Ren & Stimpy is a show that I never watched.
I remember a show that reminded me of what I saw of Ren & Stimpy, called Rocko’s Modern Life, which had a similarly disgusting corporeality to it. Both shows were very concerned with bodies, and with propriety, or rather the severe and repeated violation of propriety, until propriety’s mutilated corpse was dumped upon your lawn so that Ren could fall to his knees and scream “Here! Here is the absurd, ultimate and absolute!”
Rocko’s Modern Life, if I recall, seemed to have some kind of depth and thought behind it. It seemed to address the kind of gaping existential horror over which we are suspended in our own modern lives, poking fun while shuddering and sweating when considering office work, suburban life, and all that bullshit.
Ren & Stimpy is not. Ren & Stimpy is the kind of show that spends several minutes on a close up of a booger on a finger, with a grossly distended and bulging eye inspecting it, veins throbbing, before a raw, lunatic voice howls some nonsense and a slobbering mouth consumes the half-dried mucus that had already thoroughly horrified you.
As a child, I found this turning-in upon our own notions of vulgarity and the obscene to be revolting beyond comprehension. I was shy and timid and rarely broke the rules. When I saw Ren & Stimpy on the television, I didn’t understand it. My mind would balk and shut down, and I would immediately change the channel and feel my stomach churn with cosmic horror. This is how I imagine it would feel to have looked upon Cthulhu, or at least one of his toes or something.
This game fails to even capture that. It is empty and sad and terrible and nothing. I was hoping for at least the thrill of revulsion relived, but instead I got what appeared to be a beatemup where the enemies were flies in garbage cans.
Frankly, I was hoping for poop.