Party Story

I went to a terrific party last night at the Bowery Hotel in NYC. It was a record release party for Rhett Miller's latest solo album. Rhett is the lead singer/songwriter for Old 97s, one of my fave groups, and his solo albums are just as good.
















We met a few years ago after one of his shows and discovered we'd been fans of each other's work for years. We've been friends ever since. Rhett is much taller than I, but he tactfully knelt down beside me for this photo.














Here we are with Rhett's dentist, Rich Weiss. He's a fun dude, as you can tell from the pic. He reports that although people regularly tell him that dentists have a very high suicide rate, he feels no such inclinations.

Also in attendance was one of my favorite comedians, Paul F. Tompkins. He's a very friendly fellow who spent a good long while chatting with me, assuring me he was familiar with my cartoons and never letting on for a second that he wished I would go away. A real mensch.














I gave him my contact info, if I never hear from him, I'll know he is also a good pretender.

Paul arrived with his lovely fiance, Janey ( Janie? Janee? Jay-knee? I didn't ask her how she spells it) and his talented comedian friend, Todd Barry, seen here in the background.














Todd was nice, too, although I spent more time talking to Paul and didn't get a picture with Todd. I felt bad because he was in "The Wrestler" and I haven't seen that movie yet. He's also been in a couple of episodes of "Flight of the Conchords," one of my favorite shows in the world of television and which makes me very jealous of him. Afraid that the jealously would show and possibly lead to a donnybrook, I steered clear of Todd for the most part.

Janeane Garafalo joined us a for a couple of hours, whom CHNW and I know from the benefit comedy shows she's done with us for Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary. She's a peach, and a brilliant and funny one, at that.

Toward the end of the evening, Rhett played some of his new songs and everyone was richer for the experience. After the official party was over, CHNW and I avoided the "after party" and went home, because I've been sick with some kind of hideous head cold. If the aforementioned celebs get sick in the coming week or so, you'll know it was my fault. I warned them to wash their hands and not to kiss me, but celebrities never listen.

Rolling Stone gave Rhett's new album 4 stars, buy it now.

Tiki Tock, Tiki Tock

(Click dat Tiki, mon, n mek it large.)

Today's Bizarro is brought to you by INSANE Fun!!!

A while back my friend and very talented colleague, Wayno of Pittsburgh (current home of the Stanley Cup!), offered me a few gags, which I snapped up like a UFO at a hillbilly convention. This tiki one, I believe, is my favorite. I love both the imagery of a bar full of tiki heads and the double entendre.

When I was in my twenties, a good friend of mine and I went to Mexico City. After dinner one evening, we saw a kitschy-looking bar with photos of burlesque dancers out front and decided to pop in for the show. We were early and got a table close to the front. As we drank our beers and waited for the show to start, other patrons filled the club. Something about one of them didn't seem quite right, so I looked around at the others in the room and realized that every person dressed like a woman was a man in drag. I whispered to my friend, "Dude, this is a transvestite bar." We had a quiet laugh, finished our beers and left. Being horny young heteros in our twenties, neither of us really wanted to stay for the show.

Recently, my friend Cliff and I were looking for a quiet pub in which to discuss our book project and came across a suitable candidate. We sidled up to the bar and ordered a couple of beers. After talking for a few minutes, we both noticed at about the same time that we were in a lesbian bar. We laughed it off and stayed for another beer. Most of the local gals were fine with us being there, but one gave us a little trouble and threatened to rough us up. When I began crying and Cliff fainted, she backed down. I think she just wanted to prove that she was more of a man than either of us. She could have just asked.

The Wonderful Wayno is having an art show in soon. You should go look at it with your eyes, put your hand in his and shake gently. As an added bonus, if you tell him you found out about the show on this blog, he'll give you a buttocks massage you'll never forget!

Reuben Weekend 2009

Many of you will not be interested in this at all, but here's a quick post about the National Cartoonists Society convention last weekend in Hollywood. I didn't get many pictures, but here are a few.

