Back to the Drawing Board

In keeping with the 'spirit' of the holidays, I thought I'd dig up this old chestnut.

It actually started as a Christmas card I sent a while back, but it launched a 'career.'

I had a brief stint as an editorial cartoonist with a local rag. I had to shelve it when I got a little too busy with my college courses. Now that I'm done I'm hoping I can get back in the saddle somehow in 2007.

Here's a link to my personal favourite.

Dig.

p

There I Go, Turn the Page

RW started a story... but writers block being what it is... Stop by Chasing Vincenzo to help him flesh it out.

It's one of those 'tag team story' exercises. Let's see which direction it takes.

Sores for Sight Eyes

A while ago, I was riding shotgun in my brother's car, enjoying a Whoppertunity, when my brother points out a gaggle of attractive college hotness.

"Check 'em out... Check 'em out!"
"Dude, we're eating f*cking hamburgers. Nobody looks sexy eating a hamburger."

My brother got a good laugh over this observation and concurred. There's no point in establishing eye contact with the opposite gender with burger-juice dripping on your chin. I remembered this exchange as I watched a robust woman driving her S.U.V. whilst handling a hefty sandwich.

Unfortunately, if you're well-upholsered, you never look good eating. I saw this personified during the last faculty meeting, as I watched a co-worker who probably tips the scale at close to three bills alternately munching on potato chips and Doritos™. Aside from the guilt-ridden thoughts of "no wonder," the mere aesthetics of watching you reach into a crinkly bag make this top the don't do list.

Not that I'm an authority on this, but I am going to take the liberty in pointing out other situations one might not look best. Fat, skinny, old, slack-jawed, hirsute, tall... take heed. You do not look good when:

Handcuffed - Regardless of the situation*, it is impossible to look your best when manacled. It greys your complexion and darkens your aura. The police report might read disorderly conduct, but you know we're all thinking date rape, assault and battery, petty theft or getting caught soliciting sexual acts from a pimply midget...

* (...unless, of course, you're cuffed to a bedpost of a blazing hot red-head with nipples the size of stop signs and the demeanor of a rabid ocelot. If she defecates on your chest and leaves with your wallet, the above assessment applies.)

In Court - No Armani or Donna Karan suit in the world can hide the fact that you are somehow a threat to the public, a philandering wife/husband, child abuser, scofflaw or attorney. If you are a defendant, despite the fact that you are a sharp dresser, you are no better than the guy wearing the striped Zubaz pants and Kansas City Chiefs t-shirt who's facing domestic abuse charges.

Purchasing Sh*t-tickets - I understand that we all have to wipe our *sses or cooches, but there is no way to look alluring when throwing the 66¢ rolls of supermarket brand a**wipes atop your arugula, edamame and whole grain Monks' bread. My suggestion is to wait until 3 a.m., when the sh*theels stuck with the graveyard shift can ring you up. They're usually sleeping while we're awake, thus lessening the chance of overhearing them tell a friend that "there's the guy who wipes his turdcutter with the cheap sandpaper toilet tissue."

In Queues - This is particularly bad if you're waiting in line for something free, in the company of other skin-flints or the pauperized. Occasionally this can't be helped, such as in the supermarket but you definitely help your cause by following the aforementioned 3 a.m. sh*t ticket rule. Standing in line for something like RENT has a high choad-factor, and getting a pair of tickets for you and your boyfriend to go see Because I Said So make you look like a heartless wench. Other queues you don't want to find yourself in are the at the boot camp medical examiners', the methadone clinic, a porn shop or (gasp) communion.

At All-You-Can-Eat Establishments - Somehow we found ourselves where we started, though there is no way to look toothsome while piling a plate full of waxy mashed potatoes, shoe-leather steaks or the salad bar, where the lettuce is more bruised than a housewife that doesn't know then to shut up. The "closed for business" sign on your blind date's chocha will spring up quicker than you can say, "Mmmm. Sausage."

You don't have to be Diamond Jim to find affordable eats. There's no need to look like a gluttonous water buffalo for $7.99. You might also want to avoid those places that let you throw peanut shells on the floor.

