Art by MabramS
Acme Acres, California, 1930
The peace of the countryside on the outskirts of Acme City was disrupted by a mingled chugging and sputtering of a tried but true engine. Very slowly, an old motorcar meandered its way along the bumpy dirt road, its thin, bicycle-like tyres yearning for some nice smooth asphalt that they would soon be feeling.
The motor itself grumbled and murmured from the strain of going uphill, almost whispering “Chitty-Chitty, Chitty-Chitty”. When it crested the top, puffs of black smoke erupted in succession from the exhaust, causing the thin pipe to briefly expand as they squeezed through it. Every time they burst out, the exhaust seemed to shout “BANG, BANG!”
It seemed like this old automobile could fall apart at any moment, yet it just kept going.
The car may have certainly been old, but the same couldn’t be said for its two occupants. At the wheel was a smartly dressed young pig in a black bowler hat adorned with a grey bow, a white top which was mostly hidden by striped overalls with gold suspenders and black tap shoes. Beside him was a lovely young skunkette. Her apparel was comparatively vibrant, and that of a French apache dancer with the horizontal tight top with red and black stripes, a short blue skirt, high heels and a red beret.
Every time the exhaust went “BANG, BANG”, his derby and her beret would both jump into the air and land neatly back onto the top of their heads. It was almost in perfect rhythm, which was fitting, seeing as they had both been hits in the musical scene.
But, after the Crash, it all seemed an eternity ago now.
“This old bucket needs a few new axles…and spark plugs,” the pig commented, “and mudguards…especially them…and a windshield. But it runs like a dream!”
“BANG, BANG!”
The car backfired and hit a bump in the road at the same time. The couple were launched out of their seats at the same time. Now the skunkette sat at the wheel and the pig beside her as an unexpected passenger. She was now wearing his bowler while her beret sat daintily atop his dome.
“We're lucky eet can move, no?” she giggled, swapping her headwear back. “Ah don’t even theenk we could afford a new voiture aftair, how-you-say, Floor Boulevard”
“Wall Street” he gloomily agreed. Then he brightened up. “But, hey. It can’t be all bad. We've still got the car!”
“BANG, BANG!”
The couple shared a look and giggled. It was almost as if the car could hear them.
“Oui, et zere was no need to pay all zat money when we could fix eet ourselves, no?”
“Yes! Who'd have thought you were so good with motors?”
“Oh,” she grinned modestly. “Ah am not just ze pretty face! Maman was an engineer dans la guerre. She taught moi a theeng or deux!”
The pig smiled. There was more to the skunkette than just dancing and music. She wasn’t afraid to get her paws dirty.
“Mais getting all ze oil et grime out ov ma fur, ah can do weethout!”
The pig stared and then burst out laughing. It was as if she’d read his mind. She looked nonplussed for a moment, but grinned.
“Well, with me around, you won’t hafta worry about all that oil and grime. Any car I work on has the cleanest chassis an' the most spotless undercarriage!”
“Oui, c'est true. Evair since ah came to America all zose years ago, tu 'ave always been zere pour moi”
“ALL those years? It was only seven!”
“Oui, boot back zen, ze time between 1923 et now felt longair!”
“1923? Gee whiz…”
They went silent at the memory. When she enrolled at the high school, practically fresh off the boat, and he had shyly asked her to accompany him to dance the Charleston at Homecoming.
“23 Skidoo!” they both exclaimed in unison, and giggled together.
“BANG, BANG!” The car backfired once more, catapulting them out of their seats and back into their original seats.
“Now come on, cherie,” she playfully admonished. “Ah weell not let some troubles avec money stop moi! Eef zis car can keep going, so can ah!”
“So can I as well” he smirked. “Since I’m the one driving! So, where to?”
“Ah don’t know,” she replied. “Boot ah want to go zere weeth tu!”
And with that, the pig slammed his foot on the pedal, and the car zoomed away at 25 miles an hour.
“Ever wonder what 23 Skidoo even means?”
“Search moi…boot latair!”
