Some Dogs

You may have noticed that my blog's been pretty slow for a while. I blame that on the fact that I don't like to post anything unless I have a finished drawing to go with it. But, hey - how about this?! A few of you suggested that I should start a fan page on Facebook. I didn't know what you were talking about, but I looked into it, and now such a thing exists. I'm going to post unfinished sketches there, and maybe I'll have a contest and give something away sometime (such as an authentic spatula that I personally used and broke... or some sketches, I guess). But most of all it's going to be a place where I can waste your time with my thoughtless ramblings without feeling like I need to draw stuff to go along with it. I currently have 32 fans, but with your help, I believe we can double that number by 2023. Here's hoping!

Update: That link isn't working anymore. For some reason, I don't come up if you do a search for "S.T. Lewis" on Facebook. What's happened? Who have I wronged? Apparently some of you are still figuring it out, because I'm up to 100 fans! Thanks, y'all! I hope everyone who's wanted to do join has been able to figure out how. Sorry about the weirdness.

Pirates of Niagara

I never cared much for history classes in school with their outdated information and their heavy text books full of boring names and boringer dates. But then a week ago I learned about something that happened in 1827 at Niagara Falls, and since then I’ve been obsessed with history... or at least with one very specific event that took place during the course of it.

The publicity stunt to which I refer was orchestrated by the owner of the Pavilion Hotel in Ontario, Canada… a gentleman by the name of William Forsyth. Together with a couple of his hotel-owning friends, Forsyth staged a wonderfully awful tourist attraction in the hope of increasing tourism at Niagara Falls. After buying a condemned lake schooner called the “Michigan,” Forsyth printed a bunch of advertisements and had them posted throughout New York and eastern Canada. They read as follows:

"The pirate Michigan with a cargo of ferocious wild animals will pass the great rapids and falls of Niagara - 8th September 1827 at 6 o'clock. The Michigan has long braved the bellows of Erie, with success as a merchant vessel but having been condemned by her owners unfit to sail long proudly "above"; her present proprietors, together with several public spirited friends, have appointed her to carry a cargo of Living Animals of the Forest, which surround the upper lakes, through the white tossing and deep rolling rapids of Niagara and down its great precipice, into the basin "below". The greatest exertions are being made to procure animals of the most ferocious kind, such as Panthers, Wild Cats and Wolves; but in lieu of these , which it may be impossible to obtain , a few vicious or worthless dogs, such as may possess strength and activity, and perhaps a few of the toughest of the lesser animals will be added to, and compose the cargo...

"Should the vessel take her course through the deepest of the rapids, it is confidently believed that she will reach the Horse Shoe unbroken; if so she will perform her voyage to the water of the Gulf beneath which is of great depth and buoyancy, entire, but what her fate will be the trial will decide. Should the animals be young and hardy and possessed of great muscular power and joining their fate with that of the vessel, remain on board until she reaches the water below, there is a great possibility that many of them will have performed the terrible jaunt, unhurt!"

As they had feared, the panthers and wolves proved difficult to procure, so a buffalo, two raccoons, two small bears, a domestic dog, and a goose were used in their lieu. I guess even a goose can seem “ferocious” when you’re tying it to the deck of a hell-bound schooner. Did you notice that the advertisement referred to the schooner as “the pirate Michigan?” That’s because, for some reason that escapes logic at least as much as the entire event itself does, the schooner had been decorated to look like a pirate ship. And to make the worst idea ever just a little bit worse, human shaped dummies were tied to the deck alongside the bewildered wildlife.

Noah’s miniature pirate ark set sail, as advertised, at 6:00 that evening before a crowd of roughly 10,000 soulless spectators. When it reached the rapids, its hull was torn open, and the schooner began taking on water. The two bears escaped and swam to safety on Goat Island, but because the other animals were all tied down or in cages, they stayed with the boat for its tumble over Horseshoe Falls. The goose somehow managed to survive and was found floating at the base of the falls, but the less buoyant buffalo, raccoons, and dog didn’t fare so well. Apparently they weren’t as “young and hardy” as they needed to be.

It’s hard to believe that this whole event took place, and that a group of people planned it, advertised it, and actually went through with it. You’d think just one person during the course of the planning would have said something like, “You’re going to do what with my dog?” Such was not the case, though, and history became slightly more interesting.

In closing, I offer this one request: please visit Niagara Falls. There’s no telling what those people will do the next time tourism lags.

Voting for Puppets

I have an unexpected request for all of you this morning: please vote for this puppet! Though there are literally billions of you who don't read my blog, I recently met one guy who does. His name is Kanja Chen, and like Jim Henson and Gepetto, he makes puppets. He based the design of his recent creation on a tiger I drew once, and that tiger (who he named "Ben Gali") is currently in a "Puppet Contest" for which voting ends on September 30. Please help make Ben Gali the "Miss Universe" of puppets by voting for him... right now if you can. It only takes a few seconds, and Ben Gali, Kanja Chen, Gepetto, and I would all appreciate your help. I've hidden fourteen links to the contest in this post, so hopefully you can find one of them.

Thank you, blog readers! I hope to spotlight all seven of you on a similarly individual basis at some point.

Country Music

Country music is an acquired taste. I've never met anyone who said they loved it the first time they tried it, but after they get caught up in it, it takes control of their lives to the point where they can't survive without it. Like addictive drugs, country music has a dulling effect on the human mind, and after a while, people confuse their state of disorientation and dizziness for an actual fondness toward the thing that originally caused them to gag.

I've been offered country music on many occasions by people who I thought were my friends. Even family members have tried to lure me into the inescapable, brain-cell-killing trap of country music. They've said things like, "Here, let me just play this one song for you... I think you'll like it." One song? Is that all you want me to try? Yeah, I bet... and the next thing I know, you're changing the radio presets in my car and buying me country CD's for my birthday. Then a year from now I've given up the will to fight, and my life sounds like a never ending hoedown. I've seen so many lives ruined by this kind of dependency on country music... so, no - I won't listen to "just one song." I don't need country music to be happy.

If my feelings on country music have outraged you so much that you don't even want to visit my blog anymore... please, before you leave, take a moment to consider what's causing this passionate response. Haven't I said terrible things about puppies, bears, sharks, killer whales, and everything else? And the most you've ever done is thought, "I feel sorry for his wife." Your intense devotion to country music over everything else should be an indication to you that you do, in fact, have a problem. If country music was taken from you, how much would you pay to get it back? You would steal country music from your family, wouldn't you? Look what you've become!

That being said, there are actually a few country songs that I've accidentally heard and kind of liked, but that doesn't mean I have a problem, so stop worrying about me... I can quit anytime.

Happy Anniversary, Animal Cruelty!

It seems to me that the better you get at doing one thing, the worse you get at doing everything else. All the time you spend practicing and refining one skill robs you of the time you could have spent pursuing other interests. Consider the example of Bette Midler. She sings, she dances, she acts… but there is a 100-percent chance that Bette Midler is not your favorite actress and dancer AND recording artist, because to excel at one thing, she has had to accept an unavoidable level of mediocrity at everything else. With that in mind, don’t you wonder what Bette Midler excels at? It’s certainly not anything I’ve seen her do... unless wrecking a figurative train is a notable skill.

I mention this talent based give-and-take because it’s so clearly evident in the comparison of these two drawings that I did 25 years apart. As you can see, my ability to draw consistently-sized tires has improved dramatically, but while mastering that skill, my attention to hubcap detail has suffered. I’ve also found that the effort I’ve put into improving my drawing skill over the years has had an adverse effect on some of my other talents, such as my ability to read, to resist sugary snacks, or to care about what other people are saying. I don’t miss those things, though. Life goes on without them.

My first thought when I found this old drawing was, “What’s in the box?” The unfortunate answer: Dalmatian puppies. This is precisely why you’ll never hear of anyone giving an entire box of free puppies to a rabbit. Happy 25th Anniversary to my unique understanding of "animal cruelty."

The Rogue Shark

As you probably already know, we recently celebrated another Shark Week, and in so doing, renewed my intense fear of being mangled at sea by a me-eating fish. This year's nightmare-inducing week of sharky programming was kicked off with a show called "Blood in the Water," a misleadingly cute title for a show that ended up being surprisingly horrific. It was about a rogue shark who went on a killing spree in 1916, attacking five people in the space of twelve days and inspiring the Jaws films that are responsible for many of my least favorite recurring dreams. Before that summer, people didn't even believe that a shark would attack a human. That one shark proved the opposite, over and over again. The series of attacks incited a massive retaliatory response from the frightened folks in New Jersey who took to the seas with rifles, harpoons, and dynamite to find and kill the man-eating shark. They killed hundreds of sharks (and probably vaporized some other unsuspecting sea creatures in the process) before a fishing boat stumbled across the right shark and a fisherman beat it to death over the head with a broken oar.

