The hieroglyph depicted in the “punch panel” of this strip represents a circular struggle many of us are grappling with right now. We want to knock it off with the political shit, but we also want a valid excuse for indulging in our baser urges.
Tag Archives: 2011
This’ll be a quick one. Didn’t mean to be away for so long. These things happen. But let me make one thing clear:
I hate March.
Comedy stinks right now because you forced it to stink. You vilified every experience in life that makes a great comedian. You made the safe, sponsored version of laughter the norm. You’re so afraid to really laugh in front of other people, that you turned comedy from an anti-establishment weapon into a cottony security blanket.
Comedy stinks right now because of you. Because you’re afraid of your true feelings.
Let’s take, as an example, one of these pusillanimous women that the media holds up as Queens of Comedy. You know the ones, I don’t have to name them. They’re all over glossy magazine covers at the checkout aisles, making “zany” faces to remind you they’re funny.
For the past ten years, one Rhode Island company has made me so deliriously happy, I’ve considered corporate personhood, so I could ask for its hand in marriage.
2006 was the year this little toy company had a subline of their Transformers toys called “Classics”; new figures of favorite characters from the 1984 cartoon. And a funny thing happened- these robots from an old show sold very, very well. Characters like “Bumblebee”, “Megatron” and “Optimus Prime” were familiar to a enviously broad range of people. They had staying power equal to Superman or Batman. The world was on the cusp of finding this out. Continue reading
One thing about myself I’m not proud of; I’ve been punched in the face a lot. Like, I actually don’t know how many times. I try to calculate it and things go hazy and red. I take this as an indication that I’ve been punched in the face too many times.
I’m not a boxer; I’m a skinny cartoonist with a big mouth, whom many observers assume suffers from Tourette’s Syndrome. I don’t consider my face “punchable”, but my jukebox of a head is apparently too tempting for froggy dudes to resist. Miraculously my nose has never been broken, but my back teeth bear the brunt of damage from more than a few fists.