Acme Acres, California, 1930
The peace of the countryside on the outskirts of Acme City was disrupted by a mingled chugging and sputtering of a tried but true engine. Very slowly, an old motorcar meandered its way along the bumpy dirt road, its thin, bicycle-like tyres yearning for some nice smooth asphalt that they would soon be feeling.
The motor itself grumbled and murmured from the strain of going uphill, almost whispering “Chitty-Chitty, Chitty-Chitty”. When it crested the top, puffs of black smoke erupted in succession from the exhaust, causing the thin pipe to briefly expand as they squeezed through it. Every time they burst out, the exhaust seemed to shout “BANG, BANG!”
It seemed like this old automobile could fall apart at any moment, yet it just kept going.
The car may have certainly been old, but the same couldn’t be said for its two occupants. At the wheel was a smartly dressed young pig in a black bowler hat adorned with a grey bow, a white top which was mostly hidden by striped overalls with gold suspenders and black tap shoes. Beside him was a lovely young skunkette. Her apparel was comparatively vibrant, and that of a French apache dancer with the horizontal tight top with red and black stripes, a short blue skirt, high heels and a red beret.
Every time the exhaust went “BANG, BANG”, his derby and her beret would both jump into the air and land neatly back onto the top of their heads. It was almost in perfect rhythm, which was fitting, seeing as they had both been hits in the musical scene.
But, after the Crash, it all seemed an eternity ago now.
“This old bucket needs a few new axles…and spark plugs,” the pig commented, “and mudguards…especially them…and a windshield. But it runs like a dream!”
“BANG, BANG!”
The car backfired and hit a bump in the road at the same time. The couple were launched out of their seats at the same time. Now the skunkette sat at the wheel and the pig beside her as an unexpected passenger. She was now wearing his bowler while her beret sat daintily atop his dome.
“We're lucky eet can move, no?” she giggled, swapping her headwear back. “Ah don’t even theenk we could afford a new voiture aftair, how-you-say, Floor Boulevard”
“Wall Street” he gloomily agreed. Then he brightened up. “But, hey. It can’t be all bad. We've still got the car!”
“BANG, BANG!”
The couple shared a look and giggled. It was almost as if the car could hear them.
“Oui, et zere was no need to pay all zat money when we could fix eet ourselves, no?”
“Yes! Who'd have thought you were so good with motors?”
“Oh,” she grinned modestly. “Ah am not just ze pretty face! Maman was an engineer dans la guerre. She taught moi a theeng or deux!”
The pig smiled. There was more to the skunkette than just dancing and music. She wasn’t afraid to get her paws dirty.
“Mais getting all ze oil et grime out ov ma fur, ah can do weethout!”
The pig stared and then burst out laughing. It was as if she’d read his mind. She looked nonplussed for a moment, but grinned.
“Well, with me around, you won’t hafta worry about all that oil and grime. Any car I work on has the cleanest chassis an' the most spotless undercarriage!”
“Oui, c'est true. Evair since ah came to America all zose years ago, tu 'ave always been zere pour moi”
“ALL those years? It was only seven!”
“Oui, boot back zen, ze time between 1923 et now felt longair!”
“1923? Gee whiz…”
They went silent at the memory. When she enrolled at the high school, practically fresh off the boat, and he had shyly asked her to accompany him to dance the Charleston at Homecoming.
“23 Skidoo!” they both exclaimed in unison, and giggled together.
“BANG, BANG!” The car backfired once more, catapulting them out of their seats and back into their original seats.
“Now come on, cherie,” she playfully admonished. “Ah weell not let some troubles avec money stop moi! Eef zis car can keep going, so can ah!”
“So can I as well” he smirked. “Since I’m the one driving! So, where to?”
“Ah don’t know,” she replied. “Boot ah want to go zere weeth tu!”
And with that, the pig slammed his foot on the pedal, and the car zoomed away at 25 miles an hour.
“Ever wonder what 23 Skidoo even means?”
“Search moi…boot latair!”
Category Artwork (Digital) / General Furry Art
Species Mammal (Other)
Gender Multiple characters
Size 1977 x 1864px
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