Consider, for a moment, all of the damage that this one, messed up shark did to its entire species. A few stupid acts of violence over a twelve-day period kicked off a feud with humans that is still in effect nearly a hundred years later. I imagine most sharks were embarrassed and ashamed by the actions of that one rogue shark when they learned what he had done. Not much they could do about it, though. The damage to the good name of "shark" was already done.

Adolf Hitler was kind of like a rogue shark. He pretty much ruined the name "Hitler" for everyone else. Walt Disney, on the other hand, made his name awesome. If there were two kids in your second grade class named Jeff Hitler and Jeff Disney, which one would you be more likely to befriend? See what I mean? What you don't know is that Jeff Hitler has a swimming pool and is actually a really nice kid. One bad Hitler does spoil the whole bunch, girl.

There are rogue sharks on the roads too... like when I'm driving in some other state, and I see an idiot with Utah plates going ten miles an hour under the speed limit, blocking traffic in the passing lane. I think, "Now these people are going to think we're all dumb!" Stay right except to pass, you idiots, or you're no better than the shark who terrorized the New Jersey coast in 1916... or Hitler.

Just a Sketch

It's been so long since I posted anything on here that I decided to post this, even though it's rough and unfinished. Mostly I just wanted to let you all know that I'm still around. More stuff will be on the way soon, I hope. Thanks for coming to my blog... sorry it's a little dead lately.

The Patriotter

I wanted to draw something patriotic to celebrate the 4th of July, and somehow I ended up with this American-hat-wearing river otter... or as I will stupidly refer to it, the Patriotter. If it weren't for the founders of this nation I call home, I probably would have just been taxed by our British overlords for calling this animal something as stupid as that. I'm going to celebrate this freedom to be lame by discharging small scale explosives late into the evening at high risk of injury or death to myself and others. You like that, Brits? I thought so.

I find it puzzling that an animal that lives in rivers, lakes, marshes, swamps, and estuaries (whatever those are) would be known as just a "river" otter. They couldn't have given it a more all-encompassing name? What about "water otter?" That seems a better fit, even though it's a bit of a tongue twister. And speaking of tongue twisters, do you know what they call it when you murder a bunch of otters? A water otter slaughter. And when the murders are based on the relative attractiveness of the otters? That's a hotter water otter slaughter. The unsavory fellow who plans these murders is known as the hotter water otter slaughter plotter, and the guy who later identifies him in a police lineup is the hotter water otter slaughter plotter spotter. Man, this is dumb.

Happy 4th of July, my fellow Americans, from me and the many-water Patriotter! And to those of you who aren't Americans and won't be celebrating anything today... I'm sorry you wasted part of your day reading this. Actually, that probably goes for the Americans too. Apologies all around.

Australian Jug Band

I've already shared all the fake information my brain can hold concerning koalas, kangaroos, and jug bands, and I have nothing to say about dingoes, Australia, or Uluru (which is more commonly known as "Ayers Rock" to those of us with no hope of correctly pronouncing "Uluru"), so I don't have anything to say about this picture. Instead, let's just look at more Google searches that have brought people to my blog. These are all actual Google searches written by actual morons:

"Where did kangaroos come from T-rex." Unfortunately, T-Rex is too dead to answer your question, so I will in his stead. The answer is either "Australia" or "kangaroo mommies."

"Why do people say when pigs fly." Oh, no - this is awkward. She just doesn't want to go out with you, man... probably not ever.

"How to look like the headless horseman." Have no head and ride a horse.

"Are killer whales vegetarians?" Yeah, because killer whales were named by plants.

"Bears attack hope." Well it appears to be working, because reading that just filled me with more despair than I've ever known.

"Why tiger shark afraid of the Human Killer Whale." The Human Killer Whale? Oh, dear. Now I'm afraid of that too. I guess I can see where tiger shark is coming from.

"I think sharks are scary." Yeah, me too... but have you heard of the Human Killer Whale? Not even bears kill hope as quickly as that thing.

Those Sleepy Bears

During winter months when food is scarce, bears take really long naps. This extended period of sleep is known to the scientific community and to other people who think they’re better than me as “hibernation,” and it generally lasts between 100 and 200 days, during which time the bear does not eat, drink, brush its teeth, exercise, or use the restroom. As lazy as that sounds, bears actually lose up to 40-percent of their body weight during this annual celebration of inactivity. And I ate better and exercised more to lose weight? What was I thinking? I hate exercise almost as much as I hate salads, and I totally LOVE sleep! Imagine how much money I could have saved and how much weight I would have lost if I had just slept for the six months. Bears are geniuses… lazy, wonderful geniuses.

Did you know that, for every person killed by a black bear in North America, 60 are killed by domesticated dogs, 180 by bees, and 350 by lightning? Maybe bears aren’t as dangerous as we all thought they were. Wrong! Bears are exactly as dangerous as we all thought they were. What I'm saying is watch out for dogs, bees, and lightning. Those things like you kicking them even less than bears do.

Farm Jug Band

I bet farm animals sound great when they perform in jug bands, but do you know when they sound even better? Breakfast. I love breakfast! What, to me, is the best meal of the day, to farm animals is nothing more than an all-too-common "cause of death." It's too bad anyone has to die just so I can enjoy eggs, bacon, and sausage at Denny's in the middle of the night, but if farm animals had any idea how delicious breakfast is, they'd probably be lining up at the slaughterhouse to be made into breakfast. What? They do line up at the slaughterhouse? Wonderful! Thank you for being so willingly tasty, farm animals. I'll see you first thing in the morning.

(My wife just pointed out that eggs were never alive, and cows don't die to give us milk. I guess that's true. Cows die for lunch.)

Manatees Win!

I am proud to announce that The Handsome Manatees are this season's fantasy basketball champions for the first year in a row! It is an honor for me to have coached one of only thousands of fantasy basketball teams that can call themselves "champions" this year. I'd like to thank LeBron James, Tony Parker, Rajon Rondo, and Chauncey Billups for helping the Manatees claim this not-so-prestigious honor. And let's get a round of applause for all of you who also managed teams in our league this season. Without your mediocre performances there for a comparison, how could I have proven to anyone (or especially to you) that my team rocked? There will be a special seat set aside for each of you on the front row of the Manatees' victory parade... and if you arrive at the parade and find that there are no seats, please still throw money.

Now that the fantasy basketball season is over, the non-fantasy NBA Playoffs (also known as "the NBA Playoffs") have begun. And this year they're better than ever, because as of a few days ago, we are now able to view them in high-definition. Going from regular, low-def TV to glorious HDTV is the best upgrade since "black and white" gave way to "color." Or as I said on Twitter: "What if you ate plain hot dogs for 33 years because you didn't know about mustard? We got HDTV today... which is like mustard for the eyes." It is truly incredible, and I highly recommend it (speaking of HDTV... not of putting mustard in your eyes).

Wolverines

Wolverines are extremely dangerous. For their size, they are quite possibly the strongest animal on the planet. They have been known to drive wolves, cougars, and bears away from their kills, and in some cases, they have even gone after moose, meaning they are willing to attack animals that are more than five times their own size. That would be like me kicking a grizzly bear to retrieve my bacon burger.

Before you defend the honor of wolverines by calling me names, let me explain something. Just because wolverines are dangerous doesn't mean they belong in prison. In most cases (and I'm not talking about the dog who you love like your own child), animals aren't mean or nice. They're just animals... looking for food while trying to avoid becoming food themselves. They don't attack humans because they dislike us or because they think it's funny when we cry. Their occasionally aggressive actions are fueled by self-preservation, because sometimes the best way to get something to leave you alone is to bite it, and the best way to alleviate hunger is to eat whoever's around. The desire to stay alive isn't mean or nice. It's just selfish. And it's okay to be selfish when you're an animal. (Again, I'm not talking about your dog who you dress in sweaters... he's totally nice).

