Vine of old cartoon from 1940s.
knocking on door
Detective: Who's there?
Skeleton, walking through door: A skeleton. -- Gallifreya
Frisk Dreemur (happily adopted) hadn't been thinking of much more than a Saturday in their pyjamas and watching ancient cartoons. Thanks to Mama Toriel, there was plenty for breakfast. And possibly lunch.
Gone were the days when Frisk would eagerly devour a cooked water sausage. With or without a bun. And those days were gone for the monsters, too. Nobody regretted the change and Dunkle Sans was the only one who actually enjoyed those things anyway.
Sometimes, Frisk swore, he only ate them to gross people out.
But this morning, Dunkle Sans was napping on the couch, and Frisk was more interested in their MonPad tablet and the games therein than what was going on on the television.
Knocking happened, at the moment. And a bulldog dressed like a detective gave the classic feed line. "Who's there?"
Frisk glanced up in time to see a skeleton let itself in, shrug, and announce itself as, "A skeleton," almost apologetically.
"...that is not how the joke works," said Dunkle Sans, emerging from his assumed minor coma on the couch. "...and why are they naked?"
Frisk turned to sign, It's an old cartoon from the dawn of time. They didn't know how jokes worked back then. And, as an afterthought, they added, And they didn't know how skeletons dressed back then, either.
Dunkle Sans' eye sockets were dark. His permanent grin had flattened out. "...you shouldn't be watching this filth, kid... it's bad for ya."
Frisk dutifully dug the remote out of the pillows and blankets of their nest and did some channel flipping. It was surprising what could be offensive now that monsters were back in the sunshine.
Scooby Doo. Perfect. The monsters were always grownups in disguise, trying to make money off of people. And the animation was so bad that even Dunkle Sans laughed at it.
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