Weekend C-SPAN Rodeo

I’m debating whether or not I want to waste my time and watch as much of the RNC as I did with the DNC. I just happened to flip onto C-SPAN and they’re covering a live feed of the protests in front of MSG. My only complaint is the cameramen seem to be gravitating towards the filthy hippies and moronic chanters a little too frequently. I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty sure there are a lot more people there than there were protesting here in Boston last month.

If you’re planning on watching any of the Republican Lite convention this weekend, I recommend watching the live feed of the protest. It will be like antacid for all the nauseous bullshit about “the party of inclusion” about to be spewed into your television sets.

The Legend of Tonya Fairy

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I was going through a bunch of the old comics and some other crap I’ve done and realized that I haven’t written any significant female characters. So here you go ladies, a depressing character to call your own, and a dental hygiene story to tell the young’ins that doesn’t involve the Cavity Creeps.

There’s not really any other commentary I can add. This is just some absurdist nonsense, created when I got a canker of my own. I cleaned up the original idea quite a bit. I was going to have the Canker Fairy be this hideous bit of trailer trash, with track marks and a hacking cough. And rather than magically giving children canker sores, she delivers them by sitting on their faces.

That obviously wasn’t going to happen in my comic strip. I’m not even comfortable with using the word ‘ass’ in a cartoon, and drawing lady parts makes me feel like a lech, so a magical creature who sits on children was completely out of the question. Maybe I should option the idea to Johnny Ryan.

I’m not sure if she’s supposed to be the Tooth Fairy’s failed little sister, or just an unrelated fairy. I will leave details like that up to the nerds who give a shit about such things.

Next Week: I turn into an old fart and BFW will become a cartoon about how I don’t fit into bathing suits.

Was I In The Mekong Delta?

Some of you may have been alarmed when there wasn’t a post about some obscure thing I saw on TV this weekend, like a documentary about the healing effects of cheese. In a bizarre turn of events, I left my bitter confines and traveled to the friendly ones in a different time zone.

This blog is not a diary and I’m not going to recount my mini-vacation. I just thought you nosy bastards would want to know where I was.

The trip did teach me one thing I think everyone should know: The internet has made reading the Times on an airplane very difficult. That thing is a bitch to open and fold without slapping the old lady sitting next to you in the face. By the time I got through the A section, I had it figured out, but for most of the flight everyone on the plane would have thought that I was an uninformed hillbilly on his first trip to the big city.

Also, wearing a Red Sox hat does not imply that I want to talk to you. Just because we happen to follow the same team doesn’t make you any less of a boring knob with a bloated wife and miserable children. Leave me alone.

I thought I’d miss some important campaign news, but nothing has changed. Even after they were thoroughly discredited by the Times, the Pleasure Boat Captains for Truth continue to dominate the airwaves. While they were all distracted by that, it turns out that overtime pay has been decimated. Oh well. The working class got 300 bucks a couple of years ago, so they should be fine.

Access Showbiz

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I’m in a hurry so I won’t come anywhere close to being as long-winded as I was last week. The title of this comic was swiped from this crappy BFW cartoon from last December.

If you don’t follow media criticism and/or have a life, you might not be aware of the Edward R. Murrow Awards for broadcast journalism. That’s where the Pat O’Brien joke comes from. His dopey excitement at getting Gwenyth Paltrow’s 500th interview of the day for her latest press junket epitomizes why shows like Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight make me want to kick little girls in the crotch.

That’s a poorly drawn David Cross with a triumphant play of rock over talentless wonderboy, Scott Stapp’s scissors. I’m not knocking celebrity game shows, their watchability depends entirely on the celebrities involved. Bravo’s Celebrity Poker has been pretty good at booking funny people, in addition to the usual C-list bottom feeders like Coolio. I was just trying to say that the viewing public as a whole would avoid something like Celebrity Rochambeau because it sounds “too French.”

You can go on a cruise with Faceman. And in ten years, you can get a handy from Ryan Seacrest in a Denny’s bathroom.

