User Reviews

. . . as that defunct automobile make's theme song (the one rhyming the car brand with "Lucille") plays just before Porky drives his car into a brick wall. It's unlikely that movie-goers guessed 65 years ago that this product of Lansing, MI, would be phased out even BEFORE the advent of Government Motors. Sure, Duesenbergs and Cords already had bitten the dust, but only a comparative handful of those were assembled relative to Porky's vehicle of choice. A car town such as Lansing may retain a sports team called the "Lugnuts" long after Fisher's Body's "A-Rottin' in the Grave," but even 25 Lugnuts won't get you any closer to Detroit than Spartan Stadium. At the close of Porky's BOOBS IN THE WOODS outing, he's replaced the engine of his Packard touring car with a Daffy Duck who's kept firing on all cylinders by a literal "choke" control. If the DOG COLLARED animators had a few cartoon cells more, it's likely that Hiram the Big White Dog would have been similarly utilized by Porky to power some sort of Flintstones-like conveyance.

. . . 2020 U.S. Presidential Election during his DOG COLLARED episode. First, he constantly flip-flops on his treatment of the large white dog. He tries to win brownie points with viewers by petting the mutt, just because it's "Be Kind to Animals Week." However, when the canine naturally assumes that Porky is his friend, the hypocritical pig makes a run for the border (totaling an on-coming car with an illegal U-Turn). Porky Pig then destroys HIS OWN vehicle, slamming into a brick wall at the end of a Dead End Street (exactly like your crazy Uncle Joe would do). The next interlude of this brief cartoon finds the dangerous road hog shamelessly courting support from the constituencies he always takes for granted, displaying gross racial insensitivity by demeaning the Scotch, Native Americans and Chinese People with his shallow, deluded not-even-skin-deep donning of politically incorrect crude stereotypical garb. Once Porky has driven his single core supporter to the verge of suicide with his crazed manic-depressive behavior, he learns from a radio announcer that there might be some money for his slush fund to be derived from this lonesome pooch. As Today's clued-in viewers would expect from a doddering dude born prior to the end of World War Two, the fraudulent farm animal makes a bee-line to this supposed windfall, arriving at an estate resembling America's Executive Mansion. DOG COLLAR reminds us, therefore, why the so-called "Silent Generation" never had and never will manage to put one of its number into our Oval Office as Commander-in-Chief.