Saturday, June 30, 2007

From Today's Pioneer Press: The Greatest Picture Ever

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Monday, June 25, 2007

Po' Tree Corner

Ill-Shaped slices
Insult the late pork beast
Befuddlin' yon sammich
Surely not a feast


Friday, June 22, 2007

My Geekout Moment from issue 13 of Green Lantern Corps
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Meet Mogo.
He's a Sentient Planet that also happens to be a member of the Green Lantern Corps.
This panel made my Inner Geek do a lil' Jig.


Saturday, June 16, 2007

Something Special for the kids

I stumbled upon this comic strip I did back in either 2001 or 2002.

The premise is Action Figures/Toys hanging out over drinks after a long day of being played with:

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Friday, June 15, 2007

Fetch me my Decoder Pants, Levi!

It's a good thing I jot down notes and leave 'em on my desk. My Current Self looks at these Past Self scribbles and can't make heads nor tales of 'em.


Clearly this song is the tunesmith's lament over the loss of his dignity...lyrically represented by the dual themes of the theft of his mud flaps and a fistfight between his stepfather, Roderick, and an unknown combatant in a Rutger Hauer-as-Roy-Batty ensemble.

Followed by side notes:

Extracted Bull Bile from a Misread thesis on the forced cross-breeding of Mastiffs and Aloe plants


Thermos...with its precious contents...hurtling eastward and loose 'pon the flatbed of a stripped down El Camino missing three hubcaps...driven by a Lapsed Ladler and fueled less by petrol and more by the cab occupant's unfettered ardor for delivering soup. The lack of a simian co-pilot is only noted by the folk with Nostalgic Recollection of Clint Orangs or the Bastard Children of Peter Mayhew.


Fist encased in luxurious woven boar tufts...across the jaw line SKLURT and FWABBITY FWABBITY FWAB FWAP



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Wednesday, June 13, 2007

A reading from the Book of Horace the Moist Gribbling of Gesticulators

There was Plook.

There was a lot of Plook.

Wrapped in a slabbish roll of lefse...served to the delegates of the small island nation of first deemed an offensive gesture to Ambassador Rynot...a quick aside from his traveling stenographer Gareth the Scribbler soon set said offering in the proper light...a light akin the shimmering low wattage of an Easy Bake Oven.

Joe Don Baker (loaded to his imaginary non-gills/neck mudflaps with Jeno's Pizza Rolls with Extra Joe Cocker Ham soldered thereupon) smugly lowered his gaze earthward from his perch atop the Tree of Bbblllrrrggghh and grunted from his netherregions a foul squelched approval.


Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Final Episodes of Television Shows

The Sopranos has come to an end with episode 86 entitled MADE IN AMERICA (loved it). Most folk are well aware that the series revolved around an Italian-American Mobster and his two Families. Most folk I work with (whom I refer to lovingly--and with a misplaced hyphen--as my Cow-Orkers) assume that, since I have a ragingly Italian last name (or, as my Patriarch would correct, SICILIAN last name; "We ain't got nuttin' tah do wit' them damn folk on the Boot, Doc."), I most certainly have watched and enjoyed said Television Program (in this case they are absolutely right...but it has nothing to do with my ethnicity...that's a lot like assuming Morbid Obesity Sufferers enjoyed the entire run of Jake and the Fatman or Hairless Pated Menfolk loved the Crime Solving Adventures of Savalas' Kojak, eh?).

Anyway, with the conclusion of The Sopranos that aired on Sunday, come Monday many Cow-Orkers were curious as to my take on the Ending. Here is one conversation that took place Monday Afternoon:

Cow-Orker: You MUST have watched The Sopranos Sunday night, right?

Me (why not be a tad difficult here): Why MUST I have?

Cow-Orker (worried now...ponders a moment his response): just...SEEMS(?) like a show you would his hand at me).

Me (heh): I don't know what you mean by that gesture.

Cow-Orker (fret sweat): Aren't you...y'know...EYE-Talian.

Me (Yes...he said it EYE-TALIAN): My ancestors weren't from EYE-taly.

Cow-Orker: Isn't your last name EYE-Talian?

Me (sigh...time for some of my own Mispronouncing): Nope. The island SIGH-CHEE-LEE...but close enough.

Cow-Orker: So you did watch it?

Me (let him off the hook): Yep.

Cow-Orker (relieved): Did you like it?

Me (heh): Yep. Great ending for the show. I mean, it wasn't the Series Finale for QUINCY M.E. but it was damn good.

Cow-Orker (apparently unfamiliar with the Jack Klugman as Medical Examiner drama from years ago): Quincy?

Me (heh): He was a Coroner that solved crimes...kinda like a one man CSI...'cept he scored with the chicks far more often even though he was old as dirt.

Cow-Orker (fascinated): How did that show end?

Me (heh): The finale ended up pitting Sam, his assistant who had gone Rogue due to his lab coat being tainted with some unknown chemical, against Quincy on the Eve of the latter's retirement. Long story short, Quincy tosses Sam into the blades of his boat's motor and returns to the Farewell Gala he's throwing for himself on said boat. The credits roll with Quincy grabbing a mop and a bucket of Tar Pitch and approaching four young female party attendees and inquiring if they'd mind being Hot Mopped...I kid you not.

Cow-Orker (stunned): No fucking way.

Me (straight-faced): Look it up on IMDB or some other Old School Television Website. I own the DVDs, man (I don't).

Cow-Orker: That...that's awesome.

Me (heh): Yep.

I haven't seen this fellow again...yet.


Friday, June 08, 2007

Abandoned Opening Bit from a Novel I'm not Writing

"Can you taste plankton, Baleen Boy?"

Thus the befuddlement floating in brain pan was released upon the unfortunately nicknamed lout (although the state of his teeth begged to differ). Would there be any flavor aside from briney nature of the fluids he sieved through his maw? Was it wrong to ask? And, considering his deformities and the lack of an apparent blowhole...was it possible that he could suck oxygen from some other orifice?


Tuesday, June 05, 2007


The sheer bliss extruded through a comedically
oversqueezed Glue Stick (in the grasp of a master
epoxy fancier) can render one's patellas unto things
of Gelatin-like consistency. The lower extremities, now
endowed with a State of Wiggle not seen since the days
of the Towering Wacky Water Weiner Obelisk of Devil
Tower's Sister city Lindy's Pants, the Netherlands,
flex and bow to a Rhythm an ethereal soundtrack
supplied by tin-eared Cherubic Harpists or, perhaps, Joe
Cocker's Head Chef Marion "Oh Shit Not Again"
Hendersteam...leaving office mates and Cow-Orkers
alike with Scowls of Uncertainty--an uncertainty not experienced during
Weeble Wobble encounters for, as we know, they will NOT fall down--
and their respective Desk Monkey Dockers of Blah flood with Sweat Glandular
excretions near bursting from dread of Fall-Down-Go-Boom.


Monday, June 04, 2007

Mr. Roboto Versus the Red Rocker

Another Slice from my Work Day

Cow-Orker: Guess what I did this weekend?

TIP: Greased a Hammock?

Cow-Orker: ... No, man...I saw Styx at the Myth. It was great.

TIP: No it wasn't.

Cow-Orker: like Hagar.