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A twisted little underground cartoon is now a pop-cult obsession. But does the world really need a Mr. Hankey chocolate bar? BY RICK MARIN
VISITORS TO THE LOS ANGELES HEADQUARters of the cult cable hit "South Park" sit on an absurdly low, turquoise velour sofa and gaze up at a poster above the reception desk. It features four cartoon kids, cute as "Peanuts," and reads, "Alien Abductions, Anal Probes & Flaming Farts. South Park. Why They Created the V-Chip."
Comedy Central printed the ad when this weekly animated series about four flatulent third graders and their paranormal Colorado town went on the air eight months ago. Last week the up-yours slogan proved prophetic. The Federal Communications Commission issued technical guidelines for V-chips to be built into all new TV sets. The handy home-censor chip will empower parents to block the very anal probes and flaming farts that have catapulted "South Park" to the coolest schoolyard craze since MTV's "Beavis and Butt-head" introduced eight-letter words like "ass-munch" into the prepubescent vernacular. As in the heyday of "B&rB," some grown-ups think that the cartoon is not appropriate for youngsters. Or, in the words of Action for Children's Television founder Peggy Charren, it is "dangerous to the democracy."
The difference between the last time the democracy was in danger and now is that, while "B&ErB" was a kid show with grownup appeal, "South Park" is a grown-up show with irresistible kid appeal. It airs at 10 p.m. and carries a TV-MA warning, but 23 percent of the audience is under 18. In the last two weeks of February, 5.2 million viewers watched, huge by cable standards. One Wednesday night it even beat ABC's "PrimeTime Live." Blue-chip advertisers like AT&T, Calvin Klein and Snapple are paying as much as $80,000 for a 30second spot, 20 times the network's original rate-card cost. T-shirt sales have topped $30 million, and the merchandising mayhem has barely begun.
Using artfully artless cutout animation, "South Park" storyboards childhood through the eyes of two creatively dysfunctional adults: Trey Parker, 28, and Matt Stone, 26. Their colorful brood of minimally altered egos-Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny-are foulmouthed li'l "bastards" (Stone and Parker's favorite description of 9-yearold boys) who abuse each other, delight in dissing authority figures...