So What, Big Deal

The website you are currently reading is now ten years old. If it were a spouse, the traditional anniversary gift would be tin or aluminum. I’d go with the latter; it’s worth very little, and it’s everywhere. Just like cartoonists.

Tin, on the other hand, is rare and tough to find, despite what human parrots squawking “conspiracy theorist” might think. By all means, stroll into your neighborhood grocery store and ask for “tin foil” with which to fashion a hat for anyone who rebukes or distrusts the mainstream media. Be sure to pick out a fancy postcard to send me from the 1950’s while you’re at it, grandma.

Tin is rare and valuable. Just like those precious few of you who are browsing this site on your home computer and not squinting at my words on a phone. Just like those of you who’ve supported my work through donations or encouraging sentiments. Just like those of you who understand that I’d prefer to write and draw rather than blather blankly into a webcam for hours.

I have skills that I’ve developed for longer than most of you have been alive. If you’re younger than 35, then my first printed comic strip is older than you. If you’re younger than 50, I’ve been drawing longer than you’ve existed. Much like tin, I am rare, if not valuable. If I were truly valuable, I wouldn’t be faced with the inevitable heat death of my web footprint.

There are only so many ways I can dress up the words “I don’t make enough money to live”. Now that the American people have murdered print and gleefully pissed upon its bier, there is no reason to pursue drawing comics as an occupation. Every cartoonist I’ve ever admired is either dead or battling financial annihilation. What can I say. Go scare up five people who will publicly admit to admiring Ben Franklin. Hell, find me one person under 30 willing to utter the words “founding fathers”. There’s your answer.

When the day comes that my work goes offline, and come that day will, consider the fact that I’ve had a Patreon for over half a decade, and I’ve never managed more than four patrons, despite ostensibly having thousands of fans, and offering a one dollar tier. Consider the fact that I’ve sought professional medical help for suicidal ideations and mania for 19 years and counting, thanks to depression solely rooted in not being able to make a living off of my work.

I know, right? Big deal. Cartoons are free and ubiquitous on the internet. You’ve probably seen a hundred already in the past two hours. No one is stupid enough to support someone who does something that a thousand kids are already doing, all the time, while bored, on a computer they didn’t have to pay for. And the considerable time I’ve wasted here ranting about things that aggravate me; no one gives a shit about that anyway. As we all march happily into the New World Order where we (not the elites of course) own nothing, all of that is best forgotten. Opinions that go against the mainstream narrative will be illegal sooner rather than later. It’s crystal clear that’s what the country wants. When you see enough twenty-somethings calling for the heads of people who created everything that inspired you growing up, you get the picture eventually. Even if it is only on social media. Far as I can tell, no one communicates otherwise.

Big deal. Save your attention and money for all the disgustingly obese, gender-confused pop stars who have to be talked out of self-harm every 24 hours. Cartoons are dead. Comedy is dead. I am among the millions of people who will lose their livelihood to artificial intelligence by 2025. It doesn’t matter that I’ve self-published 30 books, or created over 600 pages of original comics. It matters even less that I’ve produced almost a dozen albums, or that I made a feature-length animated movie. I have in my memory the experience of being a lead actor on a real stage, receiving a standing ovation from an audience packed in a sold-out theater like sardines. Who gives a fuck how good that felt. It’s all tears in rain.

I grew up wanting nothing more than to publish a “college humor” magazine, like National Lampoon, or Harvey Kurtzman’s work. In the 2020’s, no college student has anything resembling a sense of humor whatsoever; they are literally offended by everything, and wholly indoctrinated in progressive Marxist gobbledy-gook. Not to mention they are stupider on average than any students of academia who came before. They are actually dumber than art school students, who are currently wearing dresses not out of any “gender dysphoria”, but because putting on a pair of pants is too complicated. So I guess the joke’s on me.

Recently I abandoned a Facebook group devoted to the National Lampoon magazine, thanks to a member who incessantly backpedaled anything he found “offensive” (i.e. everything) with comments like “I’m so glad we’ve all moved beyond laughing at material like this.” For the time being, I’m still part of an “underground comix” group, and you can just imagine the derisive, virtue-signaling comments there, regarding the work of cartoonists who are still living. Several of whom I call friends.

How would you feel, dealing with that shit every time you used social media to share your work? How would you feel after the third time they shouted you down?

How would you feel when you gave a dissenting opinion, and were subsequently treated like an unwanted irritant? How would you feel if you complained about your negative experience to your “friends”, and they called you a “conspiracy theorist” (with “tin-foil hat”, natch) and/or a “manchild”? How would you feel if you discovered a fraudulent version of your own hard work, created in seconds by AI, and your “friends” laughed it off and basically said “well, what did you expect”?

So what, right?

I’ll tell you what. I just passed 1,000 words. There’s no need to continue. According to the document overview, this article should take less than 5 minutes to read. So there; I wasted five minutes of your life. I won’t waste any more promising you that this site, or my Patreon, or Ceaseless Fables (my other website, since I can guarantee you’ve never heard of it) will still exist tomorrow. A public toilet has more intelligence and insight than general audiences today. I have no interest in entertaining anyone who can’t take a joke.

If I were you, I’d start getting used to life without me, without good printed matter, and without the right to speak your real opinions. No one is coming to save the day. The evidence is piled so high you’re buried in it. Whether or not this is what you wanted, this is what you’ll get, because you’re already overrun. It’s not so bad, all you have to do is lie back and submit. I only wasted my life.

But hey, so what? Big deal.