/lit/ - Literature

not fucking bugs bunny retard

>>17254067
>Doesn't know any characters, posts character from other media to help clarify what he means
>Gets yelled at
Nothing wrong with OP's post

there are bugs bunny comics you fucking loser

Why do trannys hate bugs bunny?

>>17254067
>>17254095
>reading comprehension

Isn’t there a collection of tricksters from various mythologies?

>>17254196
yah, but i was thinking more contemporary characters. the question came into my mind after finishing the Psmith series by Wodehouse. Psmith is that classic fast-talking agents of chaos that is so enjoyable

>>17253860
Baby hermes. Not sure if he talks a lot, but he talks fast and is fast too.

>>17254067
>>17254095
YWNBAW

>>17253860
Odysseus

A lot of the characters in Vineland are cartoony. I think of Hector Zuñiga and Zoyd Wheeler as cartoony, Bugs Bunny types.

Pynchon's Pig Bodine is also sort of like that. Pig is in many of Pychon's books, like V. and Gravity's Rainbow.

>>17254196
get out of here tranny

>>17253860
The OG

>>17254230
You will never be a wabbit

>>17254326
lol

>>17254326
lmao

>>17253860
loosely sherlock holmes/arsene lupin
>>17254326
bumping this thread because this is funny

>>17253860
Arsène Lupin
He too is a vegetarian like Bugs.

>>17254196
Read Jung's essay on the trickster archetype

>>17253860
Murakami's protagonist

>>17253860
Read Fool by Christopher Moore. The main character is a more vulgar Bugs Bunny, if I ever saw one:

The kitchen buzzed - the staff preparing for a feast.

"Have you seen Drool?" I asked Taster, who sat at the table staring sadly at a bread trencher[2] laid out with cold pork, the king's dinner. He was a thin, sickly lad, chosen, no doubt, for his weakness of constitution, and a predisposition toward dropping dead at the slightest provocation. I liked to tell him my troubles, sure that they would not travel far.

"Does this look poisoned to you?"

"It's pork, lad. Lovely. Eat up. Half the men in England would give a testicle to feast thus, and it only mid-day. I'm tempted myself." I tossed my head - gave him a grin and a bit of a jingle on the ol' hat bells to cheer him. I pantomimed stealing a bit of his pork. "After you, of course."

A knife thumped into the table by my hand.

"Back, Fool," said Bubble, the head cook. "That's the king's lunch and I'll have your balls before I'll let you at it."

"My balls are yours for the asking, milady," said I. "Would you have them on a trencher, or shall I serve them in a bowl of cream, like peaches?"

Bubble harrumphed, yanked her knife from the table and went back to gutting a trout at the butcher block, her great bottom rolling like thunderclouds under her skirt as she moved.

"You're a wicked little man, Pocket," said Squeak, waves of freckles riding o'er her shy smile. She was second to the cook, a sturdy, ginger-haired girl with a high giggle and a generous spirit in the dark. Taster and I often passed pleasant afternoons at the table watching her wring the necks of chickens.

Pocket is my name, by the way. Given to me by the abbess who found me on the nunnery doorstep when I was a tiny babe. True, I am not a large fellow. Some might even say I am diminutive, but I am quick as a cat and nature has compensated me with other gifts. But wicked?

>>17253860
>>17256500
Here's some more. I guess I'm reading this again, anyway.

"You're a dead man, knave!" said a man's voice from behind me.

And there stood Edmund, bastard son of Gloucester, blocking the only exit, sword in hand. Dressed all in black, was the bastard: a simple silver brooch secured his cape, the hilts of his sword and dagger were silver dragon heads with emerald eyes. His jet beard was trimmed to points. I do admire the bastard's sense of style - simple, elegant, and evil. He owns his darkness.

I, myself, am called the Black Fool. Not because I am a Moor, although I hold no grudge toward them (Moors are said to be talented wife-stranglers) and would take no offense at the moniker were that the case, but my skin is as snowy as any sun-starved son of England. No, I am called so because of my wardrobe, an argyle of black satin and velvet diamonds - not the rainbow motley of the run-a-day fool. Lear said: "After thy black wit shall be thy dress, fool. Perhaps a new outfit will stop you tweaking Death's nose. I'm short for the grave as it is, boy, no need to anger the worms before my arrival." When even a king fears irony's twisted blade, what fool is ever unarmed?

"Draw your weapon, fool!" said Edmund.

"Sadly, sir, I have none," said I. Jones shook his head in unarmed woe.

We both were lying, of course. Across the small of my back I wore three wickedly-pointed throwing daggers - fashioned for me by the armorer to be used in our entertainments - and while I had never used them as weapons, truly flung they had spitted apples off the head of Drool, nipped plums from his outstretched fingers, and yea, even speared grapes out of the air. I had little doubt that one might find its way into Edmund's eye and thus vent his bitter mind like a lanced boil. If he needed to know he would know soon enough. If not, well, why trouble him?

>>17253860
>>17256500
"If not a fight, then a murder it is," said Edmund. He lunged, his blade aimed for my heart. I sidestepped and knocked his blade away with Jones, who lost a bell from his coxcomb for his trouble.

I hopped up onto the lip of the cauldron.

"But, sir, why spend your wrath on a poor, helpless fool?"

Edmund slashed. I leapt. He missed. I landed on the far side of the cauldron. Drool moaned. Mary hid in the corner.

"You shouted bastard at me from the battlements."

"Aye, they announced you as bastard. You, sir, are a bastard. And a bastard most unjust to make me die with the foul taste of truth still on my tongue. Allow me a lie before you strike: You have such kind eyes."

"But you spoke badly of my mother as well." He put himself between me and the door. Bloody bad planning, building a laundry with only one exit.

"I may have implied that she was a poxy whore, but from what your father says, that, too, is not breaking the bonds of verity."

"What?" asked Edmund.

"What?" asked Drool, a perfect parrot of Edmund.

"What?" inquired Mary.

"It's true, you git! Your mother was a poxy whore!"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, poxiness ain't so bad," said Shanker Mary, shining a ray of optimism on these dark ages. "Unfairly maligned, the poxy are. Methinks a spot o' the pox implies experience. Worldliness, if you will."

"The tart makes an excellent point, Edmund. But for the slow descent into madness and death with your bits dropping off along the way, the pox is a veritable blessing," said I, as I skipped just out of blade's reach from the bastard, who stalked me around the great cauldron. "Take Mary here. In fact, there's an idea. Take Mary. Why spend your energy after a long journey murdering a speck of a fool when you can enjoy the pleasures of a lusty wench who is not only ready, but willing, and smells pleasantly of soap?"

>>17253860
Milo Minderbinder from Catch-22, like the chapter where he convinces Colonel Cathcart to have other men fly his missions.

>>17253860
>fast-talking character
>in a book
HOW WOULD I KNOW THAT HE'S TALKING FAST?

>>17257090
The author usually points that out. But as far as I remember Bugs Bunny doesn't talk fast, so OP probably meant fast-thinking or eloquent.

>>17253860
The protagonist from Filth, though not fast talking is certainly a trickster

>>17254326
kek

>>17254230
>>17254326

>>17254196
>constantly crossdresses
>reads about the principles of Discord
Checks out

>>17254326
Post of the year