If you think I'm wrong and that wolverines aren't dangerous but are as kind-hearted as sweater-wearing dogs, go find some wolverines and throw pine cones at them while you're wearing a suit made of deli-sliced ham. I was going to say "a home-made suit of deli-sliced ham," but if you can buy one in a store, do that. No sense wasting your last few hours of life making a death suit out of deli meat.

Easter Bunny

My wife: Why do you always draw such horrible things?
Me: What do you mean?
My wife: He's going to eat those poor little chicks.
Me: I don't think the Easter Bunny eats chicks.
My wife: That's an alligator.
Me: Alligators don't have fluffy tails. You're crazy.
My wife: I hate talking to you.

Happy Easter, everybody!

Desert Jug Band

How would you describe the desert? I'd say it's a tie between four equally undesirable things: dry, hot, dirty, and boring. The animals and plants in the desert are also dry, hot, dirty, and boring... and ugly, and unapproachable, and a slew of many other unsavory adjectives. To sum up, the desert is a dreadful place that has traded in its shade and water in favor of prickly weeds, poisonous snakes, and scummy casinos. Of all the places on the earth, the desert is the only one I know of that seems to hate me and want me dead... well, and also the ocean, I guess. Wherever you can find moderate amounts of water... that's the place for me.

Mouse Problem

The obvious solution for dealing with an infestation of mice in your home is to set up a bunch of mousetraps. But what if you don't want to burden your conscience with the knowledge that you are personally responsible for treating unsuspecting mice to sudden, neck-crunching death?

A second option for you "non-mouse-murdering" types is to buy a cat to do the killing for you. I guess that would be effective initially, but then all you’ve done is replace a tiny pest that poops in your house with a larger pest that poops in your house. And then what kind of animal are you going to have to buy to kill your cat? Where does the killing end?

Since you probably don’t want your home to become a stage where the circle of life plays out, your best bet for ridding your house of mice is to drive them out with a flood or a fire. It’s hard to justify those options when you consider that a fire or flood will also drive you from your home, but wouldn’t you rather be homeless than be a murderer or have a cat?

Ode to Celery

Celery is a vile, inedible weed. People have rebutted this easily acceptable fact with ridiculous arguments like, “But I like celery with peanut butter.” If this is what you were thinking, what you actually like is peanut butter. If you don’t believe me, try dipping a twig or a popsicle stick into some peanut butter and take a bite. You’ll notice very little difference. If you try this and still contend that celery is a bit tastier than most varieties of sticks, first of all, celery thanks you for your generosity and non-discriminating taste. Secondly, would you please just admit to yourself that you’d eat a toilet brush if it was the only way to get peanut butter into your mouth? If you still insist that you actually like celery and you think I’m wrong about this, it doesn’t mean you have a problem. It means I have a problem… with you… liar.

Avoiding Bear Attacks

What is the best way to avoid being attacked by a bear? Well, consider the statistics. Nearly every bear attack on record includes one very specific element: the outdoors. Though I suppose a bear may occasionally sneak up on someone in a post office or an elevator, the odds are in your favor that you can avoid bears, and therefore bear attacks, by simply staying inside. People who consider themselves "outdoorsy" are considered by bears to be "afternoon snacky." But just in case a situation ever arises that requires you to go outside, here are a few tips to help you avoid being attacked by a bear while you're out there.

If you meet a bear, your first option is to run for your life, or more precisely, to run to your death. I have heard that your best chance to outrun a bear is to run downhill, the theory being that a bear running down a hill might stumble because its hind legs are longer than its front legs. But leg length notwithstanding, an adult grizzly bear can run roughly 35 miles-an-hour. That is considerably faster than my top speed... a disappointing 35 miles-a-year-and-a-half. Even an incredibly fast person on a steep downward slope stands very little chance at outrunning a bear, leaving "running" an undesirable option if you hope to avoid a bear attack.

On the complete opposite end of the "surviving bears" spectrum from "running" is an option you've certainly heard before... Play dead. It is true that a bear probably won't kill you if you play dead. It is also true that it will bite you and claw you and throw you against trees and stuff until you not only seem but also wish you were dead. If you don't consider that an attack, then maybe playing dead is for you. But for those of us who were hoping to avoid organ damage and excessive bleeding altogether, playing dead is probably out.

No running and no playing dead? What else is there? It seems your best bet for avoiding a bear attack is to climb a tree... as long as you climb at least 30 feet. If you're lower than that, the bear will still probably get you. But since bears don't particularly like climbing trees, there's a better chance that, the higher you climb, the less interested the bear will be in pursuing you. After you've climbed high enough, just wait there until the bear loses interest and leaves the area. This shouldn't take more than two or three days. You may then fall to your death.

If all else fails, there is one way to avoid being killed by a bear that works every time. That's right... in the history of man and bear kind, it has never failed. The best way to avoid being killed by a bear is to die some other way.

Cupid

The whole idea of "Cupid" is just absurd... a baby who shoots arrows at people so they'll fall in love? First of all, a baby would never shoot an arrow. If babies had arrows they would eat them the way they eat everything else. Secondly, babies don't fly, because that's creepy. Cupid is weird.

The more I considered what I thought I knew about Cupid, the more I doubted that my perceptions could be true. I decided to learn more about it, so I looked up "Cupid" in the dictionary, and I kid you not... the actual definition is just one word: "stupid." If you don't believe me, look it up yourself... but not in Webster's Dictionary. He gets a little wordy for my liking. I prefer Rhyming's Dictionary. He keeps his definitions brief.

Happy Valentine's Day to my beautiful wife!

Dalmatians

It has been said (right now) that lions are dumb enough to believe that they can magically transform themselves into dalmatians by simply painting black spots all over themselves. Ridiculous, right? That's clearly not how you become a dalmatian. That's how you become a leopard. The only way to become a dalmatian is to eat a lot of dalmatians.

Whistlepig Day

Happy Lily-Livered Whistlepig Day, y'all!

Barbershop Bear

A few weeks ago, I came across a bunch of songs on iTunes by a group that I didn't even know existed before then: The Mellomen with Thurl Ravenscroft. Are you kidding me? How did I allow myself to waste so many years of my life not listening to or even knowing about these guys? If you think you don't like barbershop music, you're crazy and wrong. It's the coolest! Especially if it's 1942.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Thurl Ravenscroft, which is most likely all of you, he was the voice of Tony the Tiger who also sang "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" in the Chuck Jones holiday classic. And if you've been on the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland or Disney World, you may recognize him as the face and voice of the broken bust that sings "Grim Grinning Ghosts."

I wanted to post a drawing on here of a whole quartet of barbershop-singing animals (which, from what I understand, would have to include exactly four different singers), but weeks have passed, and I still haven't drawn them. I'm posting this abandoned sketch in the hope that it will breathe a bit of life back into my dead blog, and hopefully I'll draw and post more stuff soon. For now I just thought you should know that there's one more person on the planet who listens to The Mellomen during his daily commute... bringing the total of that group to "one."

Winter Wonderland

While stuck in traffic recently, the radio station I was listening to treated me to three different versions of Winter Wonderland. I like that song... or at least I did before I ended up stuck in traffic with nothing to think about but those lyrics.

You can tell the song is doomed from its very first line: "Sleigh bells ring... are you listening?" I’ll tell you what... if you can’t get more than three words into your narrative before losing the interest of your audience, that may be an indication that "story-telling" isn't your thing. "Sleigh bells ring... are you listening? In the lane... am I boring you?"

The socially dysfunctional narrator goes on to propose some possible activities we could fill our day with. "In the meadow we can build a snowman and pretend that he’s a circus clown. We’ll have lots of fun with Mr. Snowman until the other kiddies knock him down." Apparently we're so confident in our miserable social standing that we're not only accepting that our snowman may be demolished by everyone we know... we're planning on it! I wonder if we'd be more popular if we stopped calling them "the other kiddies." It's worth a shot.

If the first snowman-building scheme wasn't lame enough, there's a second that somehow manages to be even less enticing. "In the meadow we can build a snowman and pretend that he is Parson Brown. He’ll say, ‘Are you married?’ We’ll say, ‘No, man... but you can do the job when you’re in town.'" Not a superhero or a gladiator, but Parson Brown? Who is this kid? Dear Parson Brown... when you meet the lad who built you so he could pretend you were a parson, don't waste your precious, miraculous first words asking about his obvious marital status. That kid is and will always be single. Not only is he not daing anyone, but he doesn't have any friends, his pets avoid him, and look out... you're about to get mangled by the other kiddies for talking to him.