This first pic is a few of us hanging out in the hotel bar at the Renaissance Hollywood. Which overlooks the old Grauman's Chinese Theater, now called something stupid.











From left to right: Mark Tatuilli (Lio), Jenny Robb (assistant curator of the Cartoon Library at Ohio State University), Stephan Pastis (Oysters Preceeding Pigs), Me (Garfield, Marmaduke), Jim Horowitz (creator of the classic television series, Gunsmoke.)

Here are a few of us at lunch at CHNW's and my favorite mid-LA spot, Real Food Daily. Our other favorite restaurant in all of LA is Madeleine Bistro in Tarzana. There are lots of other good ones, too, though, so don't nobody get offended.









Me (Btam Btam Btam), CHNW (Ashley), Ralph Smith (CHNW's dad, editorial cartoonist and gag writer to the stars), David Silverman (director of The Simpsons.) Cartoonists like to make funny faces for photos.

Here's a shot of us at one of the many cocktail parties. I've been a fan of the guy's all my life and a friend of his for about 15 years. He's a total sweetheart, as you can see from the look on my face.












Sergio Aragones (Mad Magazine, etc.), Jenny Robb (Cartoon Library at OSU), Me (H.R. Pufnstuf)

This brings us to the formal cocktail party outside the awards dinner on Saturday night. Open bar, fancy clothes, lovely weather.













Fred Piraro (my pop), Carol Lee Piraro (my ma), Me (with a cigar stub in my mouth, not a huge, brown swolen lip), CHNW (in a bird and flower headdress of her own design and construction), Ralph Smith (Ashley's dad, ambassador to Tonga, shown here standing on a chair.)

Still at the same cocktail party, taken by a photographer who doesn't know the rule about not having people face directly into the setting sun for the shot.












CHNW and my good friend and business partner, Rey Ortega. You can see the crazy headdress even better here.

Last but not least, here's a shot of Rey as a cyclops.














I'll post more pics later in the week as people send them to me, if there are any good ones and if anyone's interested.

Ciao for now.

Right to Reflect Arms

Bizarro is brought to you today by Excellence in Engineering.

I've been lagging a bit behind in my posts this week because I'm busy trying to get my deadlines covered for an upcoming trip to the left coast. Next weekend is the National Cartoonists Society's annual convention and awards dinner, and this year it is in Hollywood. We have it in a different city each year, a tradition started a little over 25 years ago. Before that, it was always in New York, since it started in the early 1900s. Can't remember the year, no time to look it up.

The convention is fun and mostly an excuse for those of us in this relatively rare business to get together to drink more than we normally do and commiserate about deadlines, editors, the failing newspaper industry, and whichever of our lousy colleagues just got a TV or movie deal even though our work is WAAAAY funnier than theirs.

We also dress up in tuxedos and evening gowns, give each other awards for various types of cartooning and pretend we're at the Oscars. Yes, I've worn an evening gown as well as a tux, as have many other cartoonists.

The convention isn't as wacky as it many might think, though. Most professional cartoonists are fairly nerdy introverts with a few notable exceptions like Mort Walker (Beetle Baily) who is high on mushrooms most of the time and has been dressing like a Roman centurion since the late 80s.

Save My Reputation

World-famous cartoonist, Dan Piraro, at a Halloween party in 1991 wearing a costume of his own design, holding a baby who was not. (of his own design)

Okay, I'm putting myself on the line here by telling you I'm involved in an auction. I say "on the line" because if nobody bids to have lunch with me, I'll look very unpopular, at least with people who have easy access to NYC and are willing to pay over a $200 to have lunch with somebody who is not a prostitute or an elected official. Not including food.

Come to think of it, that's seems pretty steep. Now I feel a lot of pressure to be enchanting and fabulous at lunch, if someone does bid. Why do I get myself into these things?

It's for a good cause, so bid away, even if you have no intention of meeting me for lunch. Here's my auction: Lunch with a Loser
Here's the other auctions for the same charity: People More Famous Than Dan Piraro

Prehistoric Holiday Fun

Bizarro is brought to you today by the fine folks at Prehistoric Autos of Hollywood.

