After voting for Sparky’s rhyming witches over my sparkly vampires last week, Filthy Grandeur admitted to a love for Sponge Bob. Of course, this is absolutely shameful and I challenged her to publicly admit her shame.
I love Spongebob. Yes, you read that right: I, FilthyGrandeur, love that adorable little sponge who resides in a pineapple under the sea, and adores his mediocre job. And when I say I love Spongebob, I don’t mean I saw part of an episode once during a channel surf, or I saw it a couple of times while baby-sitting my cousins, and found it cute.
I mean I love Spongebob.
As in I am wearing a Spongebob t-shirt as I write this. As in I currently have a two-foot tall Spongebob plush in the back seat of my car so I drive everywhere with Spongebob. As in I own Spongebob panties and frequently wear them while watching Spongebob cartoons and singing Spongebob songs.
And recently I even whined to the pharmacist that she did not offer me a Spongebob band-aid after giving me my flu shot.
I remember when the very first episode aired ten years ago when I was 13. I watched it in my dad’s basement with my younger brother, and afterwards we went around saying “pinky up!” when we did anything. And of course we were “ready” for everything, apparently. And I have loved the show ever since.
I guess I just never understood why adulthood meant I had to give up a lot of what I loved doing, and I am clinging desperately to my cartoons.
My desire to watch Spongebob constantly is easily satisfied since Nickelodeon plays it by the marathon. I’ve been late for work more than once because I was too absorbed (ah ha!) in watching the show. However, my fiancé has just about had enough.
Normally I get control of the remote because…well…I say so. But the fiancé has been fighting back (by changing the channel to a hockey game–my kryptonite! gack!). He simply does not understand my inexplicable need to watch the same thing over and over to memorize and quote my favourite parts later, either in text-form to my brother, who will laugh his ass off, or to other grown-ups who will have no fucking idea of what I’m talking about. Unless their kids watch it, and only then it’s because their kids force them to watch it.
And the fiancé (and my own mother, the traitor) have vetoed my desire to play the F.U.N. song at our wedding next summer.
But how can I possibly resist the charm of that buck-toothed spongey square? Everything about Spongebob and the world he lives in is so enticingly precious: Spongebob’s naivety and adoration of even the simplest form of entertainment; Patrick who lives under a rock and is apparently unemployed, as well as a self-professed know-it-all; Squidward, the artsy octopus (that’s right–go look it up!), who is tortuously sandwiched between Patrick and Spongebob; Mr. Krabs, the penny-pinching sweaty crab with a whale for a daughter; Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy, the aged but still heroic (to Spongebob) superheroes; and Sandy, the kickass squirrel, and incidentally the most competent character of all.
The best part is how even the most minimal of problems can be a disaster for dear Spongebob (note: losing your nametag apparently = losing your identity). And the worst thing ever is losing your low-paying job as a fry-cook. But it’s really endearing that he finds such joy in life.
I’ve come to realize that my love for Spongebob is shameful. So fess up–what do you all love beyond the comprehension of your peers and/or age group? What do you unapologetically cling to despite the incessant ridicule of others?