He shut his eyes, listening to the silence around him. There was only the whir of a coffee machine or the quiet typing of the secretaries as they closed up for the night.
He looked at the clock. It chimed 10.
...
Now there was silence. He decided to talk a walk around the studio, a sketchbook in his hand. He had a plan. Go to each room and scribble down a design. Then, go back and look through them all.
His eyes were bloodshot, and his bags were heavy. He rubbed them to keep himself awake.
The first room, the break room.
He ran there, sitting in a chair and sketching madly. His normally straight and organized lines became scribbles of madness as the side of his hand became grey from the pencil markings.
A cat. Next room.
He went to the boss's office and sat down on the floor, again drawing furiously. His throat was dry, and his adrenaline was high.
A dog. Next room.
Next was the bathroom. He didn't go in but leaned back against the door.
Again, he drew. This time it was a blob. His hand cramped badly, but he didn't care. He drew in a breath, held in, and continued. When he exhaled, all the pain came in like a bullet to the chest. He nursed his hand, looking frantically for his last location.
The kitchen. He found the table, grabbed himself a cup of coffee, and set it as he finished the last character.
A teacup. Not really a lot of potential to be a good character. Hopefully, it wouldn't become popular.
He went back and scoured through his drawings. He studied each line, each shape, what it represented, how it conveyed its personality to the audience.
The cup of coffee was half empty as he sipped it, critiquing each design.
Too sharp. Not cute enough. Too difficult to animate.
Finally, he had none left. Crumbling up the papers and tossing them in the wastebasket, he finished his coffee in one gulp and laid his head on the desk.
Then his cramp came back. He suffered in silence.
...
The clock chimed 12.
He laid down on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. The room was dark as he just concentrated on his breathing.
His eyes were swollen and red from several breakdowns he had. At one point, he had drafted a resignation letter. But he exchanged it for a bucket of ice water, which his cramped hand now rested in. It felt calming and stopped his hyperventilating.
Finally, he got up and nearly fell. His legs felt heavy and he yawned, a headache pulsing inside of his brain. He fought against the urge to lie down and sighed in resignation.
He had to finish this.
Walking to the storage room, he came back to his office with a projector. Borax put in a film and laid back in his chair, the film playing against a white sheet he pinned on the wall.
It was a Marx Brothers film.
He finally felt at peace as the movie played. He always did enjoy their designs.
He remembered and went searching for the letter. Groucho was in the background as Borax read the letter.
Dear Lon,
We got your letter and the drawing you sent us. Never imagined my brothers and I as cartoons! Especially since with the jokes we tell, we never really thought of ourselves for kids. And I shan't use the phrase 'adult cartoons' lest we conjure up images that would get this story a mature rating.
But, in all honestly, your drawing is impressive. If I were a power-hungry executive, I'd take you under my wing and overwork you so you can get paid in peanuts (for the Warner executive reading this, this is what we call a joke). Keep drawing, Lon, and don't let your dreams be crushed by the promise of a 9-5 job.
Sincerely,
Groucho Marx
Borax smiled. Life was simpler when you were 14. Now look at him.
...
But when he looked back at the screen to see Groucho telling his jokes, he lit up.
"That's it, that's it!" he cried to an empty room.
He ran back to the wastebasket and took out the paper of the dog design. He looked at Groucho and the drawing.
He went back and drew furiously. A character inspired by Groucho Marx. Genius!
He looked at the sketch and almost burst into tears. At this point the clock chimed 1. He could make the deadline!
But what would the character wear? Borax went into a box and took out some pairs of men's pants. He always kept them for reference. He found some large brown pants with a huge belt buckle. Perhaps this would work?
He refined the sketch, drawing the pants for the character. It looked a lot better. Even somewhat reminded him of Groucho.
He added a smirk and a paddle racket. There!
"I shall call you…. Grouch. No, that wouldn't work."
He sat back down in his chair and pondered a name.