Judging by the emails I got, this was a very popular cartoon. I'm sorry to say I didn't write it, it's another idea from my strange friend, Derek. Sometimes I change his ideas a bit to make a cartoon, but this one is pretty much just as he wrote it. My only contribution is the drawing. Many thanks to Derek for his continuing input.

Today is St. Patrick's Day. All over America there are drunks wearing various forms of green, from everyday items of clothing to vomit. I'm partly Irish on my mother's side, but haven't celebrated St. Pat's Day in many years. I used to love this holiday in elementary school, when we made great sport of inflicting painful pinches on the poor slobs who forgot to wear green that day. My mom, who is a notoriously good sport with more than her share of a wacky streak, would let my 9 sisters and I draw a green shamrock on our cheek with what we called in those days a "Flair pen." Seems tame by today's standards, but in the Catholic school I attended in the sixties, that was as outrageous as going to school in drag. Oh, the memories.

My first inkling that it was St. Patty's today came this afternoon while on one of my rare forays outside Bizarro International Headquarters in Brooklyn when I saw a man in a green Scottish getup carrying a bass drum with a big green shamrock on it. I'm not sure what kilts have to do with the Irish, but he seemed to be having fun.

CHNW and I are celebrating quietly at home in our traditional manner, painting potatoes green and hiding them in tailpipes around the 'hood.

Homeland Security

Bizarro has been brang to you today by Hometown News.

Sorry I have been remiss in my posting duties for the past few days, I have been visiting the home front in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Had a ding dang devil of a time getting here, we made the mistake of booking our flight on Delta through Atlanta, something we had sworn we would never do again about five years ago when stranded there for 7 hours. Our flight was late leaving NYC because of weather in Atlanta, but we were assured our connecting flight to the Indian Territory would also be delayed and we would have no trouble making it.

Like the serpent in the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, they lied. Our flight arrived in Atlanta one hour later than scheduled, our connecting flight to Tulsa actually left five minutes before scheduled. Lo and behold, there were no more flights that night, so we had the pleasure of spending the night at an airport hotel without any luggage. Did Delta pay for this inconvenience? Certainly not. They don't pay for delays caused by weather. How do we know our delay was actually caused by weather and not some ineptitude on their part? They assured us it was so.

Next morning, we arose at dawn to grab an early flight to T-Town, I was scheduled to perform at a fund raiser brunch that very morning. We arrived on time and rushed to the baggage claim area. As the bags began to be shat out of the bowels of the airport, we and our fellow passengers could not help but notice they were accompanied by an unusual amount of moisture. All the bags were soaked through, completely, as though submerged in a tank at Sea World overnight. Nearest anyone could tell, the rocket scientists at Delta's Atlanta baggage handling unit had left our luggage out in the rain all night long.

CHNW and I arrived at the brunch not wearing the clothes we had brought for the occasion, as it was dripping wet, but in the crumbled comfy crap we had worn for the flight. Joy.

Our troubles ended here, fortunately. The fund raiser was wonderful, everyone was nice as cherry pie, the audience was happy and tweaked on mimosas, and the show went great. After, we went to my parents house and dumped all out clothes into the dryer. Thankfully, we didn't have any "dry clean only" clothing in our suitcases or Delta would be buying us some new clothes. (Yes, I'm sure it's real easy file that claim and receive compensation.)

I began the show Saturday morning with the story of my travel woes, accompanied by a huge graphic project on the wall, "DELTA SUCKS!"

Today I visited my old high school and spoke to a few hundred kids in the auditorium. I mostly passed on wisdom such as, "it's true, you will never need algebra," and "the planet will no longer be suitable for human inhabitation in the very near future, so don't worry about those grades." They're good kids and I have no doubt that many will manage to stay out of jail for a good long time.

