When thinking about characters that single-handedly torpedoed a TV show, yippy Scrappy Don’t tops the list (Cousin Oliver, I'm gunning for you next). What the fuck were Hanna and Barbera smoking when they introduced this punk-ass bitch into the pack? Even Cesar Millan would lose his shit after watching you for one episode.
The Scooby gang was handling their mysteries just fine when Scooby’s Great Lame nephew arrived on the scene. Puppy power my ass. Freddy should take off his porn star kerchief and strangle Crappy Doo. Shaggy could get hopped up on Scooby snacks, get behind the wheel of the Mystery Machine, and run down Scrappy Poo. Velma should fit him with a choke chain and dump this cocky little canine in pound prison; I'm sure a few older pooches would be happy to take him in hand and make him their bitch. Maybe one of the geezer ghosts could haunt Scrappy Doo Doo for all of eternity, the way this shrill pill haunts my Saturday-morning nightmares. The beat-down possibilities are endless, but the ultimate responsibility lies with family. Uncle Scooby needs to suck it up, ball up a paw, and thrash this whippersnapper within an inch of his short life.
I’ve got two words for you, Yappy Doo. Rut roh.