When something restores your overall morale, and very nearly your faith in humanity, that something must be publicly acknowledged. And yes, that’s humanity, not “hupeopleity”, or any other spurious, Canadian word salad.
Two things you already know if you’ve read articles on this site in the past month: 1., I’m flat broke, and 2., my dwarf hamster Vern has had a growth under his chin since mid-January.
A Vern in the hand.
This past week, the growth grew significantly, and I began to worry that it was hurting Vern. Hopefully you don’t know this, but when you’re so broke that you can’t even provide for the pet that depends on you, the spiral of shame and depression is mind-boggling in its brutality.
Vern, aka Vernal Squeequinox, is my Winter White dwarf hamster. You might have seen him in other articles here, or in my interminable Facebook posts. Maybe you’re not interested in another page about my emotional support hamster*, but I assure you, Vern only wants to share love. Like me, he takes his small fandom very seriously. (As seriously as a tiny ball of fluff can take anything.)
A snoozing Vern in an Ovo pod.
*As a favor to me, please remember this: I never, ever, want to hear any tragic stories about hamsters, yours or otherwise. Never. I’m asking you nicely.
Like many adult Americans, I prefer to be intoxicated on Christmas day. Some call this addiction. I call it self-medicating for the benefit of others.
Purple = sober and confused.
I’m not a role model, or a regular person. I’m alone on Christmas because I’m belligerent and undiplomatic by nature. I lack the ability to mask contempt or disdain. Just days ago, I told three separate strangers to go kill themselves. I make jokes and draw comics to keep from screaming death threats at people.
Today, a great hamster was laid to rest. His name was Boris.
We must not be sad, and instead celebrate the all-too-brief life of a beloved creature. Boris was curious, friendly, and adored by all who knew him; even the folks who disliked his kind. By some cosmic coincidence, the grey-and-white patches on his back formed a big “B”.Continue reading →
Walfred Cybean was an American cartoonist, whose work was featured in magazines like The New Yooper from 1954 to 1969. At the time, Cybean’s doodler-style cartoons were seen as reductive and unpleasant by some readers [proof needed], for they typically displayed a drunken middle-aged man sharing a squalorous living space with an oversized hamster. So many of Cybean’s cartoons contained this theme, that a book compiling them was printed in 1970. Despite persistent rumors that Cybean died of alcohol poisoning and hamster-related injuries, his death came instead when he fell between the cars of a subway train. Continue reading →