Merry Christmas, y'all... and y'all a good night!

Circus Elephant

Despite what you may have heard, very few circus elephants are alcoholics. The reason they perform those crazy stunts is because they enjoy it... or possibly because they don't like being beaten and whipped, which is what happens if they don't do crazy stunts.

I drew this for my daughter's birthday invitations... she had a "circus" party. You should have seen the crazy things we had those kids doing to avoid being whipped. The life of a circus performer seems most unpleasant, but the life of a ring-master is hilariously fun.

My Obituary

Toon Club recently reached its 100th's topic: "You at 100." My drawing for the topic was inspired by a Google search that brought someone to my blog a while back... "What did Shane Lewis die from?" What? Is that information available online? I didn't dare search it myself because I didn't want to find something. I'd rather be surprised by my own demise. However, I thought I'd offer this obituary just in case future Googlers are similarly interested in predicting my death. Have you ever tried to write your own obituary? It's a fun little exercise to reduce your whole life to a single paragraph because it forces you to admit how little you've actually accomplished. I can't even play the harmonica... what a waste.

Here are some other Google searches I've enjoyed recently:

"Did they cancel the Chipmunks?" You know - I Googled this exact thing when I woke up from my twenty-year coma too, and believe me... you don't want to know. Just back away and save your tears for another day.

"I can not draw are there sketches of rabbits?" In a world this size, I imagine there must be at least a few sketches of rabbits I run slow.

"Who invented the battering ram?" I'm not sure they had patents at the time. It was probably a group of people with a log who reached a common understanding, and therefore it would be unfair to credit just one of them.

"American Gladiator medical student." Hey, look - you came up with something not even Google can find.

"What eats what?" Compiling a comprehensive list of what eats what would take far more time than I'm willing to dedicated to it... and would probably fill up the internet. One of the things I eat is blueberry muffins. There's a nice start.

"He don't have fear for sharks." Nor does he concern himself with grammar.

Yellowstone Jug Band

I've always been a huge fan of Yellowstone and North American wildlife, which is why I couldn't help but add a fourth performer to my Yellowstone jug band. The washboard-playing bison almost didn't happen. I should have added a harmonica-playing deer and an antelope with a fiddle, but that seemed like a lot of work just to be able to make a not-very-funny "deer and the antelope play" joke. See? Not very funny at all. I'm glad I thought ahead.

I'm getting the feeling that my "animal jug band" series may be causing the death of my blog. It takes a while to draw, clean up, and color multiple characters for just a single blog post, and since animal jug bands require an accompanying landscape, I can't even resort to the time-saving "Photoshop gradient" background that I've perfected. Plus I've already said all I can think of to say about jug bands, so with nothing new to rant about... well, my blog's kind of dying. In the hope of posting more frequently in the coming weeks, I'm going to put a hold on my desert, ocean, farm, mythological, monster, insect, dinosaur, and Australian jug bands for now. We'll see if that revives this thing a little.

Many gloriously appreciative thanks to those of you who bought my book. You're part of a very select group of people who I know as "the coolest."

New Book... Old Stuff

Hey, everybody... I made a book! It's available now on Blurb.com. I made it especially for those of you who enjoy my blog but wish that you could pay to read it instead of always reading it for free, which I know can get pretty old. I had to leave out the stuff about Star Wars, Batman, and other things that are copyrighted, so not only is it more expensive than my blog... it's also less complete. But on the bright side, this 74-page book is ideal for anyone who is taking off or landing in an airplane. While everyone else has to have their computers turned off, guess who's still reading my blog. Well, no one... because that's who bought this book.

If you enjoy books with lots of pictures and your reading comprehension is low, you'll love this book... or at least recognize it as one.

African Jug Band

Hey, look! It's another jug band! Unfortunately I haven't come up with anything more to say about jug bands since the last time I drew one. I probably won't have anything new to say by the next time I draw one either... which will likely be soon. It turns out I'm kind of hooked on drawing animal jug bands lately. I like to think that animals gather together and play music when people and their documentary-filming cameras aren't around. Luckily for me, no one will ever be able to prove otherwise. So with that in mind, mountain, desert, ocean, and mythological jug bands should be coming to my blog soon... unless I get hooked on something else before then. One thing I know, though... lions play a mean banjo.

Handsome Manatees

I just spent the last five minutes drawing this manatee on my new Cintiq tablet, which enables me to draw directly to the computer in sloppy, messy, digital style. This particular scribble is going to be the logo for my new fantasy basketball team: The Handsome Manatees.

A while ago, I mentioned that I had only ever used the team name "Flying Wounded Seals" in fantasy sports, but this year I'm trying something new after 11 of my 12 starters were injured by the end of last year's basketball season. Did I curse real NBA players last year with my fake team's injury-prone mascot? Would LeBron James have missed two weeks last season due to an injured pinky if he hadn't been a Flying Wounded Seal? I guess we'll never know... but I got the first pick of the draft again this year, so get ready to be handsome, overfed, and largely lifeless, LeBron... because this year you're a Handsome Manatee!

Batman and Robin

As you may already know, The Dark Knight now has more money than the United States. That's partially because the caped crusader has robbed U.S. citizens of over 525 million dollars in the last three months. I guess that's okay, though, because he seems nice. I think one of the main reasons that movie's been so successful is due to its complete lack of Robin.

Was Robin left out because Batman's strength is diminished by the mere presence of a sidekick? Was Robin snubbed because a "dark knight" can't sneak up on criminals in dark alleys when his companion's wearing a Bolivian flag? Those are possible reasons, but I believe Robin was only slighted for being more annoying than he is useless? But whatever the case may be... holy thanks for leaving Robin out of your movies, Batman.

Health vs. Happiness

If you're like me, sometimes after finishing a particularly large meal you think, "I should have stopped four burgers ago." I recently overate like that... every day... for seven years. "All You Can Eat" wasn't a buffet offer - it was my daily goal. I had decided that if I was alive enough to breathe, I was alive enough to keep eating.

Not long ago, I was understandably shocked to learn that a few elitist, medical know-it-alls consider that kind of lifestyle "unhealthy." So I gave up delicious, joy-inducing food in favor of boring salads and a longer life, and in six weeks I've lost about 30 pounds. Why did I have to make a decision between health and happiness? I guess that losing all that excess weight makes me reasonably happy... but sometimes it seems like a half-pound bacon cheeseburger would make me even happier.

Isn't there a weight-loss pie or brownie of some kind? If there is, please let me know. I could be healthy and happy in the next couple of hours at the rate I can eat those things.

Snow Monster

I hope you don't misinterpret this drawing and erroneously assume that the snow monster is about to eat that poor bear. Snow monsters don't eat bears. They throw them... hundreds of miles in some cases. This relationship is mutually beneficial to bears and snow monsters. The bears get an exhilarating trip to a distant mountain range or parts of the sea they never would have visited otherwise, and the snow monsters get to vent some frustration. We call this kind of relationship “symbiotic.” The point I'm trying to make is that you'll never get these last two minutes of your life back. Sorry about that.

Beach vs. Ocean

It baffles me that anyone would go all the way to the beach just to sit on the hot sand and bake in the sun. If that was what you wanted to do for your vacation, you should have just gone to Barstow. It's a shorter trip for most people, and Barstow has more than enough sun and sand to burn you and bore you until you're dead. When people say they like the beach, I think what they are trying to say is that they like the ocean... they were probably just confused because the beach and the ocean share the same parking lot.

That being said, here's a picture that will probably keep you from going into the ocean the next time you're at the beach. This picture shows what I see in my head every time I swim in the ocean. Fun, huh.

One time I was swimming off the coast of San Diego with some of my brothers-in-law, and we watched as a helicopter flew over us with a "News 8" logo on its side. The helicopter circled back and stopped directly above us. We commented that it must be a pretty slow news day if they were filming people swimming, and we waved at the cameras. Later that night while conveniently watching News 8, we saw footage they had taped earlier that day... a few stupid-looking guys waving to a news camera completely unaware that they were surrounded by about fifty 6-foot-long leopard sharks. The following morning we were still at the beach, but for as much as I swam that day, I might as well have been in Barstow.

Did you know Barstow is the home of the very first Del Taco? Are you kidding me? The first Del Taco AND shark-free "beaches" all in one place that is noticeably cooler than the surface of the sun for almost three months a year? Pack up your 3000 SPF sunscreen, my friends... we're going to Barstow!

