My Monsterhood

Bizarro is brought to you today by Live Chick Cam.

When I do jokes about cosmetic surgery, people sometimes assume I am against it. Far from it. I am not only totally in favor of cosmetic surgery, it saved my life.

If you're not familiar with my breathtaking looks, have a glance at the photos at the top of this page. Most people think that nature blessed me with an incredibly fortunate combination of genes, but it is not true. In fact, not unlike Frankenstein's monster, I came into this world as a hideous beast that sent children and adults alike running in terror. As I got older, the problem only got worse. My parents feared I would be doomed to a life of solitude and failure.

Then everything changed one day when I was 17 years old. My mom and I were on our way to the grocery store (I was banned from the store because I made the other customers too sick to buy food, but I enjoyed the ride) when she ran over something that she thought was a dog. Mother screeched to a halt and jumped out of the car, as no one in my family could turn down free meat. But alas, it was not a dog we had hit but a man. A man who was under the car and still alive. A man who was the most gifted plastic surgeon in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

When I leaned down to look under the car all I could see was a dark lumpy shadow pinned beneath the transmission. From the darkness of that twisted shape came the words I will remember for as long as I live, "I can fix that."

One year later, the good doctor was walking with only the aid of a cane and I was a new man. Doors of opportunity that I never dreamed possible with my hideous former face were thrown open like sphincters at a colonoscopy convention. By the time I was 26, I was given a syndication contract for Bizarro based on my looks alone.

The rest is history.

Talk to the Tongue

Today's Bizarro is brought to you by Highland Park Cloning Institute.

After yesterday's contentious religious post, this seems a good mindless followup cartoon. This could have been funnier if it had been in reference to the porn industry, but newspapers don't allow that sort of topic on the funny pages, so here we are. I still like the gag, though.

I was once hired to do some art for a California winery and part of that gig was hanging out for a weekend in Napa with serious wine fans (I feel like there's a name for them other than "gourmet"–"wino" doesn't seem quite right, "wine nerd" is too derrogatory), vintners, tasters, those sorts. I wasn't that into wine at the time, so it was an alternately interesting and boring weekend, but there were moments when I was tempted to burst out laughing inappropriately like a kid in church.

My fondest memory is of a large, stately room fashioned after a European castle, with a huge, carved oak table in the middle of the room, an enormous ornate mirror, big Renaissance-style paintings, probably a suit of armor. Our group of about 20 were seated around the table and given various glasses of wine to taste. Since it was midday and we weren't supposed to get drunk, we were also given spit glasses. As the tasting began, the room fell silent and all one could hear for the next 20 minutes was the sound of spitting. As I looked around the room and saw well-dressed white folks in such a pompous setting swishing and splurching, staying focused was challenging.

I wish I'd thought to bring a colossal prosthetic tongue with me. Might have lightened up the occasion, albeit in a Homer Simpson sort of way.

Dubious Reunions

Bizarro is brought to you today by the Miracle Messiah Tree of Jacksonville, Florida.

When I was a tiny, oppressed, terrified Catholic School boy I began wondering about the afterlife and its myriad possibilities. Like most children of religious families, my own indoctrination was confusing: on the the one hand we were told that only our "soul" goes to heaven and our earthly body returns to dust, but all of the drawings we were asked to color in Sunday School, paintings in the Vatican, and stained glass windows in the church had people who looked like they did in life.

Then there is Hell, where everyone is all tortured and burning for eternity while their skin melts and peels and falls off, only to melt and peel and fall off again every second of every day for eternity. The burning and melting isn't enough pain for someone raised in the wrong culture (non-Christian), of course, so hideous creatures jab them with pointy sticks, too. What good would any of that deliciously sadistic torment be if you didn't have your body? Ever try to set a soul on fire and poke it with a stick? Good luck.

And if you do spend eternity with your body, wouldn't it be better to die young? Who wants to be bald, fat, tired and achy for eternity? I'd much rather have the body I had at 25. Listening to my grandparents complain about their health in their golden years led me and a handful of my more philosophical schoolmates to form a suicide cult in the second grade. We would have pulled it off, too, until one of us with a big brother told us how cool pubic hair was and we all decided to wait until at least then.

If, however, we are without our bodies and are pure "soul," how will we recognize each other? When people have the fabled "near death experience" that is becoming so popular these days, they always report having seen their dead relatives. (Which would be enough to scare me back to life, too.) Are these avatars that the "souls" have conjured up so you'll recognize them, or is Nana stuck with that deflated parade-balloon body and thin hair that she had when she died? Doesn't sound like there is much bliss in her eternity. I'm sure she'd much rather be the babe that attracted Gramps when he returned from WWII.

The nicest thing about this game is that you can change the rules as you go, make it whatever you want. It is comforting to believe you're going to a better place when you die and there are as of yet no images or reports from the other side, so make it what you want it to be.

Personally, I'm hoping for oblivion, the same experience I had before I was born. I get bored easily and can't imagine doing anything for eternity. As Mark Twain supposedly said when asked how he could face eternity as an atheist, "I was dead for billions of years before I was born and it didn't inconvenience me in the least."

