Frosty the Snowman: I want a Frosty With a Side of Greenhouse Gas, mmmkay?

Displaying remarkably bouncy properties, the hat skips along the floor and produces the Trix Rabbit’s inbred cousin. Tinkle’s top hat falls over Hocus Pocus’s head and most of its body, and the rabbit hops merrily away, across the teacher’s desk and out the door. The pervy magician tries to reclaim his hat but fails as the school clock strikes three and the children stampede out, picking up Tinkle in their swarm.

Red Bull gives your hat wings.

I suppose this cartoon aired in 1969, barely a year and a half after the Civil Rights Act was passed, but the children all look the same. Copy, paste, copy, paste.

The children run out into the snow, murmuring gibberish like “Idk my bff Jill,” “It tastes so good!” and “My balls! They hurt!” Wearing shorts in December will do that, kid. Gingerballs and his brunette twin roll up a big ole’ globe of snow with their bare hands in an attempt to impress Karen, the spunky blonde girl who forgot to put on pants. “You make the head,” they tell her.

Conveniently, there’s a pre-made snowman head just lying on the ground. Karen returns with it half a second later. “Giving head is the most difficult part!” she declares self-importantly. “Ask anyone!” Gingerballs’ nipple immediately gets hard.

Pepperoni nipple is a serious medical condition.

Gingerballs donates his pepperoni slice/button to the snowman for its nose. Why are all the children bare-legged? It’s the freakin’ middle of winter and this is no shantytown. I’m not sure how the children of the corn found a corncob pipe, maybe one of children of the corn is a closet chainsmoker.

My money’s on Shorty.

The little crackers ponder what to name their morbidly obese creation. They throw out suggestions of Harold, Breast (that’s what it sounds like, in a deep baritone voice), Yatta, Whatthefuckkabarbrawawa, and Oatmeal. Surprisingly, Oatmeal is met with the most resistance. Karen suggests Frosty, and because everyone wants her, they agree. Brownballs, Gingerballs’ twin, adds “the snowman” to the name and proclaims it genius. “I shit gold,” he declares to anyone who will listen. The children jump for joy because they didn’t have to hire a company and pay them hundreds of thousands of dollars to produce a name like Meebo or Hi5. Then, the birthing ritual begins.

A circle is formed around Frosty, as the munchkins high-kick Rockettes style and prepare a ritual sacrifice of their smallest friend to bring Frosty to life. They’re interrupted by Hocus Pocus, who has successfully eluded Tinkle until he grabs the rabbit by his legs. Animal activists everywhere crap themselves.

PETA says: “No means no. If you do anyway, that’s bunny-rape.”

Of course, the bouncy top hat defies gravity (much like a Super Ball). Karen grabs it and flings it towards Frosty’s head, where it lands and starts making the magic. Frosty springs to life and utters his first words. “Happy Birthday!” It’s safe to say he’s not the Messiah. He bats his eyes flirtatiously and Karen doesn’t freak out at all. I don’t know, if a giant ball of cocaine/powdered sugar suddenly started walking and talking, my first instinct would not be to become BFFs with it. What if it tried to eat me? Or roll me up like Katamari Damacy? Or terrorize a city and explode like the Marshmallow Man? They must be teaching these kids intelligent design at school.