I was really enjoying that new Adam Sandler movie until someone told me it was a cartoon. Maybe it's my lousy depth perception, but I couldn't tell. He had all the usual facial range, I just thought they air-brushed him in the film or something. But no, he was a cartoon in it.

I didn't really like cartoons until that. Cats and mice running around trying to destroy each other... so? All I can think about is how some talented actors are out of work because some stupid sidewalk artist worked cheaper. I work cheap, folks. And don't give me any of that crap about special effects or anything. Shoot at me, stick firecrackers in my mouth, drop me off a cliff and toss an anvil down after—you don't know how bad I want to work. And stupid cartoons are taking perfectly good jobs.

Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, that's what I say. Or somebody said it. I said if you can't beat 'em, hire someone bigger to do it, but that doesn't apply in this case. I got to thinking about the cartoon stuff, though, and decided I could do that—the voices, I mean.

I went to my agent, Dusty—I call him that because he's so old his skin has flaked into a fine layer of powder over his entire body—and told him to get me some voice work. He sent me to a telemarketing firm, so I obviously went back and had to straighten things out with him. He's ancient, people, he's scared of new-fangled technology, like telephone devices. But he did get me a voice audition at this big animated studio.

Let's just say we didn't get along. There's no room for improv in cartoons, it turns out, and their writers are complete crap, totally unrealistic dialogue. If someone was hitting you with a hammer, which would you say: "Hey, Telly! Ooch! Ooch! That stings!" or "Step off, motherfucker, or I'm a rip your head off and skull-fuck you!" The stupid director tries to tell me they can't say "skull-fuck" on Saturday morning cartoons, but everybody remembers that one Smurf used to say it all the time. I told him I'd clean it up but after a few rehearsals—well, you'd be surprised what you can't say on Saturday morning these days, or as I like to think of it, "Satur-Nazi morning."

I figured then I'd try to get on one of those night-time cartoons like The Simpsons, but they said they only hire celebrities to do voices. I know, ooch, that stings. Been on the air twelve years and they think they know showbiz better than me. I even called back, pretending to be Tracey Gold from Growing Pains, but they told me the same thing. I bet they wouldn't have said that if I told 'em I was Boner.

Well, if all that fails I can at least try pitching an idea for my own cartoon show. How hard can it be?

My idea is border collie, just like Lassie, and I'm always getting into funny jams week after week. Say like my owners have this baby and they're neglectful parents and shit, they leave me to watch the baby but the baby gets out and buys crack or something. Now I've got to get the baby to chill out and mellow before the parents get back. Oh, and I talk. I'm a talking border collie with a catchphrase, like, "Holy shit!" or something. More clever, maybe, I don't plan on writing it. Just pitching the idea and sitting back to collect those Creative Consultant checks. It doesn't have to be a border collie either. It could be a malamute or something funnier. I'll let the writers work on it.

What I'm saying is that I've got ideas, folks, big fat gold-shitting ideas. Somebody needs to ring me up and put me back on TV, even in two dimensions.

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