The Password’s Lasagna.

Last fall I had a pumpkin.  It grew in my garden to an unanticipatedly healthy size, and, once picked, sat on my counter for a solid six months, during which time I sat nearby, gnawing my fingernails and waiting for it to turn into a solid gold carriage...i.e. to magically slice itself open and toast its own seeds into crunchy yumminess, and roast its own flesh to a state of luscious, pie-ready perfection. This never happened.  Instead, in April or May of the year following the pumpkin’s birth and subsequent harvest, I placed it in my yard, still perfectly sound and wholesome, and wished it away, being sick of the sight of it.   This time, the magic worked, and in a matter of days the entire pumpkin had more or less vanished, leaving the earth slightly more enriched and slimy than it had been. The moral of this story is:  If you possess only one small, underly serrated steak knife with a disreputable past, you’ll probably never be in the perfect mood to dissect a giant,

Research is obviously not my strongest soote. Neither is spelling. However, there is someone in this world who is even lamer than me (because being terrible at the most minor research makes me a lame person? I guess?). And that is: A person (or persons, or people, or aliens, or anyone, really) who plays country music on a low, low volume. Where you can hear everything except the lyrics themselves. If you, too, know someone or someones who practice this abominable behavior, I suggest you join me in taking up arms against it. We shall take action on November 1st of this year 2019, we shall carry easily concealed sharp implements with us wherever we go, and when we find these muted-country-music-listeners, we shall, by opposing, end them. Who will stand with me?

I’m trying to increase traffic on this blog, because it’s a crying shame for there to be people in this world who have still not been afflicted with what I got to say. Because I don’t know many people with blogs, and I don’t understand how the world, or the internet, works, I turned to Google, as we all do in this enlightened day and age.  After skimming around websites like “YOU TOO can make $20,000,000 a day at home with your blog.com” and “Wanna know how I got so successful? It wasn’t by hard work.me.com”, and  reading a lot of articles, I got bored and ended up retaining only one piece of information:  Use key words in your blog.    I don’t know what a key word is.   I have a vague idea it’s those things people commonly search for in Google. Kind of like “how to increase blog traffic on my blog like now.”  As to how to use them in my blog - do they have to be mentioned in a few posts? Do I need to titles posts things like “how to be rich instantly”? Do I have to rename my

I was going to post another throwback cartoon, but realized I only had two.  This is bad news.  Either I do not spend enough time drawing cartoons, OR I simply publish every. Single. Stinking. Thing. I draw.  If you’ve been reading since five minutes ago, you’ll probably guess that second thing. Because I don’t have a new cartoon, or an old cartoon, or a moderately middle-aged cartoon, here is a picture of the cover to my new book, soon to be published by the New York Times because they publish books right there in their main office.  It’s already been reviewed by famous people and newspapers that everybody knows the names of.  It’s practically already sold ten million copies in different languages (none of them English).  It’s also got a movie deal in the wings.  This is big stuff, people.  Are you sure you’re ready for it? Okay. Also there’s a lot of semi-nudity, for a clean blog.  I’m not entirely comfortable with that, but since the underwear-clad youth is clearly a moron, le

...rebelled against your job so hard that you ended up writing a post that comes across as clearly manic? Have you ever liked your job, but still rebelled against it? Have you ever suddenly realized that your boss knows about your blog? Have you ever tried to say nice things about your job because your boss might be reading? Have you ever felt as if those nice things come across as slightly insincere? Nevertheless, I am liking my job.  It’s new (gloat gloat gloat).  I’ll probably talk more about it in a different post sometime, but whoa hey let’s not get too personal here.  Next thing you know you’ll be wanting to find out where I live.  Which you never will.  Because I move every three weeks for that very reason. Have you ever realized you were about to enter into a rental agreement that lasts a year, and then wondered if you landlord could possibly, even ever somehow, read your anonymous blog and not realize you were joking? Have you ever felt suddenly uncomfortable with ever

Hey fans!  It’s been a while, because I was sick with an illness that sapped all the joy out of life.  Also, and unrelated, at my new job I am not allowed to put two spaces between the period and the beginning of the next sentence.      So.    I’m just gonna enjoy doing my own little thing here, while I can.       Minute rebelling against the system.                      Oooh that was an extra long space.   Okay anyway (and I’m going to throw in a lot of junk words, too, if you don’t mind, because sometimes you just gotta let loose and live a little).        I had some awesome/great/terrific story ideas all prepped for you, but I donut need to use any of them!!!!!!!!  (See what I did there?  “Donut?”  Like...”Do not,” except....”Donut?”  GET IT????????????) It’s great.  It’s like when you buy a giant box of cereal, and then your mom visits and brings you a giant box of HER cereal that she bought for YOU last time you visited but you didn’t eat it all in two days because HOW COULD YOU

And this may be too politically charged, but I’d like to say right now that one of my best friends is a liberal black bean.  Also, I like to think my handwriting has improved since I wrote this.