"Yak, yak, yak…. that's all you do!" a character in the film yelled.
"Yak?" Borax asked. "Yakky? Yakka? Yakko? Yakko!"
But Yakko couldn't be by himself. The Marx Brothers worked as a unit. So, he needed some siblings.
The clocked chimed 2:40. He had the finished drawings.
...
Yakko Warner, the oldest brother. He was quick, witty, and had a sense of humor that edged the line of children and adult. That way, they could add some references the adults would enjoy, like poking fun at politics.
Wakko Warner, the middle child. He was naïve, curious, and hungry. He wore a blue shirt and red hat. He couldn't picture the voice, but maybe British perhaps?
And Dot Warner. A girl character, so young girls would come and watch the cartoons too. She was graceful, but with a strong head on her shoulders. She could keep up with her brothers, making sure they stayed in line.
And on the verge of insanity, Borax finished the designs by adding the noses. Red dots.
He shouted in victory, nearly bursting into tears. Finally, some characters!
But then the room shook.
...
He looked back and nothing changed. The room was as it was. Only…. the paper on his desk looked odd. Especially the Warner siblings.
Either he was incredibly sleep-deprived or gone off the deep bed, but he could have sworn they were in the middle of the page. Then, they spoke.
"Hiya, Borax!"
Borax jumped back, falling to the floor. The Warners lept from the page, hugging Borax and kissing him on the cheek. Borax froze in fear, muttering to himself.
"This isn't possible. I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming…."
Yakko looked on, concerned. "Sibs, I think we broke our father."
"Darn it! I wanted to play catch with him!" Wakko lamented.
"Or maybe he's reenacting the Wizard of Oz?" Dot suggested.
Yakko shook his head. "Unless Dorothy is reimagined as a middle-aged stout man with a mustache, I don't think so. By the way, why do you look like a stouter version of Walt Disney? Are you going to build a huge empire and monopolize entertainment too?"
"Spoilers!" Dot joked, winking to the imaginary audience.
Borax rubbed his eyes. "So, you are alive. But it's impossible! How could this happen? You must be a hallucination! Perhaps someone slipped something in my coffee."
"I don't think any gal wants to render you unconscious, pal," Yakko retorted. You're not really Clark Gable."
"I think he's kinda cute!" Dot teased.
"Good night, everyone!"
"I meant, in a fatherly way. Can you buy me dolls, dadoo? I've always wanted a dad."
"What's wrong with me raising you?" Yakko asked.
"You never let us stay up past our bedtime!" Wakko complained, standing beside his sister. "I agree, I like our new dadoo better."
Yakko turned to Borax. "I see. You're now competition."
Borax gulped as the other siblings sat and waited for a fight.
Yakko laughed, "I'm joking, I'm joking. We like kidding around. I wouldn't fight you. You probably have a family waiting for you at home. Wouldn't want to upset the missus."
"Do you have a daughter? I'd love a friend!" Dot asked.
"What about a son?" Wakko added, "That would be faboo!"
"I don't have a family," Borax said.
"Figures," Yakko said, looking around the office.
Borax got up and went to his notes. "Well, now that you're around, can you help me with my project? It's for a cartoon."
"How much is the pay?"
"Well, we could negotiate it."
"You got yourself a deal, mister!" Yakko grabbed Borax's hand and shook it violently, thrashing the man up and down and up and down.
...
"Well, what do you think?" Borax asked. He turned off the projector as it wound down.
"He was right. It is boring," Dot said. "I feel sorry for the person who made it."
"I made it," Borax added.
"Figures," Wakko said, "You need more pizzazz, dadoo! Spice it up with something."
"Well, what do you guys think? I'm not really a creative type."
"But you're an animator," Yakko said, "Isn't your whole job being creative?"
"Not really. I kinda just do what the bosses want. They come up with the ideas, not me."
"Well, you came up with little 'ol me. I'd say that's pretty creative," Dot stated, doing a little twirl.