From there, I swung by my niece's elementary school on the other end of town to tell the first and second grade classes to "just say no to drugs." Many seemed to take my advice to heart, others looked a little too glassy-eyed to understand what I was saying.

I will likely not post again until Thursday morning. Thanks for your readership, see you then.
Reporting live from The Coffee House on Cherry Street, Tulsa, Oklahoma, this is
Danny "Chuckwagon" Piraro

Club Monkeyshines

Bizarro is brought to you today by Eddy the Drillhead.

Here's a cartoon I have not much to say about. It isn't great, it isn't awful, it's just a cartoon.

Instead, let's talk about a party I was dragged to by CHNW the other night. We have some friends that run with the fabulous people and every now and then we accompany them to a fabulous affair, the sort I don't feel any more comfortable at than a monster truck rally in the swamps of Louisiana.

Apparently it was a supermodel's birthday (who shall remain nameless for legal reasons), and it was being held in the VIP section of an exclusive club I've never heard of. When we approached the address, there was a healthy-sized crowd outside begging to get past the velvet ropes like orphans at Scrooge's door. We got to pass through the crowd, Moses-parting-the-Red-Sea style because we were on the supermodel's list. What a great feeling it is to have your superior desirability publicly acknowledged in the presence of the less desirable.

Once inside, our skeletons, organs, tissues, entire bodies were treated to a thorough shaking. The "DJ" (a person with a laptop and an apptitude for lipreading), was playing music much louder than the American Medical Association recommends, but fully conforming to the National Confederacy of Clubs' required 85% bass–15% treble mix. While this is not good for one's prospects of hearing without an electronic aid beyond the age of 40, it is very good at curing constipation, as the long bathroom lines attested. And if the vibrations in the air were not enough to shake that chicken-fried steak and chili cheese fries loose, leaning against a railing or wall most certainly would. Some people even seemed to be spitting out fillings and crowns.

Following are some of my favorite cellphone pics from the joyous occasion.

Pic number one is of the unnamed former supermodel herself, raising a hand and a glass. The vantage point may appear as though I was seated when shooting this, but in fact, I was standing on my tiptoes. She and all her model friends in attendance, were well above average height. It was not unlike being in a room full of telephone poles with wigs. Georgeous telephone poles, granted, from what I could see from the ground.

The lighting was not conducive to photography, but every now and then a flash from the strobes would hit at the right time and I'd get something. Here is a pic of a bunch of her model friends, many of whom you've seen in magazines, sitting behind $35 bottles of vodka for which they likely paid around a grand each. Near as I could tell, they sat most of the time for fear of their arms or legs snapping off.

Here, the unnamed model fends off the advances of a male specimen of mating age. Damn, she's good. Her model pal behind her is leaning against a railing, preparing for her next visit to the restroom.







The VIP section is in a raised area overlooking the commoners, as well it should be. There were thousands of crystal balls hanging from the ceiling that catch the strobes in a most mind-bending way. Or perhaps it was just the effects of the $1000 vodka.

Overall, we were there for around 30 minutes before fighting our way toward the door and being squirted out onto the street like watermelon seeds. As we left, I cautioned the peasants still eagerly waiting in line that it might not be all it's cracked up to be, but they did not seem to heed my warning.

After so much fabulousness, I was happy to hop into a cab and head back to my bat cave. It may be months before I leave the house again.

Super Suits

(To make this cartoon a big, honkin', whopper that you can see up close, click the image.)

Bizarro is brought to you today by Big Blue Building Bumpers.

A reader (can't remember who now) suggested something about dinosaurs in spaceships or something (can't remember what now) and I ended up with this cartoon. The funnest part of this drawing by far was rendering the dinos in spacesuits. Even though the big one wouldn't actually fit inside that saucer, I took some artistic license because I wanted to use a saucer similar to the one I use for my little alien icon.

Today was my last day in Indy and I'm heading home tomorrow morning. My performance today went very well: nice-sized crowd in spite of the arctic weather, I did a good show in spite of my 130 degree temperature/snotty nose/sneezing/convulsions/halucinations/numb extremities (I came down with some dreaded Midwestern cold on Friday night and have suffered greatly), and all the books that the museum gift shop ordered were sold.

