In the world of Richard Scarry, I am an anthropomorphic bear that lives inside of a crying breast. I drive a car in the shape of a watermelon that runs on poop I collect from restaurants around Busytown. This is my job. I collect the poop and fill my watermelon-car’s gas tank up just enough to continue my poop-begging rounds. Unable to ignore my hunger pangs any longer, I must now grovel for food. With contempt, an elephant-man who drives a golf ball-car tosses me rotten pig trimmings. He and the crow-woman who drives a toilet-car laugh together as I ravenously devour the scraps behind a dumpster. It is no matter - I serve my term in hell without the mantle of shame. I have shed that burden millennia ago. Finally I return to my barren home. As they do every night, the muffled sobs of the boob-house lull me to sleep. I am thankful for this reprieve, however brief.