Wow - that was weird. I was going to write something about Shark Week, and instead I just ended up making fun of Barstow. If you're expecting a postcard from me, they'll be on their way before too much longer. It seems I grossly underestimated how much time it takes to write on 100 postcards.

Free Postcards!

Boring Backstory: Almost two years ago I was asked by BYU's Visual Arts Department to submit a few of my drawings for a book they were assembling that would highlight the work of some of their former students. I sent them a few things I'd recently drawn for my blog, and then I completely forgot about the whole thing for a very long time.

Incresingly Boring Continuation of Story: A couple of weeks ago, I got a package in the mail from BYU that contained a copy of the book they made along with 300 postcards... 100 for each of my drawings that was included in the book. My first thought was, "Where did they get these drawings?" Before I had time to remember that I had sent them a long time ago, my next thought replaced the first: "What do they expect me to do with 300 postcards?" I considerend sending them all back to BYU, one postcard a day for the next 10 months, but I wasn't able to convince myself to spend over $80 on a gag that only I would enjoy, so I've decided to go with "Plan B."

Plan B: Today I went to the less-than-efficiently run post office and bought 100 over-priced postcard stamps, and I am going to send postcards to the first hundred people who tell me they want one. This is quite possibly the most creative, time-consuming way I've ever come up with to waste $27, and YOU can be part of it!

Instructions for Receiving Your 100-of-a-Kind Postcard: 1) Leave a comment here on my blog saying you'd like one, mostly so I can see if I can get up to 100 comments on one blog post; 2) Click here to send me an email that includes your name, your address, and which postcard you want (shark, monkeys, or polar bear). It's as simple as that! I'm stopping at 100 postcards, though, so send me an email soon if you want one. And don't worry... this won't put you on some weird, junk-email list, and I won't be sending you any Christmas cards or anything else in the future. It's a one-time postcard... just because I have a bunch of them and "Plan A" fell through. Also, I'm sorry, but I'll only be sending postcards to addresses in the United States... not because I'm patriotic, but because I'm cheap.

Closing Remarks That Aren't Worth Reading: I'm sending these 100 postcards to thank those of you who come to my blog for for your continued support... even these last few months while my blog's been mostly dead. We're almost done with the Bolt video game, and then I'll get back to posting regularly again. Hopefully a personalized postcard will hold you over until then. My apologies to those of you in other countries... you deserve a postcard too. Maybe another day.

So Much Work

There are only a few things that are keeping this picture from being a live video feed of the past few weeks of my life: I'm not this thin, I'm not a hastily sketched cartoon character, I haven't been this happy or energetic in a while, and since 1975 I've been presented in full color. Aside from those minor discrepancies, this is pretty much "me" for the last little while... and sadly it's going to continue to be me for a couple more weeks. Consider everything you've done this summer... maybe you traveled, went for a swim, mowed the lawn, read a book, or even took a short nap. Whatever you did... while you were doing it, I looked like this. It would probably be depressing if I had time to think about it.

When this project is done and "free time" is reintroduced into my life, I'm going to get back to regularly posting on my blog. Sorry it's been so boring around here lately. In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't the best post ever. I just wanted you all to know that I'm not dead yet, and I certainly haven't outgrown blogging. I will return... I just need to stare at this monitor a little while longer. Man, this is so much better than vacations or sleep! Happy Shark Week, everyone!

Big Al-Gator

A couple of months ago I set out to draw a jug band, and this was the first thing I came up with. For a minute I kind of liked it, but then I realized the design was nothing more than a rip-off of a combination of characters I grew up with at Disneyland. (Yes, I grew up at Disneyland... I'm pretty sure I spent more time there than I did at school during my elementary years, which would not only explain my career choice but also my inability to sound out words of three or more syllables). Those of you who are familiar with America Sings and The Country Bear Jamboree have probably already figured out that this guy is a mix between Big Al and one of the Swamp Boys. Those of you who are not familiar with America Sings or the Country Bear Jamboree - I hope two things... one, that you enjoy this fabulously creative gator I thunk up, and two... that you only read this last sentence.

Babies Bite

From what I've observed, our six-month-old daughter has a very limited number of hobbies, and at the core of each of those hobbies is one common element... they all hurt me. She grabs my nose, gauges my eyes, bites my fingers, kicks my shins... I'd never considered that raising a child would be so similar to getting tangled up in a bar fight. The only difference is that I would fight back if I was in a bar fight, but because it's my daughter who's unintentionally mauling me, I just smile... and gently apply pressure while I wait for the blood to clot. In the past I always objected to being abused in these ways, but recently somehow it's become kind of cute. Besides, there's more blood where that came from, and being assaulted by your kids isn't cute forever... best to enjoy it while you can.

The Puddler

More than two years ago I created a really lame not-so-superhero whose only "power" was that he had transparent legs. Lame or not, I still expected a Mr. Invisiblegs movie to hit theaters sometime this summer, but I just checked the upcoming release schedule... nothing. Doesn't every superhero have a movie this summer? Then why doesn't Mr. Invisiblegs? Does he not appear to fly when he runs or to gently hover forward as he walks? Is he not considerably difficult to defend in a game of soccer? Does he not deliver surprise crotch kicks to evil-doers and people who cut in line at the bank? As subjective as "super" is, why doesn't Mr. Invisiblegs have a movie?

Well, I think I figured it out. Until now I've overlooked one of the most important elements in a superhero story... the super villain. As much as it will certainly plague Mr. Invisiblegs' existence, I have been forced to create his surly arch-nemesis... "The Puddler." When stepping in mud causes you to lose your only super power, you're almost as pathetic as the guy who has dedicated his life to creating puddles for you to step in. This movie writes itself! Take it and run, Hollywood!

Bored Frog

This frog is all I've drawn in the last little while. You may recognize him as the hidden "Waldo" from my previous post. The fact that so many of you were able to pick him out of that crowd is proof to me that my drawings, my rants, and my offensively inaccurate killer-whale-based trivia are actually reaching an audience. Thanks for your visits and comments, everyone. I couldn't ask for a better group of blog friends. Well, I guess I could... but only you guys would read it, so there wouldn't be much point in it.

Greatest Hits

I haven't drawn anything new for my blog in a while, so I made this collage instead. I'm consiering it my "Greatest Hits." Just like bands who have disappeared for a while but want everyone to remember they still exist, I'm repackaging some old material and hoping you're willing to pretend it's "new." And just like a "greatest hits" album has one new song thrown into the mix, I've added one new drawing to this that has never appeared on my blog before. Maybe finding it will be a fun way to keep everyone busy until I get around to posting something that's actually new. It's like "Where's Waldo" if you had no idea who Waldo was or what he looked like. Fun!

Thanks for coming to my blog... hopefully something new will be on the way soon. If not, I'll just move a few pigs around on this thing and post it again. "Greatest Hits: Volume 2." Sweet.

Arctic Jug Band

As a young child I was introduced to the wonderful world of jug bandery by Disneyland's Country Bears and Emmet Otter. I've been a fan of household-object-and-appliance-made music ever since. (Before I continue, I'd like to welcome all of you who found your way here by googling the word "bandery," which, sadly, is not a word.)

I like lots of weird music. I used to just pretend to like weird music because I thought it was funny to annoy people who had to travel in the same car as me. Then somewhere along the way, my mockery of such music turned into a kind of misguided fondness. There are tons of songs on my iPod that you don't know by artists you've never heard of... like The Chad Mitchell Trio, Bread, The Sons of the Pioneers, Loggins and Messina, and, well... Emmet Otter. Where would I be if Emmet had never put that hole in the washtub? Not in the happy place I am where bears play corn jugs... which is the only place I care to be.

NBA Playoffs

I haven't had time to draw anything lately because, much to my wife's dismay, I'm way too interested in the NBA Playoffs. I plan to get back to drawing again when we get into the later rounds and there aren't two televised games each night. Until then, visitors to my blog and my wife are going to find me very boring. Sadly there's no escaping that.

Why Did I Eat That?

Have you noticed that April's almost over? Spring hasn't noticed... it's snowing right now. Because of the unseasonable, unconscionable weather, I didn't want to walk far to get lunch today, so I went to the restaurant that is closest to our office... McDonald's. Clearly convenience means more to me than survival, because when I eat a McDonald's burger, it spends the next week assaulting my insides and kicking the crap out of my colon. McDonald's and snow have joined forces to kill me, and I'm too lazy and cold to do anything about it.