Here are a few more highlights from my week here.

The museum brought in three other guys for the Saturday panel on Native Americans in comics. One of them was a comic book cartoonist named Steve Sanderson, a Cree Indian from Vancouver Island. As you can tell from this picture, at 7 feet tall, Steve is a few inches taller than I am at 6', 6".

The other two guys were comics writer, John Ostrander, and
Michael Sheyahshe, a Caddo indian and writer of a book about Native Americans in the comics. They were all great guys with plenty of interesting things to say about comics and they all went out for Karaoke Saturday night and had a big damn time. I was too ill to join them, unfortunately, so I stayed in my hotel room and blew my nose until I fell asleep.

One of the faithful readers of this blog made a special trip in her speedboat down to the museum midweek and visited with me for a bit. I was most impressed with her parallel parking skills. Thanks for dropping by, Heather.

Just when I thought no more fun could be had in Indianapolis, the program director of the museum and person responsible for dragging...er...bringing me out here, Pete Brown, took us all to the Children's Museum where they were having a comics show. At the show, I saw this children's Superman suit from the early 1960s. This is especially meaningful to me because I HAD THIS SAME SUIT when I was three or four years old! I wore it around the house and yard, tried to fly, blocked bullets and trains with my chest, the whole shebang. Unlike the sissy-children of today, back then you had to provide your own muscles. I don't know what happened to my suit but this is the first time I've seen one since I gave mine up at the age of 14.

My medical alarm just went off which means my heart has stopped beating again, so I'll sign off now before the paramedics arrive. Wish me luck.

Indy Blogosphere

The following is a special report from Indianapolis, Indiana, where I am embedded at the Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art.

It is cold here where I have been since Monday, as one might gather from my swell lounging outfit pictured here. Even hanging around my luxurious hotel suite at the Residence Inn Marriott, I wear a mock turtle neck sweater, long johns, and some furry socks. I don't even take these off to sleep or shower, for fear that my pulse may drop below 40 bpm.

Meanwhile, the museum itself is very cool and the fine folks who brought me here are fine folks, indeed. All in all, I'm having a swell time.

Here is a list of the good and bad things I have learned since I got here:

Good: The Eiteljorg Museum is much larger and of higher quality than I expected. Before I came, I figured it to be some small, 7/11-sized outfit in a strip mall with a few tomahawks, moccasins and cowboy paintings. In truth, the architecture of the impressively enormous building is top notch, and the immense collection of art and artifacts inside is astounding. That's a real school bus in this picture, not a Matchbox model.

Bad: I had to get up before dawn to go talk to some high school kids in nearby Bloomington. The kids were cool and the talk went well, but come on. Dawn? I took this picture with my phone because I was alarmed at how much it looked like sunset, something I usually watch while eating breakfast.


Good: A giant made of bricks attacked the city some time ago and Peyton Manning defeated him and buried him up to his neck in front of an apartment building near downtown.








Bad: I became trapped inside a vending machine, the purpose of which I am unsure of.

















Good: I found a chicken made of plastic hair curlers.















Bad: I found a skyscraper with missing walls. No wonder there was nobody inside it, as I have mentioned, it is cold here.











Good: The kids I spoke to at Bloomington New Tech High School could not tell I was roaring drunk.

(Note to parents, school board officials, etc: I was NOT roaring drunk, nor even tipsy while at the school. Nor was I high on any other drug, illegal or prescription. The previous comment is a JOKE made solely by the author of this blog and DOES NOT represent the thoughts or opinions of Bloomington New Tech High School officials, faculty,administrators, students, PTA, parents, relatives, neighbors, clergymen, or pets of anyone even vaguely affiliated with anything anywhere. The faces of the students in the picture have been blurred to protect them from identity theft.)




Also Good: I found out from this old Indian print that I might have some Native American blood in me. I may even be the descendant of a chief. Very cool.