Veggy Thugs

(Internets expert hint of the day: You can enlargify this drawing by clickinating it!)

Bizarro is brought to you today by Suggestion for What to Get Me for My Birthday.

My apologies to regular readers of this blog for missing the last couple of days. I've been as busy as Rush Limbaugh at an all-you-eat Jackass Buffet.

I like this cartoon a lot and I thought of it all by myself. I was watching a video of Mr. Pumpkinhead incarnate jumping up and down at the '09 CPAC convention and it came to me in a blinding flash. It also marks the first time in Bizarro's 25 year history (to the best of my recollection) that I have used the word "renege," in a cartoon. I also always enjoy drawing lighting effects like the cliche single-bulb-interrogation-in-a-dark-basement scheme. So all in all, it was a fun cartoon to draw and I still like it weeks later.

I have hopes that you, too, will find it amusing. Thanks for reading, you're very sweet.

P.S. Here's the header panel that went with it. It was created from a photo of myself at about 1 year of age, which I have used numerous times in different ways for other header panels. My apologies to my mother.

Marsupial Interpretations

Today's Bizarro is brought to you by Steroids.

I've never reached into a kangaroo's pouch and I don't recommend it to others. In doing so without invitation, you run the risk of offending the pouch's owner, thus inclining her to use her formidable legs or tail to remove your appendage from her hidey hole. I feel certain that the youngster in this amusing sketch escaped with nothing short of a dislocated shoulder.

Still, who can blame the child? She is an average, curious lass of the 21st century First World and as such, has not seen a slot such as this in anything other than a hand puppet. She only wanted to make the funny puppet dance.

But perhaps we are missing the point. It could be that the young lady is, in fact, manipulating a giant puppet and using her ventriloquistic acumen to make it appear to ask her to stop. This is a sophisticated child indeed, with an impressively eccentric sense of humor.

Or perhaps the child only perceived this scene while visiting a petting zoo after sampling wild mushrooms in the park. Who among us can say we have not thrust our arm into places it did not belong under similar circumstances?

Curmudgeon Cartoonist

Bizarro is brought to you by Classic Messiah Pranks.

I think I've ranted about GPSs on this blog before, so I'll skip it today except to say that I like the GPS on my iPhone precisely because it has no voice. I find noises very distracting. With a talking GPS, I am habitually telling it to shut up.

I have a lot of bugaboos like that, mostly to do with sound. I love music, but I can't stand to hear music from a source other than my own doing. Like if I can hear a neighbor's stereo, or a car is parked outside with the radio blasting. (In Brooklyn this happens a LOT. Loud car stereos are the mating call of the local species.) Even if it is a song I like, which is virtually never because I'm really picky about the music I like (surprise), I still find it irritating and drift toward thoughts of violence or at least a water cannon.

I think I am unable to ignore sound. For instance, I cannot read in public unless it is quiet. If people around me are talking, I can't NOT hear them, no matter how riveting the book is. Even if I'm not reading, I can't stand to hear other people's conversations. It drives me nuts. I want to tell them to shut up, nobody cares where Robert went on his vacation last year and whether or not he would recommend the hotel he stayed in. In NYC this happens a lot, usually on a bus or the subway. You're right, I should probably live in a suburb or out in the country somewhere, but it's just too boring.

Car alarms make me want to learn to use explosives. People are so used to ignoring car alarms, how could they possibly thwart a theft under any circumstances? So you hear a car alarm and see a guy fumbling with a car door: you root for him to succeed and disable the alarm, or at least drive the car away.

These irritants are becoming worse lately, perhaps it is age. I prefer the term "curmudgeon," but I think I may just be an a**hole.

SPECIAL COMMENT: Thanks for all the caption submissions on yesterday's post. Many of them were funnier than the one I had originally written. Now I'm reticent to divulge it. Suffice to say that many of you have my silent respect.

Saggy Ink

Bizarro is brought to you today by an Awesome Rock Show.

Simple word play again today, seems to be the week for it. Nothing much to say about this one other than that Cliff is a friend of mine, with whom I am working on a book project. His fiance did not break up with him, however. He's happily married.

In other news, Parade Magazine continues to publish my cartoons from time to time and below is one they've featured as a caption contest. If you consider yourself a captioneer you can still enter their contest and win whatever it is they are awarding.

A lot of people really enjoy caption contests and I'd have one on this blog except that I've found two things to be true of them:
1. it is a tedious task to sift through all of the entries, many of which are uncannily identical
2. if 800 people enter, you make one person happy and piss off 799

Seems a losing proposition to me so I'll not be offering any caption contests here, but if you want to submit your idea for this cartoon in the comments section, I'll read it. I won't choose a winner and all you stand to win is my silent respect. Obscene captions will be deleted as I continue to attempt to keep this blog relatively family friendly so I can continue to list the URL in my client newspapers.

Thanks for understanding, you're a sweetheart.

After the Parade contest is over, I'll tell you my original caption for this cartoon. Which I meant to use in Bizarro and maybe did. I can't remember just now and can't find my archives. If I didn't use it, I will later this year. The joke was inspired by CHNW's grandmother, who has numerous tattoos, most of which she got after the age of 60.