I've always enjoyed how a cartoon character's stomach will take the shape of whatever it eats. I believe my own stomach shares this characteristic... and if that is the case, I must have recently eaten an oversized bowl of jiggly goo. I've recently begun a new diet... I'd like to drop about 20 pounds in the next few months. I realize that a McDonald's burger isn't exactly "diet" food, but come on! It's snowing... in April! I quickly resumed my diet right after lunch.

Freak of Nature

The platypus is a goofy-looking freak. As true as that is, I say it with some reluctance, knowing that I've offended other animals in the past with commentary that was much less insulting. Did you know there is no universally accepted plural form of the word "platypus." No plural? What kind of thing can't be addressed unless it's alone? Only a platypus, which Wikipedia describes as an "egg-laying, venomous, duck-billed, beaver-tailed, otter-footed mammal." That's right... not a duck... not a beaver. Just a venomous, egg-laying grab-bag of animal parts in one egg-laying mammal. You are a freak, platypus. And so are you, other platypus. Man, I wish you guys had a plural.

Our Pet Fish

We went to our nephew's birthday party recently, and instead of taking home a party hat or some leftover cake, we were sent home with a goldfish. I'm not sure we really needed a pet, but as long as we were getting one as a party favor, I'm glad we got the easiest, most boring, least rewarding kind of pet. My wife and I had a conversation about our new fish that night:

Lovely wife: What should we name our fish?
Me: Steven Tyler.
Lovely wife: No - that's a dumb name.
Me: Try telling that to Steven Tyler.
Lovely wife: Well, I wouldn't tell him that, because it's not a dumb name for a person.
Me: I meant you should tell that to the fish.

For the next day or two, she tried calling the fish by other names, but I held fast to "Steven Tyler," and eventually the name stuck. She tried to justify it by saying that Steven Tyler (the person) has lips that are kind of like a fish's lips, but that's over thinking it. Everything doesn't always need to make sense. I know I don't.

The Killer Whale Strikes Back

Several months ago I drew a killer whale. It seemed boring to post such a drawing without accompanying commentary, so I thought up some killer-whale-ish thoughts and put them on my blog. After that, I didn't think about killer whales for a long time. Then a couple of days ago, a killer whale, masquerading as a ten-year-old child, attacked me repeatedly with escalating hostility for the things I had written. The temperamental whale wrote:

"this is incorrect orcas dont eat and attack eneything they want they only attack when there hungary i know that and im only 10!."

Here we find further evidence to support the claim that killer whales are one of the sea's most intelligent creatures. Isn't it interesting that this orca knew he could never pass himself off as an adult human because of his inability to punctuate or spell, so he claimed to be a ten-year-old instead? Ingenious! I might have bought the ruse had he claimed to be a four-year-old, but even ten-year-olds can spell "anything."

"orcas dont attack great whites and there not the number 1 preditors of the sea great whites are i can point out so meny mistakes in this. you should go on are you smarter than a 10 year old to prove me wrong if your so smart and special to dis the name of the killer whale.YOU ARE THE BIGGEST IDIOT EVER!!!!."

"Dis" the name of the killer whale? Do killer whales really think this is how ten-year-olds speak? And what's with the obsessively repetitious insistence that these messages are coming from a ten-year-old? There's only one thing that would have been more suspicious for him to continuously repeat: "I am definitely not a killer whale."

"you are putting false images in the mind's of teenagers im 10 and know better than to believe you YOU HEAR THAT TEEN'S ,SHANES TERNING YOU INTO IDIOT."

I found the killer whale's specific concern for teens quite puzzling. It is possible that teens are the most delicious flavor of human. This would explain why the whale would object to me dissuading teens from swimming in the open sea.

"THEY DON'T ATTACK PEOPLE UNLESS THE PERSON PREVOKES THEM . YOU ARE THE MOST HORRIFIC URCHEN IN THE SEA GO SLITHER BACK TO THE ABASSLE PLAIN YOU INSULT TO HUMANATEY!!"

If killer whales really only attack people when they are provoked, it seems I gave this particular whale a pretty solid provoking (or "prevoking"). I need to be more careful when I write about animals that I assume have no internet access. Back to the abassle plain with me.

Disgruntled Bunny

This week's Toon Club topic was Easter, and I had planned to draw something really cute and fluffy and bright... something sweet enough to make everyone a little nauseous. But last week I started car pooling to work with some guys I work with... Brandon and Joe. Joe suggested on Friday that we should each draw a maniacal bunny, and that's where this guy came from.

It's nice to be car pooling... not only because gasoline now costs more than the car you put it in, but also because I'm finally saving the rainforests and polar bears like I'd always hoped to, and my weekly road rage numbers are way down, which will probably add several years to my life. I'm not just saving the rainforests and polar bears... I'm saving me. And more important than any of those things... I'm saving money. Happy Easter, everyone!

Piggy-Back Ride

It's been a while since I did a drawing video, so I put this one together to appease the more-than-twelve people who like them. I probably should have put some thought into what I should draw before my pencil hit the paper. Clearly I didn't, and I came up with this unexpected result... a cowboy bear, swinging a lasso, riding a small pig through the desert. My goal for my next drawing video is to not include any pigs or bears, but so far I've learned that pigs and bears are what I draw when I draw without thinking. I like not thinking... it's how I roll.

In a piggyback ride, is the "piggy" the carrier or the rider? Why are either of them the piggy? That style of carrying isn't pig-like at all. It should be called "gorilla-back riding" or "koala-back riding," because gorillas and koalas sometimes carry their young on their backs. That's not how pigs carry each other. In fact, pigs don't carry each other at all. They wallow lazily. "Piggy-back ride" should be the term for tripping over someone who's lying lifelessly on the ground or in a gutter.

Donkey

This is a donkey... as are most of the people I share the road with during my daily commute. I should like to address these folks at this time. My not-so-bright friends... it is okay to be passed. If you only want to go 55 on the freeway, that's fine. Just get to the right lane, and go your 55. Don't go 55 in the left lane and jump to 90 when someone tries to pass you. Doing that makes you the kind of donkey whose first name is "Jack." Choose a speed and stay with it, and if you're not passing anyone, get to the right. Remember... if you're not stuck in traffic, you're causing it.

I drew this a few weeks ago for some local people who wanted to update the logo on their website. There's more to it than you see here, but the donkey was my favorite part... so that's all you get. You'll have to go to their website to see the whole thing.

More Storyboards

A couple of months ago I posted some storyboards from something I was working on. Recently I've been trying to wrap that up, and I haven't drawn much of anything else... so in the interest of keeping my blog alive, here are some more out-of-sequence storyboards that don't make sense. I hope to get back to my normal, ranting ways very soon.

Robot Dog

These birds are over-estimating what it takes to scare a cat. Why waste your time and resources acquiring a robotic dog when a flashlight or an old boot would be just as effective? If you want to cause a cat to flee in terror, the only thing you really need is a cat. This drawing is where the phrases "scaredy-cat" and "bird-brained" collide.

Valentine's Day Again

Another Valentine's Day is just around the corner, and I still haven't gotten around to buying my wife a gift for last year's Valentine's Day. In fact, if you remember, all she got last year was a weird drawing of a bunny and a fox hugging next to some smiley hearts. I guess that's kind of like a Valentine's gift... and in that same way, I guess you could say I'm done Valentine's shopping for this year too. It looks like the thoughtfulness and care that should go into selecting a gift for my wife will once again be replaced by a weird drawing with hearts in it. I drew this the day after watching Disney's old, non-Oscar-winning film, The Ugly Dachshund. I guess I just had weenie dogs on my mind. And why not? After all, they are delicious.

The word "dachshund" is German for "badger dog." I wonder if that's why this "Weenie of Love" is so similar to the "Badgers of Love" I drew recently. Apparently I've convinced myself that any animal with "badger" in its title is to be armed with heart-shaped arrows.

Happy Valentine's Day to my wonderful wife... sorry I only got you one of my drawings again. I'm a weenie like that. Hey, look - a tie-in! Now the drawing kind of makes sense.

Groundhog Day

You can tell my blog has been around a long time when I start repeating topics. Two years ago I exhausted all of my Groundhog-Day-themed material, so for this year's groundhog drawing, I'm just going to have to write about the groundhog itself. Here are a few things I just learned about groundhogs:

"The groundhog, also known as the woodchuck, land beaver, or whistlepig, is a rodent of the family Sciuridae, belonging to the group of large ground squirrels known as marmots."