The title of “Rocker” is handed out way too generously. I was too lazy to do a search, but I’m sure there’s a reference to “Rocker Avril Lavigne” out there somewhere. Bon Jovi got my scorn because that battery commercial is on all the goddamn time.

The creator of the laugh track died last year. His first machine was really called “Laff Box.” The laugh track has never made a joke funny. The only time it has ever benefited a show was when it was added to the Flintstones, only because it made even less sense than the Great Gazoo.

I don’t like the Black Eyed Peas, but I do commend the addition of Stacey ‘Fergie’ Ferguson in a shameless grab for more MTV exposure. Here’s an interesting bit of trivia about the professional ass shaker; she was on the crappy eighties show, Kids Incorporated. This isn’t really trivia, but you might like to know that chicks with hip bones that stick out like shoulder blades are almost as gross as fatties. Almost.

Errata From The Future: Next week I use the word “legend” where “myth” would’ve been more appropriate. I will regret the error.

Snooze You Lose

I had a cartoon in the works about international douchebag, Ben Affleck, but kept putting it off. I try to avoid Boston-centric cartoons since I know I wouldn’t like reading a comic strip aimed at a Minneapolis audience. Now it will never exist because this week’s cover story in the Weekly Dig made all the points I wanted to make.

The last good thing Affleck has done was give me time off in junior high to watch his performances in the Voyage of the Mimi educational series.

Now I’ll have to get to work on my apology on behalf of Aerosmith, the band that should’ve died in a plane crash immediately after releasing Pump.

Any Entomologists In The Heezy?

What the hell is this? It’s attached to my house and I’ve never seen a spider this big in all of New England except for the zoo. Its web is gigantic, at least two feet across, just waiting to trap a small child.
The rest of the pictures didn’t come out on account of it being three in the morning and me being a scared little girl.

I’d like to know if removing this thing could kill me, or give me superpowers. Thanks.

Complaining About It Would Be Hacky

I have jury duty tomorrow. Luckily I’m in some kind of bizarre sleep pattern where I go to bed at 7pm and wake up at 3am, so the 8am time I’m supposed to show up won’t be a problem. That combined with some traveling and another project that needs to be finished in a matter of weeks will mean blogging will probably be light this week and next. I’m sure you will all miss the many wonderful ways in which I call various things douchebags.

While I’m handing out warnings, I can say on good authority that the cartoon after next will be one of those cliched alt-weekly comics that uses some sort of wacky premise to explain its half-assedness.

Last Minute VP Replacements

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You can see why I tried so hard to make last week’s cartoon about something other than politics. I came up with this during the DNC and didn’t want to draw Cheney two weeks in a row. It would’ve caused tremendous damage to my right hand, forcing me to permanently clench my pen like Bob Dole.

First let me say that I never believed Cheney was going to be dropped from the ticket. The idea was floated around by all the media harpies a couple of months ago when it became apparent that Cheney is about as popular as explosive diarrhea. Bush was the one on the ticket designed to appeal to voters. Dropping Cheney would’ve been a tremendous sign of weakness and anyone they picked would’ve looked like a shameless grab for votes.

Not that the Republicans are above anything shameless, just that particular ploy would be too obvious to the voters. With that said, this cartoon imagines who the RNC would pick should Cheney step down for “health reasons” sometime between now and the election.

McCain and Giuliani are the obvious choices. They’re the only well-known Republicans with significant respect and credibility among independents and Democrats. Although McCain hugging Bush without getting him to condemn the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth ads seriously hurts that credibility.

I don’t know very much about Giuliani. He didn’t run away or read My Pet Goat during the WTC attacks, and he did an excellent job during the ensuing weeks of craziness. And for that he should be praised. But everyone I know who lived in NYC under him thinks he’s a douche. However, I am familiar with the current NYC mayor, Michael Bloomberg, and while I have no idea how he governs, I do know that a building named after him is really far away and a bitch to get to at eight in the morning.

Those choices assume the Bush campaign is even interested in courting independents and Democrats. That’s obviously not happening this year. Bush is campaigning much more aggressively towards his base than he was in 2000 and hammering on wedge issues to increase their turnout rather than attract people in the middle. At this point, Alabamy Judge Roy Moore is a more likely veep candidate than anyone like Giuliani.

