1000 Miles To Liberty Hill

 

I bought this cyclometer last August (or July?). I just crossed the 1000 mile mark this morning. That's an average of 77 miles a month! 18 miles a week!! But that simple math doesn't tell the real story. I'm hot and cold on my bike; I rode it 60 miles this week, which is 60 more than I rode in the whole month of February. Inconsistency is my consistency.

On a completely unrelated note, I watched the erection of this fire station this fire station being erected built. The colors, the architecture, the materials -- its all very appealing. It's the most glorious barn I've ever seen. I'd live here, Cornbread wouldn't, but I sure would.

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Social Distance

 

I traveled last weekend. It's been nearly a year since I've set foot in an airport terminal, despite the fact I work at the airport. I haven't forgotten what what outrageous arseholes the TSA can be, but I hadn't experienced it in so long I was mildly shocked when they reminded me.

Sir Fatness, in that crew of agents standing in a pile back there, barked at me about social distancing, because the guy behind me moved too near me to wait on his bag -- the same guy the TSA just prodded forward. Perhaps a longer conveyor belt, Highness? One benefit of the mandatory mask -- you can mouth a much needed "fuck off" at your offending Karen.

Some people should never have power of any kind.

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Not Not Salsa

I made pork carnitas with pickled onions and a habanero sauce. Cornbread said it's too hot. Cornbread wanted salsa instead. I guess the same salsa she eats with her chicken nuggets?

LiveLeak-er

 

 

To expand on the cave paintings...LiveLeak seems to be largely populated with Far Eastern road gore. I don't know if it's the driving rules, or the drivers, or the pedestrians, or what, but it's awful. And there's so much of it.

So I present this cartoon--because LiveLeak is like Twitch for Asians playing Frogger IRL.

The bats are for soup. 

Also, it's not racist if it's true. 

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Cave Painting

Don't worry, it doesn't make sense to me either. Cornbread thought the cartoon on the right was a snail.

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Trestle Table

A friend of mine asked me to build him a trestle table. It was to be a gift for his wife. When he gave me the desired measures of this project I was doubtful a trestle table was what he was looking for. Trestle tables are made to stretch long distances. They aren't typically found in small dining rooms. I thought it might look odd. I was wrong.

I may have to make another one.

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MD Sunrise

Some days are diamonds...or at least they start out that way. This is an MD11 and that engine is running.

I took this fancy picture using a fancy smartphone. I have that kind of access. Fancy that.

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Wonderful Horrible Smells

I think the one on the right is Cajun, and the one on the left is from the Tennessee.

But maybe they’re just flies and ‘horrible’ isn’t the same word in their language. Like “Oooh, that feels horrible, do it again.” or “Oooh this shit tastes horrible, is there any left?”

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Ho -- Her Name Is Ho

You remember those pulp fiction porno periodicals from the old days? Those cheap, well-worn mags full of sexy stories that were all created by guys who didn’t actually have sex? There were tons of titles out there (I said titles). Great stories poorly written. Girls saying dumb shit guys want to hear, dumb shit girls never say. Girls getting paddled for being bad (I was actually paddled often for being bad; I don’t see the appeal). You ‘member? You ‘member.

I certainly remember. Those were the golden years of my pubic metamorphism. I broke out of my childish cocoon little head first reading those stories (never you mind where I found them). Sure pictures are fine too, but reading has always held that clear picture with me in it, where I get to play Cockmaster 3000 and drive the fast car and rescue the non-English speaking girl fresh off the boat then have her feign embarrassment because she is—get this—too wet. Pfft.

I found this website that has a hoarder-grade collection of these old pulp fiction covers. They’re absolutely fantastic. You’ll piss away a whole day trying to get through them. They’re not all smut titles (I said titles) but most of them have a bit of the old wink wink nudge nudge in them. They were the inspiration for this weeks panel. I should go ahead and write that book…

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Glorp Gum

Admittedly, the artwork on this site is a kind of pathetic. I did tell you I was classically untrained. I don't care too much though; I don't have a complex about it; it's just cartoons; nobody pays me to do this (nobody actually even sees it). But the cartoons are the gist of this blog; my hobby. So I surf other cartooners (legit word) and sometimes I stumble across a source with art so good it pisses me off. In particular, it pisses me off that mine is so bad by comparison (It's fine if you think it's bad without the comparison--you dick).

Enter Glorp Gum Company, my latest source of pained reverence. Visit the store to see the artwork. Visit the whole site, there are fabulous illustrations everywhere. Buy some stuff. Buy me some stuff.

Brad McGinty, master illustrator of all things Glorp has this very stylized way of drawing that just makes me ache with envy. He hijacked (purchased) the "Glorp" brand and the style from the 70's, a decade I'm still certain will never be cool again (stoopid polyester bell-bottom pants), but you don't need to be a pioneer of a style to be a master of it. I love love love this guy's work. It's reminiscent of old underground comix like The Checkered Demon, which is clearly a product of psychedelic hallucinogenic pharmaceutical nuggets shaken in one hand and then eaten like bar nuts.

All that being said, and given my unbreakable attachment to the Sucky Seventies and given my admiration for this kooky style of art, I submit to you this poor, poor attempt...

 ...at softcore portoonography (also a legit word).

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