Rest in War: The Iraq War

Electric Six – Clusterfuck

I started this little comic strip right after 9-11, not for political reasons, but because those attacks made me acknowledge my own mortality. There was no way I was going to spend years in a shitty engineering job, saving up to pursue to my real dreams, only to let some asshole kill me before I got to do any of the shit I actually wanted to do. Sure, it was Al Qaeda who brought that to my attention, but all sorts of assholes can end your life before you even get it started: Cancer, car accidents, wicked-fast adult-onset diabetes, etc. …, so get going, kids!

So I started drawing dumb, poorly-drawn cartoons about jerking-off and eating chicken wings. Simultaneously, America turned into a crazy jingoistic collection of shitheads. First the Afghanistan War, then the totally phony run-up to the Iraq War sparked my latent Massachusetts’ liberalism into full-blown opinionating. But don’t get me wrong; even though I’m now part of it, I still hate the media for the role they played in starting the war they’d rather forget. Occupy is great and all, but WAY more people took to the streets in opposition to that invasion; it just didn’t fit the media’s narrative at the time.

Anyway, that war ended yesterday, to no great fanfare, even though it has provided the political backdrop of my (totally fucked-up, but for unrelated reasons) adult life. And as my generation slowly ossifies into old-folks, I figured I should throw this out onto the Internet before I become an old guy with a mustache who champions wars for no reason at all.

Obviously I’ll never become the Mustache, but if any mall-heirs want to debate the issue, over steaks and shrimp-smoothies (That’s what you richies eat, right?) at the disgusting strip mall you inherited, I’m hungry enough to entertain you.

Here’s a  link to the Electric Six album the above-song came from if you want to buy it.

3 thoughts on “Rest in War: The Iraq War”

  1. I wish someone would go back in time and kidnap Friedman before he got a column in the NY times, send him back to 1977, Van Nuys, where he would HAVE to become a porn star with that moustache, and then he could die of drug overdose/AIDS/tawdry unsolved murder.

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