Okay, I'm familiar with the term "woodchuck," mainly because of all the times I've been invited to consider the amount of wood a woodchuck could chuck, considering it could in fact chuck wood. But since when are groundhogs also known as whistepigs? Who knows them as that, and what asylum do they call home? As for land beaver... don't we already have a land beaver? That's like calling an elephant a "land cow." We already have a land cow... it's called a cow. The paragraph goes on to say:

"Most marmots, such as yellow-bellied and hoary marmots, live in rocky and mountainous areas, but the woodchuck is a lowland creature."

"Yellow-bellied" and "hoary?" Who's naming the different kinds of marmots, and what resentment are they harboring? Isn't "yellow-bellied" the Old West term for someone who's cowardly or spineless? I think that's what the Sheriff of Nottingham called Marty McFly. My vote is for "lily-livered" marmot... it just sounds a little more insulting. And then there's the "whorey" marmot... I know that's not how it's spelled, but marmots can't read, so it all sounds the same to them. Yellow-bellied or whorey... the poor marmots can't win.

From now on, instead of calling it "Groundhog Day," I will know February 2nd as "Lily-Livered Whistlepig Day." Just when you thought this holiday couldn't make any less sense...

Those Lazy Koalas

Koalas sleep between 18 and 20 hours a day. If that statistic surprises you (and if you're not very good with math and don't have a calculator handy) you'll also be surprised to learn that koalas are only awake between 4 and 6 hours a day. A koala would have to live 108 years to spend as much time awake as I've experienced in my 32 years. If he wanted to catch up on the first three seasons of Lost before season four premiers on Thursday night, politically incorrectly assuming the koala was in fact a "he," a koala would have had to spend every waking minute in front of a TV for the last two weeks... three weeks if he was interested in bonus features. Of course, he would have needed to start in late October if he found himself needing to rewind every time something bizzarely confusing happened. But perhaps the most staggering statistic of all in relation to the laziness and over-sleeping habits of koalas... it would take a koala nearly a week to do the math that went into the writing of this paragraph, considering the koala's math skills are on par with my own... it took me less than two days.

This is the 200th post on my blog. How about that? Many thanks to those of you who come here all the time... the responsibility I feel to keep you just a little bit entertained is one of the things that keeps me drawing, so thanks for the pressure you provide. I never would have made it to 200 without you looming over me like that.

Home on the Range

Oh, give you a home where the buffalo roam? That's a strange request. I suppose if given the choice, I'd take roaming buffalo as roommates over temperamental grizzlies or bitey bald eagles, but for now I'll just stick with my wildlife-free living arrangements, I think.

Little Davy Crockett

"Born on a mountain top in Tennessee... greenest state in the land of the free. Raised in the woods so he knew every tree. Killed him a bear when he was only three. Davy... Davy Crockett - king of the wild frontier."

How does a three-year-old kill a bear? Was the bear elderly? Did it not have legs? Did Davy accidentally run it over with a tractor? Because this could not have been a full-strength, full-sized, full-brained bear. I couldn't tie my shoes when I was three... in fact, I considered it a victory when I got them on the right feet. And I'm supposed to believe that Davy Crockett killed a fully functional bear at that age? I guess that's why there's a song and a TV show about him and not even so much as a jingle about me and my wrong-footed shoes.

Davy Crockett probably would have gone down in history as the man in the bear-skin cap if wearing a bear's carcass on your head was at all comfortable or possible. But since animals of that size are impractical as headwear, he simply killed and wore the first hat-sized critter to pass unluckily by. Let's forget about the bear for a second... how does a three-year-old even kill a raccoon? Not just physically, but morally. I feel bad when I accidentally step on a grasshopper. Little Davy was beyond feeling.

Some Storyboards

Here are some storyboards I did a few weeks ago for a project I'd like to see made into a film someday... inspired by character designs that my good bud Seth Hippen did when we were in college. These boards aren't in order, and about ninety percent of the sequence is missing, so don't feel too bad if the story doesn't make any sense to you. That certainly doesn't mean you're dumb... though you still might be.

Thanks so much for visiting my blog, and even more thanks to those of you who leave comments. Happy New Year, everyone!

Christmas '82

I haven't had time to draw recently for a reason that's sleeping better the last couple of nights, but I wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and I needed a picture to post with such a greeting. So I went back to the archives and found this one from 1982... the same year as the Thanksgiving one I posted last month. I wish I had drawn more of the Nativity scene than I did here, because if my Indian at the first Thanksgiving feast was that flamboyant, I'd be very interested in knowing what a wise man looked like.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Gwen

I haven't drawn anything in the last few days, and it's going to be a few more days before I draw again. Last Thursday night we went to the hospital and traded in my wife's mobility for a cute, little girl we named Gwen. Actually my wife and many of the nurses would probably object to my use of the word "little" as she weighed 9 pounds 12 ounces. After only a few days of life, her hobbies are limited to eating, sleeping, pooping, staring at the Christmas tree, and hosting 4AM scream-a-thons. We love her, but we're tired. I'll draw again soon, but until then, here's our new daugther. So far she looks like me but still manages to be cute. It's a Christmas miracle!

Frosty the Snowman

"Frosty the Snowman made the children laugh and play..."

Badgers of Love

I drew these a few weeks ago for a character design exercise we did at work. My first attempt looked like everything I draw, so they told me to branch out and do something new. I have the hardest time breaking away from my own drawing style... mostly because I rarely feel like I have any reason to. But in this case I gave it my best shot, and after a few attempts, I ended up with a final version that looked something like this:
Actually it looked a lot like this because this is it. The goal was to design a squirrel, a badger, or a muskrat that would fit into a video game in a "helper" role. I figured this badger would follow you around and shoot enemies with his love arrows... then instead of wanting to kill you, they would just find you attractive. If their attraction became too aggressive, I suppose you'd have a new set of problems to deal with, but it's not really a game, so I'm not too concerned.

Mocking Santa

Shouldn't elves know better than to make fun of someone who sees you when you're sleeping and knows when you're awake? It would be hard to work for a boss like that, because let's be honest... Santa's going to get mocked. He's thousands of years old, grossly overweight, and has been wearing the same, goofy-looking suit for longer than I've been alive. I wouldn't wear that thing in the privacy of my own closet... Santa wears it to the mall.

All right... based on the reflection in my monitor, I'm pretty sure he's standing behind me right now. This may be my last post.

I've Been Tagged

Well... I've been tagged. You'd think I would have noticed it in the mirror the morning after it happened, but no. I first learned of it while reading my sister's blog. What does it mean to be "tagged?" Well, it doesn't mean I've been marked for observation by the forest service like I originally assumed. It's actually something that kind of resembles a chain letter, or a virus, or a plague. If you get tagged, you're supposed to write six interesting things about yourself on your blog, and then pass the assignment on to a handful of your friends. Good news for my friends, though... the tagging stops here. I'm breaking the chain. But even though I'm not paying the plague forward, I thought I'd write six things about myself and hope that at least one of them is mildly interesting.

1 - I've never seen so much as a minute from any episode of the Star Trek franchise... not the original series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, or The College Years. I've also never seen a Star Trek film. I don't have anything against Star Trek, but I don't really have anything for it either.

2 - It bothers me when people tell me to "turn off the TV and pick up a book." I think reading's great... if you're stranded alone on an island or if you hate everyone you know and don't wish to speak to them or enjoy their company. A few years back, I tried to read all of the Harry Potter books. I've never felt so anti-social. The books were fine, but I might as well have been in a coma considering how much human interaction I experienced that summer. Think of someone you know who absolutely loves reading... that's all you know about them, isn't it.

3 - I don't run for fun... because running for fun is impossible. I'll run as hard as I can if I'm playing basketball or crossing a freeway, but running for fun? Hitting myself in the head with a hammer sounds more fun than running. One of my old roommates used to invite me to go running with him. From what? Are there wolves in the apartment? Because if there are, I'll run without question or invitation. But if our apartment is as wolf-free as it appears to be, I'll save my running for sports and moments of extreme cowardice.

4 - I can fly... if you count airplanes and let a pilot help me. I can also fly if you're willing to consider "free falling" a form of flight. But since that would require me to fall from something, I prefer to fly the "airplane" way, thank you.

