Land That Fashion Forgot

(To see a more huge version of this cartoon, click the right bug's left antenna.)

Bizarro today is brought to you in part by a grant from the Alliance of Unpopular Choir Members.

Here is a little drawing for the combover wearers among us, especially those with bugs in their hair. I wondered when I drew this if enough people would get that the scene was taking place on someone's head. Bizarro appears in other countries, and also I wonder if the term will translate sufficiently there. But I did it anyway, because that's the kind of crazy devil-may-care action-adventure type guy I am. It's also just another of the many reasons I'm not a millionaire. Not mainstream enough.

To help the image along, I added this title panel to the cartoon, but many newspapers don't use this header panel when they print my Sunday cartoon (because of space constraints), so it probably wasn't much help.

I've never understood the combover's appeal. How many people honestly think it fools others into thinking they still have hair there? How many think it is not fooling anyone, but looks better than bald skin? How many are actually fooling themselves into thinking there is still hair there?

I'm not a guy with a skull full of fur myself, so I am not without sympathy for the naked pated. Personally, I loathe both combovers and the look of very thin hair, so I've committed to shaving my head if my remaining hair gets thin enough that it looks unappealing to me. I have no idea how I'll look bald, my head may be the shape of a Silly Putty egg, but I think it is better than the alternatives. A Toupee, of course, is utterly out of the question, except in the context of Halloween. As are those places that sew a rug to your head.

On another note, thanks for all the responses yesterday concerning the super hero book vs. the cowboy book. So far, super heroes are winning. All of this, of course, hinges on whether a publisher is interested in either idea. Sometimes they just steer you in some other random direction and you're out of luck.

Lynching, Polling

Bizarro is brought to you today by Cowboys of the Future.

I like this cartoon, but it isn't the way I originally wrote it. My first version, which appears below, was considered too violent, especially at a time when talk of "lynching" has been used in very offensive ways against our president. So I changed the image in a way that removed the potentially offending imagery but kept the joke.

I'm glad I changed it. It's one thing to do a joke about a controversial subject like gay marriage and risk angering homophobics and bigots. That's a calculated risk I'm often willing to take. But to do a joke about one thing and risk upsetting people for reasons that have nothing to do with the message of the cartoon is quite another. In this economic climate, as newspapers are looking for ways to save money, we cartoonists cannot afford to cause unnecessary trouble for editors.

Here's a question to you, the blog reader. Or, the "bloader," as I like to call you. Since my book of Bizarro pirate cartoons sold moderately well (and given the New Depression, that's great!) I've been thinking of doing a book of either Bizarro western cartoons, or super hero cartoons. Which do you think would sell better? Would you be more likely to buy a small book of Bizarro cartoons about cowboys, indians, Old West stuff, or one about super heroes?

Heroes and Villains

Bizarro is brought to you today by Tiny Pediatricians.

This idea came while watching a football game and inking cartoons one afternoon. The female sideline reporter (almost all sideline reporters are female these days, someone must have passed a law) was interviewing a player and he was much taller than she, of course. But it suddenly occurred to me that she was holding the microphone up over her head to reach his face. Try it yourself right now. Imagine interviewing someone so much bigger than you that you have to hold the mic up over your head, as though pointing it at a light fixture on the ceiling.

And keep in mind these are not skinny, tall guys. These guys are HUGE. Their hands are bigger than your head. When you see someone that big in person, it almost seems as though they are a different species.

If only American football had been popular in Frankenstein's time, the monster could have worn a uniform and he would have been adored, instead of chased down by a mob and killed.

I think we've all learned an important lesson today.

A Head of the Pack

Bizarro is brought to you this week by Tasty Walkways.

This idea is a collaboration between my cartoonist/stand-up comic friend, Michael. I think he came up with the top two, I came up with the bottom two. Can't remember now.

He does a weekly cartoon for SF Gate, the Thursday entertainment guide in the San Francisco Chronicle. It used to be called "Cheap City" and was about bizarre ways to save money. Now he's changed it to "Surveillance Charicatures" and it's all over the map. Here's one of my recent faves.