"True," Yakko added, patting his sister on the head. "Surely, you can come up with something."
"You're right, Yakko!" Borax said, getting up and going through his sketchbook. "I must be able to."
Yakko grinned, "Alright, alright. What do you got?"
After a while, Borax sat back down.
"I have nothing."
Yakko looked at the clock. "We're gonna be here a while."
...
"Well, what do you guys like? Maybe that'll give me some ideas." Borax grabbed a pencil and paper. "Dot, what about you?"
"I like cute things, the color pink, and mallets," she giggled. "And handsome men like Clark Gable."
"Wakko?"
"Donuts. Oh, and mallets too!" Wakko said, taking a bite out of a book that was on the floor.
"My work!" Borax yelled as Wakko swallowed me whole. "Yakko? Please don't say books."
"I like girls. And cartoonish violence," he smirked. "Don't worry, just keep your books away from Wakko. I can't even read."
"You all seem like violent children," Borax noticed.
"Well, we are cartoons. We're immortal. And we pay for it every day."
"That's it. How would you guys like if we added a mallet to the cartoon? Maybe you can bop Buddy on the head or something."
Yakko gasped, "Us, innocent children, promote violence to a wide audience? How dare you pay us to harm others?"
He grabbed his siblings by the shoulder. "We'll do it for free!"
They all grinned as they hugged, looking at Borax. He got up.
"Warners, we have a cartoon to make!"
...
He stood outside of Plotz's office, grinding his teeth. The suit was a bit small, but it was the only one he had. He was sweating madly, and he dabbed his head with a handkerchief.
The secretary opened the door. "Mr. Plotz is in the theater."
Borax stared dumbfounded, then remembered. "Thank you!" he blurted as he made his way. There, he nearly collided into Mr. Plotz, who was with Memlo.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Plotz! It must have slipped my mind."
"What doesn't slip your mind, Borax?" Memlo groaned, "I'm sorry, Mr. Plotz. Shall we start the cartoon?"
They made their way inside. Memlo grabbed Borax by the collar.
"You've better not have messed this up. Otherwise, it's your neck."
Borax gulped loudly as they made their way to their seats. The projector started up and the cartoon started.
It was dead silent. Each second that went by raised Borax's blood pressure by tenfold.
Finally, it ended. Plotz was at a loss for words.
"Who was the animator that approved this?"
Borax's heart dropped to his stomach as Memlo gestured to him.
"Uh, uh, uh, i-it was me, Mr. P-Plotz," he said.
"I see. This cartoon- I loved it!"
"What?" Memlo and Borax cried in unison.
"It's definitely not your typical Buddy cartoon, but that's what I like about it. Besides, violence in cartoons make them a lot more interesting! It's what all the others are doing. If Hanna Barbera can do it and be successful, then we should start. I want another cartoon with this duo by next week."
"Next week?" Memlo sneered, glaring at Borax as he spoke.
"I hope I didn't stuffer, Weed. And put Lon as head of the project."
"Yes, Mr. Plotz."
...
"You mean we're gonna be famous?" Dot gasped. "We'll be as well-known as those famous Hollywood stars!"
Borax laughed. "Calm down, Dot. It's just another cartoon. But yeah. It seems the boss likes you."
"Yay!" the Warners cheered.
"We'll be as famous as the Marx Brothers. And even the Beatles!" Wakko said.
"Who's the last one?" Borax asked.
"You'll find out," Yakko answered. "Probably around the 1960s. If we can get there."
"This calls for a celebratory donut!" Wakko cheered as he and Dot danced around the room.
Yakko laughed. "Alright, sibs, don't hurt yourself."
He turned to Borax. "Thanks, Dad. For giving us a chance."
"You're welcome, Yakko."
The older Warner sibling grinned. "Hopefully, it goes well."
Borax wrapped his arm around Yakko. "I think it will. Maybe you'll get to talk one day."
Yakko snickered. "Yeah, like they'll ever invent talking cartoons."