If you're within a 10-hour drive of Indy, you should come to the museum Saturday and Sunday and check it out. Saturday I'll be with a couple other cartoonists doing a panel discussion about Native Americans in the comics, and Sunday I'll be doing my own comedy talk about my Cowboy and Indian cartoons from the past couple decades of Bizarro.

Yee haw, yippy-i-o-ki-aye. (sp?)

Three Clowns in the Fountain

Bizarro is sponsored today by Dream Dates Internet Singles Service.

Again, in an effort to catch up on some of the cartoons I didn't post while I was away, here is an assortment of three that I liked from the past few weeks.

The subject of clowns is always a fertile valley of cartoon material. Like many people, I've been creeped out by clowns since I was a small child. I never thought they were funny, from my earliest memories they seemed to be strangers attempting to conceal their identity in a particularly conspicuous way. Even as a toddler, I felt that someone who willingly dressed and behaved in this manner in public must not be trusted.

I do like the more sophisticated, understated clowns one finds in shows like Cirque du Soleil, however. They are a different breed altogether from the average birthday party clown.

This next cartoon occured to me while contemplating New Year's celebrations. I like this angle because it isn't about the old man/baby with tophat, nor about resolutions, the two most popular new year topics in cartoons.

As I suspected, a few days later I heard from a man whose wife is a Jewish, Chinese-American and he wanted to get a print of this cartoon or buy the original, I can't remember which. I don't think I've answered his email yet, I'm so far behind I may never catch up. I'll get to it soon, I hope.

CHNW and I don't usually go out on New Year's Eve anymore because it is crowded, expensive, and loud. Plus, what, really, is there to celebrate? An arbitrary moment in time. Yay.

But this year we were invited by close friends to a 1920s Berlin-style cabaret show at a small venue in DUMBO. (A very cool part of Brooklyn not far from my place which stands for Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass and looks like this.) It was a fun evening and not too crowded, expensive, or loud. Everyone was encouraged to dress for the period, which was fun, too. Here are two shots from my iPhone, and some more from a better camera.


Lastly, I give you this take on Santa. Again, I like it because I managed to tap into a Santa idea that (to my knowledge) has not been done before. Considering the sheer volume of cartoons that have been published in our language, it is difficult to hit on original ideas and particularly satisfying to come up with a new angle on a well-worn cliche.

I've done a few "Santa in off-season" jokes, as has every other cartoonist, but I've not seen one about Santa before he was Santa. I'm sure there are some, I just hope nobody has done a witness protection program Santa gag before. If they have, I'm sure someone will post it in the comments section. (sigh)

Along the same lines, a reader emailed me to tell me that the knitting needles in this cartoon are upside down. She was right, of course. A cartoonist can't get away with anything these days.

Thanks for reading. You are my sunshine.

Hawah Yee?

Readers, my dear, sweet, innocent, delicious, readers,

I'm far from home at the moment, taking some much-needed time off. If you read my previous posts from the past week or so, you'll see that I'm in Hawaii, where I've been engaged to do a couple of comedy talks about my funny funny eating habits.

To make room in the deadline-riddled landscape that is my daily hell, I had to work 15+ hour days for a week or more and nearly died of death from it. Now I'm in a funky little retro 50s style motel in Maui looking at palm trees outside and CHNW inside, buzzing around the room trying to decide which bikini to wear. Not a bad view wherever I look.

Sorry I won't be posting cartoons until Jan 15. I really enjoy this blog, it's one of my favorite things each day. But as my doctor told me just last month, "If you don't slow down you're going to need a new pair of shoes."

He's from Czech Republic and not all of his sayings translate very well.

Porn Star Encounter

While cleaning the employee lounge at Bizarro International Headquarters, a member of my janitorial crew came across this photo of me and Ron Jeremy, possibly the world's most famous male porn star.

We met at a party at the Playboy Mansion and though I had no idea who he was, he is a big fan of mine and begged me to take a picture with him. I'm a friendly, humble guy, in spite of my tremendous celebrity, so I accepted.