There you have it... but as LeVar Burton says "You don't have to take my word for it."


Gotta go. My wife wants me to take her to Denny's for a Moon Over My Hammy®. I have to find a bag to put over my head.

What a Draaaag it is Getting Oooold...

I had a physical recently, and thankfully they didn't have to jam a kielbasa-sized finger in my *ss to check the prostate. I'm entitled to that treat next year. I shouldn't complain much, since the ladies are poked and prodded periodically during their physical examinations. Moreover, my dad beat that prostate cancer sh*t a little while ago - that hit a little close to home.

Dr. Beth Any problems?
Me Other than occasionally sh*tting a rose bush and a bit of pain in my rotator cuff...
Dr. Beth Well anytime you want to get that taken care of... You're looking at a couple months without hockey.
Me Whew. Shoulder's good. Shoulder's good.

I've grown accustomed to getting thrown a clean bill of health as I'm shown the exit - with one eye kept on the blood pressure. This time the doc chided me for blowing off the blood tests last year.

"All right... All right. I'll go."

It took me about two or three months to get around to it, with the Dr.'s request form becoming increasingly smudged with foot prints on the floor of my car. I went in for my complimentary pricking and came home to take a nap.

Fast forward a couple of weeks:

Mrs. P Did you call the doctor's office?
Me No. Why?
Mrs. P They left a message.

Faaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhk.

I'd never gotten a call over a blood test before, so I knew it couldn't be good. Of course I didn't call the doc back for a couple of days.

Mrs. P Did you call the doctor's office yet?
Me Uh... not yet.
Mrs. P CALL them!

Three days later...

Rinnnnnnngggggg....

Me Hello.
S0 & So Hi. This is So & So from Dr. Beth's office.
Me Oh yes. I meant to call you.
So & So Uh-huh. I'm just calling about your blood test.
Me Oh?

So & So Yeah. Just a couple things. You really need to watch that cholesterol. It's a little up there. Fortunately you also have high levels of good cholesterol...
Me There's good cholesterol?
So & So Yeah, which is why it's not that much of a concern, but you should still watch it.
Me No problem...

So & So Then there's the issue of your blood sugar.
Me My what?
So & So We ran a couple tests on it, just in case you snuck in a sugar doughnut or two that evening.
Me Heh.
So & So But it looks like you're sugar's a little high. You're bordering on diabetic.
Me You're kidding me?
So & So Yeah. You really need to watch that, too. So if you eat a lot of ice cream for example... maybe skip a couple days or two.

Me All right. Thanks.
So & So You're welcome. We'd like to test you again in about six months to see how you're doing.
Me Ok.
So & So Will you remember?
Me Sure.

I hung up the phone, put a couple of cookies in my mouth and went to hang out with the boys. After years of deluding myself with the idea the misconception that I'd been taken care of myself, I now envisioned myself clutching my chest at the Fletchmonster's kindergarten graduation or losing my foot like f*cking Ralph Cramden in that movie with Tom Hanks.

While out to lunch with the Fletchmonster and Mrs. P, I suggested that what the doctor in fact did was ruin every f*cking meal I'd ingest for the rest of my life. It'd either be healthy and taste like sh*t, or I'd actually look for my sad reflection in the grease, knowing that each mouthful would push me closer to the grave.

On the other hand, it could be a blessing in disguise. Mrs. P went on the warpath for something I already forgot about. I was re-caping the events for my best friend Doug.

Me Yeah. I used to think about stepping in front of a truck when she gets like that. Now I just felt like jamming a couple of Twinkies™ in my mouth.
Doug Heh. With a side of bacon.

Well, nothing lasts forever... even cold November rain. Even still, I would like to at least stick around to watch the Fletchmonster make it to second grade. I suppose an alfalfa sprout sandwich washed down with soy milk is a small price to pay.

I'll give you one guess as to what my first activity is in the morning.

(rrrrnnnnnnnttttt) WRONG! It's checking to see what my "fantasy hockey" players did the previous night -- then I take a sh*t.

John Sadowski hosts this week's and would like to know, where does your surfing day begin.

(plop. plip. flush...... That was a mercy flush, brothers and sisters.)