Plot
Woody (Danny Webb) stays behind to swim while the other birds in the forest migrate south for the winter. Just after the other birds leave, the cold of winter sets in instantly, to the point that Woody's swimming hole freezes instantly solid just after he jumps in ("Must be hard water", he remarks). Woody does not worry, because he has stored up plenty of food. However, a snow storm enters his house and makes off with all of his possessions, food included.
Two weeks later, a title card informs the audience that "his food all gone, starvation stares Woody in the face!" Cut to a shot of Woody, seated at his dinner table, having a staring (and cackling) contest with the ghost of "Starvation", personified as something vaguely resembling as the Grim Reaper, smoking a cigar. A month later, a hungry cat (Webb) happens upon Woody's cabin, and conspires to eat the woodpecker. The famished Woody, however, plans just as quickly to eat the cat, and the two spend much of the remainder of the short trying to decapitate, bake, broil, and season each other. After several minutes of battling, a moose appears at Woody's open door, and the starving cat and woodpecker chase after it.
Sitting near a pile of moose bones with full bellies, Woody and the cat appear content. However, the cat looks over at Woody and remarks, "Y'know, I'm still hungry." "Yeah," replies Woody (in a normal, not sped-up voice), "so am I!" Brandishing knives, the two go right back at each other's throats.
Read more about this topic: Pantry Panic
Famous quotes containing the word plot:
“Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.”
—Mark Twain [Samuel Langhorne Clemens] (18351910)
“The plot thickens, he said, as I entered.”
—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (18591930)
“The plot was most interesting. It belonged to no particular age, people, or country, and was perhaps the more delightful on that account, as nobodys previous information could afford the remotest glimmering of what would ever come of it.”
—Charles Dickens (18121870)