Mr. Jeremy is mostly retired from porn now, but in the 70s, he was the king. I've not actually seen any of his films and am not even sure if they are available on DVD, having mostly been filmed in the daguerreotype technology of the day.

Like pretty much all famous male porn stars, his claim to fame is the result of a singular genetic condition that, shall we say, sometimes makes it difficult to find slacks that fit properly.

I, too, have trouble finding slacks that fit, but it is because my wallet is so hugely stuffed with money.

Pride

Last night was an amazing experience. I spent the evening in a local Brooklyn restaurant/bar with a large group of friends and several hundred others, being swept away by wave after wave of ecstasy as new states were announced in the Obama column. After the past two elections, it was so hard to believe that it would not somehow be stolen away at the last minute, but as the evening wore on, people began to lower their guard.

When CNN called it for Obama, the entire city erupted in a roar. The bar we were in was on the second floor, with a rooftop patio overlooking the street below. Inside, hundreds of people were packed together, arms raised above their heads, screaming and jumping and laughing and crying and screaming some more. Outside, the streets were suddenly filled with people, cars, buses, bikes, and noise of all kinds. It was a scene from the overthrow of a dictator's regime in a third-world country but without the violence. It was like the city had won the World Series or the Super Bowl, but without the violence.

Makeshift bands marched down the street banging on pots and pans, cars honked incessantly, three times in a row for O-ba-ma. Flags were being waved out of car windows, people stood up through their sunroofs waving signs. And this was just a small neighborhood street in Brooklyn. Times Square must have been amazing.

Every person, without fail, had a grin from ear to ear. For hours, people just roamed the streets hugging, shouting, honking, laughing, lighting firecrackers, celebrating with strangers. I can't adequately express how wonderful it was to be a part of such a giant leap forward for this country, and how grateful I am that I was in a city that can truly appreciate it en masse. I feel for my friends in states that voted for McCain, with only a handful of people to celebrate with.

Two other victories I am excited about are the passage of Prop 2 in California, an historic vote to ban certain cruel farming practices, and the success of Question 3 in Massachussetts, which bans dog racing in that state.

All around the country, people stood up and said "enough with the bullsh*t." For the first time in many years, I'm proud to be an American. Time to take the Canadian flag off my backpack.

Comedy in NYC

Hey, comedy-loving adults in the NY area:

My good friend and unbelievable comic genius, Will Franken, is performing one of his surreal one-man shows at Ars Nova in Manhattan next Wednesday night. This is a rare treat and one that, should you attend, you will be so glad I told you about that you will send me a nice fruit basket. I'm serious, I've seen this guy perform over a dozen times and it is never any less amazing than the time before. He is a phenomenon, no other way to put it.

Do it now.

I'll be there. If you see me, say hello.

Comedy Shows!

Yo, check it, mah homey peeps and niggahs. I'm doing FOUR comedy shows in NoCal in a couple of weeks and all of them will sell out fast (because I am wishing very very hard) so don't tarry. Buy a block of tickets and sell them to your friends!

Click on these images to biggerize them and see details.















OAKLAND, CA
Tickets for the Oakland show can be purchased at the theater starting Aug 27, or from here now: BrownPaperTickets.com/event/41550
Johnny Steele and Michael Capozzola performed with me last time I was in SF and both of them killed. There were very few people left alive by the time I got to the stage and they were already weak and easy to finish off.


SAN FRANCISCO
At the Purple Onion this time I'll be performing TWO shows with Brian Malow. This guy is a longtime friend and a total pro. He'll show me up, big time. I should actually be opening for him but it's my show so tough monkeys. I'll be doing different material than I did last time I was at the PO, so come back again if you saw the last show. And bring a hundred friends. Tickets here: brownpapertickets.com/event/41585


SACRAMENTO
Here's a show that is totally different than anything I've done before. It's an entire evening of art and performances speaking out against animal cruelty in the circus. But don't let that put you off. The artists are invitation-only and very talented. The performers are the sort you'd see at a burlesque show or a real circus, (but all are willing participants, unlike elephants and tigers.) I'll be exhibiting a painting of mine done specially for this show (which is really rare, for reals) and doing some stand-up comedy about the subject. You're sure to enjoy the entire experience and I won't accept no for an answer. Info here: www.abitchinspace.com/

After each of these shows, I'll be selling my books and trading cards and signing stuff and posing for pictures with you and itching to get outside and smoke a cigar. So join me and spread the word!