I've done a few cartoons over the years about how those hands-free headset things have become fashion accessories among certain members of our society. If what they say about excessive use leading to brain tumors, eventually head bandages will become a status symbol, too.

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.

Chicken Mythology

Bizarro is brought to you today by Big-Headed Babes in Boots.

I think this is a fun alternative to the "why did the chicken cross the road" gag, a theme that has been hit upon tens of thousands of times by cartoonists.

I'm a big fan of chickens, both hens and roosters. I've gotten to know many of them in the privacy of my own home, as CHNW and I have fostered ones rescued from NYC streets, parks, dumpsters, basements, etc.

Most people assume, as I used to, that chickens are stupid. When they are around other chickens they act like chickens and ignore humans for the most part, except to run away clucking and stumbling. Not a very intellectual demeanor. But when they are solo in your apartment, they relate to you, just as cats and dogs do, learn where their food is, cuddle with you while you watch TV, cry when you leave the room, chirp in glee when you return. They'd be terrific pets if they didn't poop indiscriminately. That's just the way the species is designed, no sense trying to house train them. Of course, they're happier outside with other chickens, anyway.

It's always occurred to me that our definition of intelligence is very anthropocentric. In other words, we judge another specie's intelligence by how similar it is to ours. Some are naturally that way – dogs, rats, apes – others are not at all – turkeys, chickens, cattle, sheep. I now try to appreciate other species' intelligence for what it is instead of in comparison to mine. A chicken can't fix a bicycle, but then it hasn't much need for a working bicycle so why would it? When threatened, some birds will pretend to have a broken wing while their offspring escape. I'm not sure I'd think of that if a bear were charging me and my kids in the woods.

This is just one of the many reasons I stay out of the woods with small children.

A prime example of this anthropocentric thinking is that when a human builds a shelter, we call it "intelligence." When a bird builds one it's "instinct."

Because no other species impacts its environment with it's intellect the way we do, we think the world is here for us and that we are the most important species on Earth. (One could easily argue that because of the way we impact our environment, we are the least intelligent species.) We've even written tens of thousands of stories about how we are the reason the earth was created.

Spiders are the only animal that can shoot webs out of their butt and build the equivalent of a skyscraper that both serves as shelter and provides food, all in a matter of minutes. I wonder if they think the world was built for them and the rest of us are just props in the movie of their life?

Kryptonite Kid

(Hint: For a bigger, less blurry glimpse at the intricate glories of the above cartoon, point your cursor [little black arrow on your screen] to any part of the image, then push the button on your mouse [the plastic device that controls the arrow.])

Bizarro is made possible today by Ugly Wedding Dresses.

I've always liked to think about heroes and the unpublished details of their lives before they were famous. What was Clark Kent like as a child? How do you control a kid with superhuman strength in the throes of the Terrible Twos? It is common for children of this age to throw a spoon across the room. How did Ma and Pa Kent avoid getting impaled?

As a Catholic kid, I wondered about Jesus's childhood. Did he have friends his age, or was he the nerdy, overly philosophical kid that nobody wanted to play with? Did he ever get mad at another kid for taking his toy, strike him dead, then bring him back to life before anyone found out?

At what age did Mickey Mouse start wearing those big, dumb shoes? Once he was rich and famous he could afford to be isolated from the riffraff, but before that, was he never chased by a cat? You certainly would want better shoes if you were.

I think a Showtime or HBO series about Superman as a small child would be great. The Kents try to deal with a toddler with superhuman strength, the ability to fly, x-ray vision (there goes their sex life), all without letting any of their friends, family or local townfolk find out about his powers. Year by year, as the actor who plays the toddler grows up, we follow his various struggles with typical childhood trauma through the filter of his tremendous powers. The show isn't about him weilding justice or solving crimes, just coping without flipping out and throwing his schoolmates into the next county when they make fun of his new shoes. Or getting caught looking through the walls of the girl's locker room.

If someone does come up with that series, they'd better be ready to prove they documented it before the date of this blog, because I will come after them with a team of Kryptonite-weilding lawyers.