Daffy is just so petty, impulsive, selfish, greedy, and arrogant, and I LOVE it. He is the id we all wish we could indulge in whether life demands joy, anger, or any other form of gratification. Just like how we all long to coddle those base impulses he represents, I long to coddle Daffy exactly the same way! Probably to an unhealthy degree. I would indulge and reward EVERY-SINGLE-ONE of his bad behaviors every second of the day. Fuel his already-overblown ego, reward his rampant avarice, encourage his emotional compulsions, and make him believe he is in the right on every single occasion-- ESPECIALLY when he knows it's wrong. I just find those aspects of that deranged duck as sexy as his speech impediment! You heard me. I said Daffy's speech impediment is sexy as FUCK. Maybe I'm just attracted to the kind of bad boy who's always in it for himself. I mean, come on, he's a cartoon character that's an exaggeration of unrestrained behavior! By pushing him over the edge, you're only making Daffy even DAFFIER! And if fulfilling his delusions of grandeur are what get Daffy's cock hard and wet, I will make him feel like the king of the world when he gets his way and let him take his anger out on me when he doesn't! Watch out, Sylvester; if he's taken an interest in you, you'll either be thick as thieves or have a worthy rival!
But Sylvester. Sweet, sweet Sylvester. Like Daffy, he's always trying to get ahead, but unlike Daffy, he rarely ever makes it past square one. He's a filthy, desperate, dumpster-dwelling alley cat motivated wholly by his nature. Though his actions may appear needlessly cruel, at heart, all he really wants is a full belly and a little peace and quiet. He only asks for the bare minimum from life, and yet he is STILL constantly denied. And what are the bare minimum things that we are put on this planet to do? To eat, sleep, and fuck. If he were my cat, I would ensure Sylvester's cup runneth over for all three. Even though he probably stinks to high Hell of old tuna cans, I'd bathe him from head to paw in the only manner befitting for a cat, if you catch my drift! From his cruddy muzzle, to his matted belly fur, to his grungy cock, to his dingy balls, to his greasy tailhole, all the way to his grimy paws. That down-on-his-luck kitty deserves to feel like a king. He fends for himself pretty well, but I don't think he'd say no! Unfortunately for him, just like when he's looking for shelter or a particularly annoying canary, it appears Sylvester's in over his head in this particular situation. Buddy, if you're looking for a good time, it's definitely cheap and easy to find one with Daffy and Wile E. Coyote, but you know what they say about there being no such thing as a free lunch! I hear those two are, after all, quite daffy and wily...
And Wile. Oh, Wile. As the years have gone by, my fondness for you has only grown. He's another fella who just can't catch a break, though his failings are more self-inflicted rather than from adversity. He is like a combination of the previous two, a driven egotist who often overestimates his capability, and yet still deserving of sympathy. Sure, he may be emaciated and disheveled from endlessly pursuing the one thing he can't have, but that's what I call "Looking for love in all the wrong places." If Wile's going to spend his days chasing down one bird, it should be me! Not that he'd have to do MUCH chasing, but if it gets him salivating and yearning, I'm willing to do it. I can play hard to get! But unlike that tease of a Roadrunner, his efforts WILL be rewarded! And when they are, I want him to give me everything he has-- and I mean E V E R Y T H I N G. Force his prize to spend hours just tending to his dirty coyote hole, and I'm NOT talking about his den. Revel in his accolade by marking his trophy as his territory with repeated coats of his pungent, golden piss. Deliver his just desserts by forcing his helpless quarry to clean his sweaty, jam-caked toes that have been sullied by the chase. Force his prey to prepare for the inevitable by slavering all over every stinking inch of his skanky, vile cock, including his fur-clumped, sweat-soured, flea-ridden pubes and ballsack. And best of all, there is no fear of Wile ever giving up the chase, because if there is any word to describe that wretched specimen, it is "insatiable". Sylvester, sitting where you are right now, if you think you've been roughed up in the past, you ain't seen NOTHIN' yet.
And I guess that's why I've come to see you, doctor. Parents won't let me back in their will until I've at least talked to you. I know determining if people are "crazy" is a pretty gross exaggeration of what you actually do, but can you sign this paper saying I'm not? I can pay you in oysters.
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And thanks to all my awesome backers on Patreon for supporting me and helping me bring you weird stuff such as this! And a special thanks to my Salmon-tier supporters for participating in the vote of which this was a part! So many of you wanted to see this, I was happy to make it my next finished personal piece! Contributors to my Patreon can find next-piece polls, WIPs, and early access for completed personal works, the next finished piece actually ALREADY AVAILABLE for ALL supporters at :
https://www.patreon.com/dracovar