Bambi's Dad is Kind of a Racist

I came across a picture book version of Bambi the other day, about 60 pages in all. The first thing I said upon recognizing it was:

… I wonder what page his mom gets shot on."

Those around me thought this something horrific and hilarious, though I legitimately wonder with those books; they tend to down-play the more mature themes in Disney movies, especially the old ones with hints of subtle, off-color plot.

For the record, the answer was page 39.

The weird thing is, this particular version of the story has Bambi happy for a long while, then his mom gets shot in two pages, then he's sad for two pages. Then there's four pages where his dad teaches him how to be a good buck.

Um, no.

Bambi's dad went through all that trouble to save him from a forest fire, because he's King of the flippin' Forest, and Bambi's the Prince. Then after all that, when his baby-mama gets knocked off, man can't be bothered to raise his own kid suddenly.

"Nah, fug that little bitch. He almost two now; gawn be growin' in his antlers by Springtime, y'here? Kid's gawn be fine."

Where's the logic in that? Your kid's hanging out with the wrong crowd, Mr. King of the Forest. He's getting fed by a goddam rabbit. He's practically dating a skunk. A skunk, for Chrissake. You don't want her kind sniffin' around your neighborhood. Keep her people down by the yellow petunia patches where they belong, and hope to the wood nymphs your boy starts looking at that slutty one year-old doe.

The last thing the forest needs are any more jokes about gay deer after that whole Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen debacle.

On Bambi

"They sent me home from school because I keep sticking my hand down there!"



Back before the age of GPS and MapQuest, my mother had a simple rule for giving a driver directions: "Right" exclusively means the opposite of "left;" use "correct" or "yes" for an affirmative.

"So I make a left up here?"
"Right."
"Right?"
"Right, left."
"Right, then left?"
"No, just left."
"That's what I said!"
"Right."

I learned a new trick, recently. Apparently, when you see a deer in the road you're not supposed to yell out, "Deer," because some people will just think you love them and are trying to start a conversation by calling them "dear." What fools.

How should you inform your driver that there is a large, impala in the middle of the road (the quadrupedal kind, not the Chevy)?

You say, "Bambi."

Then they'll just think there's an aging stripper in their headlights.