The six other candidates in the cartoon are all jokes. The only reason the first two aren’t is because I couldn’t think of two more funny choices. Ralph Nader is effectively already part of the Republican ticket. The majority of signatures he’s collected to get on various states’ ballots have been gathered by Republicans. They’ve even paid the homeless to collect signatures for him.

I won’t explain how a vote for Nader is a vote for Bush. I’m pretty sure all of you are aware of that. If you still need convincing, Jen Sorensen of Slowpoke has a couple of excellent cartoons about Naderites and explains it in her blog, and she’s much nicer about it than I could ever be.

Bill Meikle is a real guy. He portrays Ben Franklin in many of the touristy sections of Boston. I’m not sure if he’s employed by the city or just a guy who likes to dress and talk that way. I don’t take the T too often, but he sat next to me twice, in full Franklin costume. He even tried using his cell phone. Being from the 18th century, he didn’t realize there was no service in the subway. Having a guy who looks like Franklin on the ticket would be an excellent way to counteract Kerry’s resemblance to the twenty dollar bill.

The Bush Administration values blastocysts so much more than humans, they might as well run one as a candidate. As an added bonus, no blastocyst has ever presided over $7.5 million in securities fraud.

Would you vote against an adorable little girl? I certainly wouldn’t.

It’s not as clear as I wanted it to be, but Ricardo Cheni is supposed to be Cheney in a really crappy disguise. My artistic skills aren’t too great and I wanted to point that out before someone accused me of drawing a really lame Speedy Gonzales Mexican stereotype. They’re not doing nearly as well with the Hispanic vote as they did in 2000, so they’re bound to resort to some kind of cheesy pandering that is almost this blatant before the election.

I am fascinated with the media’s fascination with missing pregnant women. I never understood how they’re more newsworthy than thousands of missing children. As a bonus to those of you who made it this far in this epic post, here is a BFW cartoon I did on the subject over a year and a half ago. It is not very good, but proves that I wasn’t lying about my fascination with the media’s fixation on misplaced pregnant ladies.

The media’s obsession with covering the horse race of the election and missing pregnant women would guarantee a “Bush/Where’s Stacy?” ticket with virtually round the clock coverage. If I thought of it sooner, I would’ve made this week’s strip entirely about this last premise.

Thanks for reading this long ass post, or skipping to the end. I’m not the boss of you. Do what you want.

Thar He Escapes Trademark Infringement!

Georg from Round recently pointed me to a Globe article about New Hampshire’s crown jewel. Yoken’s is going out of business, despite prominent advertisement on every Big Fat Whale page.

Besides losing business to chain restaurants and lagging tourism, the owner cryptically mentions a mysterious deal that he couldn’t refuse:

He won’t reveal the specifics of the deal. “Anything that goes awry could harpoon the deal and we just want to keep things on an even keel,” he said.

I have no idea what he could be talking about, but if you’re anything like me, you imagined him speaking in an accent exactly like The Simpsons’ Sea Captain.

My guess is some eccentric millionaire had made plans to buy that kickass sign. Or some trendy NYC club is going to purchase it and bathe mojito swilling singles in its heavenly pink neon glow.

If this kind of “economic recovery” continues, even the Leaning Tower of Pizza could disappear.

The Irony of Rumsfeld

Rumsfeld is skeptical of the creation of an intelligence director. I am as well and always assumed it was the President’s job to evaluate information from all the agencies. In his comments he made a rather odd quote:

“This is a very complicated question and we’re in the middle of a war, and if you’re going to tear down what is, you darn well better be rather certain about what you’re going to put in its place.”

What I don’t think he realizes is that the same wisdom applies to tearing down a nation. They had no plan for the war’s aftermath, short of handing the reins over to Chalabi as quickly as possible. If that plan had any possibility of success before, it certainly disintegrated this week. Even if the most recent charges are fabricated, which they probably are, it is obvious that he was never welcome in Iraq and never had a shot at being installed as the Iraqi leader.