Blogging About Not Blogging is a Sin

This is a heads-up that activity on this blog will be even lighter than usual for the next week or so.

Popsicle Psycho

This Bizarro cartoon is made possible by Mind-Numbing Confections, Inc.
Like anyone, I loved hearing the ice cream truck coming when I was a kid. But now I've got this damned OCD-type mechanism in my brain that hangs onto any melody I hear for hours or days, playing it over and over in my head.

My studio is on the second floor of our apartment, overlooking our street in Brooklyn, and I like to have the windows open when it is between 65 and 85 degrees. For most of the summer, this leaves me totally vulnerable to the local popsicle vendors and their satanic soundtracks.

How a person with any hearing at all can work these trucks is beyond my imagination. I'd rather drive a school bus full of hungry badgers.

Stress Mess

(Click on image to biggy)

Today's Bizarro is brought to you by Eternal Gardening Equipment. "Helping people reap what they sow since 1846."

There are many good gags to be had in hospital situations, the inherent vulnerability of health issues sets the perfect stage for comedy. The one drawback is that with all their clutter and equipment, hospitals are tedious to draw. I've solved that somewhat with this empty hallway, but I still had to make up a bunch of electronical junk for the testing room. In truth, the hallway, too, would be a visual cacophony of gurneys, shelves, doors, and god-knows-what-else, but that would have confused the gag. Plus, more tedium.

I don't know if anyone can tell, but all of the machines in all of my cartoons are totally made up out of my head. That includes airplane cockpits, UFO consoles, operating rooms, engines, etc. I'd actually like to be able to research these things and make them more accurate, but I fight down the anal retentiveness in my nature and just make crap up.

Speaking of which, I'm due for a colonoscopy soon. If you haven't had one yet, you really don't know what you're missing. Knowing it is long overdue, each day I play out an internal battle over whether to call to make an appointment, or throw myself in front of a bus.

So far, it's been a tossup and I've done neither.

Punch Rolling

This cartoon is brought to you by AFGO. (Another F***ing Growth Experience)

I'm not the sort to buy into self-imposed myths like the power of profanity, but I like to keep this blog safe for all ages and sensibilities, so I dug out the asterisks for the above headline. It's been so long since I used one, I couldn't remember where I'd put them. Turns out one of my cats had eaten the entire bag, so I had to dig them out of the litter box.

As for this cartoon, because I'm not the sort of person who can keep anything to himself, I must tell you I've had trouble enjoying moseying lately, too. Some bad mojo stopped by my Brooklyn apartment to visit recently and I've been going to counseling to try to get rid of it.

I'm a big believer in counseling, it has saved my life more than once, and the therapist I'm going to now is the bomb. I'm not the Woody Allen sort–seeing a therapist regularly year after year for my entire adult life–I only go during a crisis, usually for a few months, then quit when I've solved my dilemma. The same way you'd treat your car.

I'm on the road to solving this crisis, but I'm metrosexual enough to admit it's been damned difficult, and I've spent most of the past couple of weeks feeling like something left in the yard by a passing dog.

There have been many times recently when I've wanted to give up and disappear, even give up my career and just wander off into the night, never to be heard from again. A self-imposed witness protection program. But the temptation passes quickly since I have no other means of making a living and I dislike sleeping outdoors.

I hope my blogs and cartoons haven't suffered (the comics written during this struggle will appear in a few weeks). I've always prided myself in being able to hide my despair from my readers and complete my appointed rounds without interruption. I went through a hideously painful divorce back in the mid-90s, I never missed a deadline and most of my readers never noticed a thing. But as a blog reader, you have unwittingly placed yourself into a special group of those privy to my most private thoughts: fair warning, free country, view at your own discretion.

For instance, when I was a toddler, I was convinced I was not one, but several girls trapped in a man's body. And the man wasn't even me. A story for another time, perhaps.

Friday Night Fights: Batman vs. Street Thug

From Batman: Death Mask #1 (2008). Story and art by Yoshinori Natsume. (click pic for larger)

A classic? Whump!

Eat to Kill

(click on image to make it become enbigger)

Today's Bizarro cartoon is brought to you by a grant from the Mixed Messages Institute.

Life is full of mixed messages, not the least of which is our parents' insistence that we treat animals and other weaker creatures with compassion, while serving us the steaming, mutilated remains of a tortured chicken
or pig.

On a less serious note, some of my readers may not know that Bizarro is offered to newspaper clients in two formats: panel and strip. I draw the cartoon in panel form, then convert it to strip on my computer, adding extra drawings on the side, if necessary. Typically, the elements shift around, the caption balloon above the characters moves to the side, and their isn't too awful much more to be drawn. This one, however, had to be finagled in many directions to get it to fit. The booth is wider & shorter, the ducks are bigger, etc. Looks pretty crappy here, you might want to click it for the larger pic.
Almost any time I draw a fair or carnival, I add a redneck shoving wads of food in his mouth, which to me is mostly what these events are about. I found fairs interesting when I was a kid, the annual State Fairs were a big deal in Oklahoma and Texas, but as an adult I can't see past the horror. Nothing says "doomed species" like throngs of overweight humans in airbrushed T-shirts, cramming more calories down their gullets than air, lit by flashing lights against a background of hideous stuffed animals, paying money to be hoisted into the air and jerked around until they get dizzy. (Note how both the OK and TX fair have giant rednecks at the gate. I've always assumed it was bait.)

Am I old enough to be a curmudgeon yet? Is there an age limit?

Phantom Women

Bizarro is brought to you today by Necropolis Beauty Products. "You'll think you've died and gone to heaven."

I'm not sure where this idea came from, and it probably isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I love it to death. I find the idea that someone would go to the trouble to act out the old urban legend about the hitchhiking girl in a wet prom dress hysterical. Seems like this activity could catch on with goth girls.

For those who haven't heard the story: a girl of the type described above is picked up on a country road late at night, preferably near a body of water, and gives the driver the address of her home. When the driver arrives, she has vanished from the car. He goes to the door to investigate and the old woman who answers tells him her daughter drowned thirty years ago on prom night as a result of a car crash or whatever. The story is usually told as though it actually happened to a "friend of a friend" and includes local landmarks to make it scarier.

I love urban legends, except when someone tells me one that they believe to be true. It is uncomfortable to be given the choice of either acting impressed by a preposterous story (which makes me feel like a complete idiot) or telling them the story is false, effectively calling them an idiot.

I usually just smile and say I've suddenly remembered I forgot to feed my weasel before I left the house and am afraid he'll chew his way out of the attic.