I had a different post ready for today, but then it was brought to my attention that a new record has been broken - namely, that a marathon (which is 26.2 miles for those of you who haven’t seen the window decals) has been run in under two hours for the first time in recorded history.   Congratulations, Mr. Kipchoge.    This has been touted as inspiring, as in, “Look!  We humans!  See what we do!  What we accomplish next?  There no limits!  Ooga ooga!”   But you know what else was supposed to inspire us?   The moon landing!   And look how that turned out - now there is astronaut poop on the moon and people STILL believe it was a hoax.   No, what is inspiring is this:  An 88 year old lady running the 50 meter dash in under 10 minutes.  That’s beautiful!  That makes you want to go out and run the 50 meter dash way, way, way faster just to prove you’re better at something than somebody.  That makes you want to accomplish, accomplish, accomplish, all while thinking in adorable

“It was so sudden.” “It took me by surprise.” “I just never expected it.” “You never appreciate what you have ‘til it’s gone.” “I didn’t want to believe it.” “It was too soon.” “It was just...so short.” These are things that people say about untimely death. They are also things that people say when their floss runs out. The English language:  The same five words for every situation.

No, I’m not singing with joy.  That’s just me, trying to communicate.  My friends, I have a new life goal.  Wanna hear it?  I’m going to tell you anyway.  Here it is.  This is it.  Behold. I, the undersigned, am determined to bring the number of times I mispronounce my own name down to an average of three times per conversation.  Furthermore, I henceforth will forgo any giggling, muttering, or stuttering that, to this date, has naturally followed said mispronunciation.  In essence, I am an idiot and make it my aim to become slightly less of one. Aim high, kids, ‘cause life is sweet and nothing’s impossible. Sincerely,

Looking through some old drawings late one sleepless night, I stumbled upon a few ancient gems, which I will be sharing, unaltered, with privileged little you for the next few weeks.  They may or may not be offensive, politically incorrect, shocking, and/or, worst of all, unfunny...but I personally laughed until I cried over them...maybe because it was 2 a.m. and I am deranged enough to enjoy my own sense of humor...but still. I like to call this one “The Horribly Depressing and Unfunny Cartoon with the Hysterical* Facial Expression that I Simply Cannot Recreate because it’s So Terribly Drawn.” *Pretend you’re sleep-deprived and then stare at it for 60 seconds.

That last post got darker than expected.  I’d like to say now that I am not a murderer.  And murderers are never liars.  Therefore, you can trust me. ‘Kay. Now that’s cleared up, here you go.  A picture.  I call it...“Inspiration is a four-legged word.”* *I didn’t think it was possible, but I just made myself throw up all over my keyboard.  Turns out even ironic saccharinity** is enough to turn your stomach. ** Turns out “saccharinity” is actually a word.*** ***Turns out, words are awesome.

I’ve been having a problem with people lately.  To be blunt - they’re too nice.  I’m not saying loving, necessarily, or unselfish, or kind.  Just...nice.  Especially at intersections.  See, you nice old man to the right...you were definitely at the stop sign ahead of me.  That means you get to go first.  It really isn’t a kindness to wave me forward, I promise.  It will just confuse me and stress me out enough to take several seconds off my life span.  And you, you nice, nice lady in the grocery store parking lot...when you’re walking in a crosswalk, drivers are supposed to wait for you.  Just because you weren’t directly in front of my car does not mean you are doing a good deed by irrationally insisting I drive in front of you.  You’re just training me to ignore crosswalks.  And you, you very, very nice police officer who showed me how to replace my left brake light...okay.  I can’t complain about you.  I’m just glad you didn’t look in my trunk.  (The nice old man may or may not have

What do you write about when nothing funny happens?  Beats me.  So here’s a writing prompt.   Cheerios.   Go on.  Write something funny about cheerios and lemme hear it.   What?   You don’t want to?   You gotta be kidding me.   Everybody wants to write about Cheerios.  I mean, every small child, every influential and intelligent adult, each person on their death bed, since the beginning of time, has absolutely yearned for just such a golden opportunity.   And you’re going to pass it up?   I’m ashamed of you.   Really I am.