This One Thing he Saw in a Mr. Magoo Cartoon

So, last night I was at a party in Brooklyn, and, as I am wont to do whenever it’s possible at social gatherings, I spent the bulk of the evening watching a silently projected broadcast of the Cartoon Network. If you’ve never seen a muted episode of The Smurfs scored to the ambient strains of The Pixies’ Trompe le Monde, please allow me to go ahead and recommend as much to you now. But that’s not my point. My point is this: it came to pass that a very special one-minute-long(?)(!) episode of Mr. Magoo was featured, in which Magoo, through what I am presuming were the ill-effects of an advanced case of glaucoma, or something, mistook an egg incubator for a billiards table and began racking up the eggs with a fishing rod (which, I guess, he thought was a cue). How Magoo unwittingly found himself at an egg hatchery and holding a fishing pole while in search of a good game of pool is beyond the scope of this article. In any case, Magoo lets fly with a few strokes of the fishing pole, and before he knows it, he’s inadvertently hatched a trio of baby chicks, who somehow manage to escape from the incubator. At the close of the piece, Magoo breaks the fourth wall for the first time, turning to the camera and speaking to us. His message went unheard by me (remember, the sound was off), but it wasn’t really important anyway. You see, no matter what he was saying, it couldn’t have been more compelling or informative than the fact that, unbeknownst to him, those three newborn chicks had somehow found their way atop his head, and, looking us – the audience – straight in the eye, were themselves chirping away (probably) inanely, effectively rendering Magoo’s point utterly moot.
The thought struck me – how similar is my world to the world of Magoo! How often have I been trapped in conversation with a blithering idiot who was all too happy to spend the evening holding forth with whatever faux-profundity his addled mind had most recently pieced together, presuming that he is dazzling me with his rare insights, while, in actuality, I’m mightily distracted by the parliament of chirping birdies (a spectre that, given my particular peer group, I’m afraid to admit, can be taken either figuratively or literally) that have taken roost upon his head with neither his knowledge or consent. Would that the real world were like Magoo’s world, where the conversational vampires at parties can be spotted by the bustling bird’s nest that rests atop their crown, where their empty-headed monologues are routinely drowned out by the e’er-present din of chirps, where an unbearable conversation can be aborted simply by tossing a handful of chicken scratch at their scalp and then stepping aside to avoid the ensuing bloodbath.
Magoo, I am ready to enter your world.