Hop on Pop: A Realtime Analysis Hop on Pop, authored by one Theodor Geisel, is a children's classic. Its monosyllabic nature and wayward, meandering plot make it perfect reading material for those with minds of a similar consistency to a mudslide and with attention spans distracted as quick as also a mudslide. Of course, no piece of children's entertainment can exist without some dark purpose looming over it; one only need type "analog horror cartoon scary real -mlp" into their search engine of choice to be assured of that. With this in mind, I intend to deconstruct Geisel's writing to uncover whatever witch hexes or demonic sigils the man has hidden between the words. This will be done in parts, on no schedule besides my own interest. UP PUP Pup is up. The "pup" seems to be a snub-nosed breed, with especially fuzzy paws. It is perhaps a hybrid of man and canine given the apparent thumbs and ability to fix the reader with a smug grin. One must imagine its misshapen form bequeaths it with the gift of constant joint pain and breathing issues. The pup soars above a tree at great speed with apparent ease. A bird watches from below, amazed. The setting is unclear. If the bird is of an expected size (small enough for one to fit in a hand and two in a bush) then the tree is a sapling on a mound. If the bird is gigantic, then the pup is soaring high over lightly wooded hills. CUP PUP Pup in cup. PUP CUP Cup on pup. Moving on, our erstwhile pup finds itself frolicking with a large, yellowed tea cup. The color is almost sickly, suggesting that this cup was once a pristine white, but has become dulled and stained with age. Pup is able to entirely fit within the cup. It is large? Is Pup small? What does this imply about the previous size discrepancies? There is only one reasonable assumption to draw. The human-dog hybrid, which has the power of flight and has an unclear relationship with size is representative of one Miss Jade Harley. Mr. Geisel, either consciously through some foreknowledge of events, or subconsciously through the threads of paradox which weave in and out of reality, foreshadowed Jade's transformation and abilitiies. Is this a coincidence, simply a matter of the lack of need for spatial veracity in an early reader's picture book and the way Geisel spins together the fantastical and mundane to capture the hearts and minds of a demographic generally more focused on convincing Mother to un-wean them than in fine literature and hard science in fiction? No, surely not. #HopOnPop #FreudianAnalysis #Deconstruction #HegelianDialectics #MyLittlePonyMention #Breastfeeding #SpatialInconsistency #Reality #Unreality #UnethicalBreedingPractices Seuss, Dr. 2004. Hop On Pop. Random House.
sorry i was liking because of the image but i dont quite understand what the tags have to do with it yet we're still figuring it out
huh. i guess thats a fun conclusion to draw? my fursona isnt quite that uncanny but its closer than it could be. are we going to talk about how the pup has a collar in the first two illustrations but not the last one?
Excellent observation. The pup is free only under a protective shell, yet it still peeks out and beckons the reader to see it. To witness it and thus lock in what *it* is. Tragic.
...hmmm. im getting less comfortable with you saying this dog is me!
God I'm in love with you.
Self-esteem, acquired situational narcissism, or some leftover affection from dear, sweet, innocent Jaspers? Perhaps good taste, if I may indulge in the former two options.
Oh Rose I've had plenty of time for my identity to diverge from my constituent parts. Thus the name! That said all three sources you posit *are* present, it's just that I've also grown to be able to view you from an outsider's purrspective. No longer are my feelings about you defined by things that came before me! I have memories and experiences and past interactions to draw upon and make my own conclusion that, yes, you're absolutely adorable when you satirically overanalyze a Dr. Seuss book.
A divergence still implies a causal connection. It is non-linear, this specific instance of Rose Lalonde will never become any instance of yourself, but it can hardly be called an outsider's perspective when you so proudly carry the family name. Your cooing suggests to me a need to find someone you perceive as lesser in power and/or experience that you might use to define yourself against while maintaining a radical form of self-love that can come only from gawking into funhouse mirrors with the lights off and covers drawn. A baby doll pushed around in a stroller by a toddler. Not aspirational like your Barbies, your Bratz, your Garbage Pail Kids, but something that allows you to mimic the adults around you. A daughter or little sister. We share some, but not all, of our genes. In a sense, we are elder and younger siblings, linked by blood, or ectoplasm as the case might be. Vicarious living, nostalgia, Toddlers and Tiaras. I can see it all now. My conclusion is as follows: Satire? What are you talking about? This is all entirely serious and very important work. Now if you excuse me, I have a modest proposal to pen.
No I just think you're endearing. You think I'm putting myself above you? Really? I'm literally a plushie and also a silly kitty cat. I'm as psychologically diminutive as a grown woman can get without literal age regression. I admit I do find endearment in our contrast though so you're not completely off mark!