Sandy Eggo Commy Con

Imagine 525,701 square feet of interior space crammed to the gills with chattering primates dressed as monsters, spacemen, toys, food, animals, heroes, villains, murderers, entertainers, historical figures, and nerds. Now imagine paying a lot of money to wait in line in the sun for hours to shuffle amongst them. That's pretty much the Comic Con.

There are also millions of really cool products to peruse and buy.

This year was my third trip the the world's biggest comics convention in the past five years. It was a typical experience, if one can such a thing about such an unnatural event. Here are some of my thoughts and pictures.



Paralyzed with fear as I prepare to cross the street onto the convention center's grounds. I waited through three lights, breathing deeply and reciting a mantra. That didn't work, so I took a couple of big swigs from my flask and headed in.














Since I'm a professional cartoonist, I get to walk past the line to get in, which is a true blessing
on a hot, muggy day like this one. You can't imagine the smell of a person in a Wookie suit after they've baked in the sun for an hour.

Out front I ran into what appeared to be the human embodiment of the continent of Africa. I asked him what his costume was supposed to be and he said, "Basically, I just always dress like this." Why not?


Unlike the first comic book convention I went to in the late 80s, there is currently no shortage of good-looking women and at these events. Here is a woman attempting quite successfully to restore my affection for America in the wake of the Neo-Con Invasion. Her boyfriend is not a ballet dancer, as I assumed from his tights, but something called a "Batman." He denied having sonar, eating insects, or pooping upside down, so I'm not sure where the "bat" part comes in.





This young woman claimed to be representing the season of autumn, and yet nothing about her suggested impending death or dormancy. A friend of mine said he wanted to wait until her leaves fell off and I reprimanded him severely.


This fetching lass didn't really know what her costume was about, but she was a Bizarro fan and wanted to take a picture with me. Having lost my soul to photography years ago, I have no fear of snapshots and relented. After, she gave me her business card, which was a color photo on both sides of her posing pin-up style on a bed, clad only in a thong, her name and contact info below. I asked what the card had to do with her business – if she was a model or exotic dancer for instance – but she assured me that she was nothing of the sort. "That's just my card."


One of my favorite costumes this year was this sexy, big-headed cat with oven mitts. She didn't speak a lot of English, but had apparently practiced saying "hello" to herself and had that down pat.





These two did not arouse my patriotism as well as the "Batman's" girlfriend did, but they were exceptionally sincere and assured me that they still believe elections in this country are fair and honest. This kind of youthful idealism is always so inspiring.







This deformed, hairless child broke my heart and I could not resist kissing him. (or her) His/her reaction was minimal, but I think I detect a smile.















No super villain-themed event would be complete without an animatronic of Rush Limbaugh. It was kind of them to place a bowl for those conventioneers who, like me, could not keep their lunch down at the sight of him.














An embarrassing thing happened mid afternoon when a creature that I think is supposed to be one of the Golden Girls stole my hat.

















Fortunately, a kooky ninja-borderguard-cable-repairman guy got it back from her (him, it?) but then refused to give it back to me.














Eventually, these two un-costumed super heroes retrieved my hat by pointing into the distance and yelling, "It's William Shatner!" at which point the nerdo negra took off running and my hat flew off.


Safely back to my table, I sold books, Bizarro Trading Cards, personalized sketches, prints and some of my old Led Zeppelin 8 track tapes that I no longer listen to. All of these products, with the exception of the 8 track tapes which sold out, can be found here.