5 - Nothing makes me more angry than people who talk during movies, bad referees, and drivers who don't understand the "stay right except to pass" part of freeway driving. Actually lots of other things make me that angry. My list of things that don't make me angry would be much shorter... maybe I should go that route.

6 - The sixth thing that is interesting about me is that there are only five things that are interesting about me. That blows my mind.

Adopt a Rabbit

Yeah, I know... this is kind of sad. But don't judge me. You were thinking the same thing.

Thanksgiving '82

I found this Thanksgiving-themed masterpiece in one of my old boxes, and I was surprised to learn that I'm still using the same basic drawing technique now that I was using as a 7-year-old. And what technique is that? Masking my inabilities through shortcuts and trickery, of course. Consider my more recent drawings... the gradient backgrounds, the Photoshop-selection-tool shadows, and the way my characters frequently conceal their poorly-drawn hands behind their backs or in their pockets. Yes, the art of using shortcuts to hide shortcomings remains the essence of my drawing "style."

Look at this drawing... I used that exact technique. Obviously I wasn't sure how to draw a turkey's head. No matter... that's why a page has borders. Clever staging seamlessly covered up that potential hang-up. I wasn't the best at drawing trees either, so I labeled the tree, thus wiping away any possible confusion there. And if you're having trouble finding the fox, that's because I cut back on drawing time by hiding his body behind the labeled tree. If you still can't find him, just read the labels.

But the best part of this drawing is its clear depiction of the first Thanksgiving... when the pilgrims and the feathered-beret-wearing pimps gathered together in the tall dead, grass of autumn beneath hovering trees to feast, to give thanks, and to make fun of people who wore purple jumpsuits... which is still what Thanksgiving means to me.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is just one week away, making the coming week the most dangerous week of the year for turkeys... unless you're a Canadian turkey, in which case the most dangerous week of the year has already passed, and this is your sixth week of mourning. But if you're an American turkey, look out. Most of you are doomed.

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't eat turkey if turkeys were cute or if they tasted bad, but ugly and delicious? There's nothing safe about that combination. There's lots of stuff to be thankful for on Thanksgiving... family, health, paid vacation days, football, Christmas, etc. But mostly I'm thankful I'm not a turkey.

Mountain Lion

Question: What is the difference between a mountain lion and a cougar?
Answer: Most sources will tell you they are the same thing, but in actuality, there is one major difference... mountain lions carry canteens.

Question: What is the difference between a mountain lion and a mountain man?
Answer: The tail.

The Mad Tea Party

I was always confused as a kid by the way the tea party in Alice in Wonderland was referred to as "mad." Mad? Those guys didn't seem mad at all. They tipped the scales on "crazy," but I never saw them as being mad. Later in life I learned that "mad" can also mean "crazy." Synonyms... yet another way language has managed to vex me.

When languages were originally developed, couldn't we have just made up an entirely new word for each new thing? Theodor Geisel got his doctorate in making up words, so I know there's potential for lots more of them than we're using. We needn't be giving multiple meanings to the few we have. I still giggle when Gene Autry insists that I be "merry and gay" each Christmas. Synonymns make me mad... by which I mean both "angry" and "nutty."

Scapegoat

Lately I haven't been posting things on my blog as regularly as I like to, which makes me nervous that the twelve people who come here might be losing interest. Sorry that I've been so boring recently, but I'm hoping to get back on track this week. I should have a bit more time for blogging in the near future now that work's settling down a little, I'm not sick anymore, Halloween's done, and the mischievous scapegoat has finally been imprisoned.

Check back soon... more stuff's on the way.

Thriller

I remember the night that Michael Jackson's Thriller video premiered... my whole family gathered together to watch it on TV. And right next to that in my memory are all of the times I ran through our upstairs hallway from the zombies and werewolves I figured were lurking in the closets up there. Now that I have a job in story-telling, an imagination is a valuable thing to have. But that same imagination is a curse to a kid, as evidenced by a childhood full of nightmares. Sharks, snakes, Michael Jackson... I missed out on so much sleep as a kid because of terrifying monsters like these. I learned years later that Michael Jackson was actually supposed to have been more scary as a werewolf... I totally missed that.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

Copy Cat

"Copy cat." What a dumb expression. I just spent a few of my life's most boring minutes researching its origin, and it seems that it may have derived from the way kittens have been known to imitate the behaviors of their mothers. Yeah... because that's a uniquely kittenish thing to do. If copying your mother's behavior is something only cats do, then why do I say "good glory" in the place of swearing? I think it's because my mom "swears" that way, and also because I'm apparently a cat.

Frankenswine

This week's Toon Club topic was Frankenstein. I didn't really want to draw Frankenstein, but I did want to draw a pig, and I've been meaning to post more blue animals on my blog... so when you add those things together, the result can only be Frankenswine. I googled "Frankenswine," and it seems I'm about the 886th person to use that not-so-clever variation of the Frankenstein name. I'm just glad to be in the first thousand.

A Witchy Silhouette

This week's Toon Club topic was Witches. I drew this really quickly, because I wanted to get it done before I drove myself crazy. As it turns out, I can't draw a witch without the soundtrack from "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" playing on an endless loop in my giant head. Treguna mekoides tracorum satis dee! Man, I hate my brain.

Don't Jump in the Leaves

When I was a kid, I used to helpfully watch as my mom spent hours raking our whole yard by herself. When she was finally finished, she would warn me, "Don't jump in the leaves." I assumed she was trying to keep me safe from the man-eating leaf pile which would certainly open wide and swallow me whole if I jumped at it. Only recently have I realized that she only told me not to jump in the leaves because then she would have had to rake them all again. My mom can be so selfish.

Just kidding, Mom... you're the best! Sorry I didn't help you with the raking, but I've never felt comfortable around piles of leaves... as you can see.

I'm a HUGE Football Fan!

Recently my wife and I went to a football game... it looked like this. I've taken some liberties with hair colors and burger toppings, but this was basically it. I'm not exactly in a position to criticize as I would still be considered overweight if I magically lost 20 pounds (which realistically is the only way I'm going to lose 20 pounds), but I think it's time we abandon the "ticketing" system and start purchasing our stadium seating by the inch. I'd have to pay more than a lot of people, but then I'd at least know that I wasn't going to have to watch the game with someone I don't know sitting on my lap... and my arm... and my other arm and chest. On the bright side, however, it was a good game, and I expect to be walking again in less than a month. Really looking forward to that.

Wing-Tailed Unicordionist

Well, it's already October again, and I thought I'd start out the creepiest month of the year with a drawing of the most horrifying creature I could imagine... a Wing-Tailed Unicordionist. He's going to give you all nightmares... or brownies. Luckily he lets you pick which one you want, but the brownies have nuts in them, so you may want to consider the nightmares. I hate when brownies get ruined by nuts. More "scary" drawings are on their way this month, because obviously I'm really good at them. I love October.

Too Much Yard Work

I've been doing too much yard work this week to draw anything new, so here's something I drew a few weeks ago that I wasn't even going to post. It's true... this poor little guy would have remained in the skecth stack forever if our bushes hadn't grown tall enough in the last month to completely eclipse our house. Some worse-than-usual traffic has also wasted a bunch of my time, but I'll save my road rage rant for another day... or a series of days. That's one of my longer rants. It's actually more of a seminar.

The Last Unicorn

If all unicorns were this inconsiderate and careless, it's no surprise that they didn't last. Realistically, I can't imagine that a "one-anything band" has survival in its future. When was the last time you saw a one-man band? Aside from Bert in Mary Poppins, I've never seen one. I assume they were killed off before I was born by tigers, multi-man bands, and natural selection. The traditional one-man band is most likely extinct because it only performed one song... and that song had no title, no melody, and was as soothing on the ears as a train wreck. A solo bander doesn't make music... it makes noise.

My feelings about "noise" make me realize how old I'm getting. When I was a kid, adults were always telling me to quiet down. I couldn't figure out why old people were so objected to sound, but somewhere in the last thirty years... I got old. Last week someone cruised by our house on a motorcycle, and I thought, "What, are you trying to wake up the whole neighborhood?" I was also upset that the motorcyclist was visiting our street from a world without speed limits. What? I'm way too young to be this old. Fortunately I didn't confront him or I'd have probably ended up offering him sixpence to get a haircut. Crazy hooligan!

Wait, was this about unicorns? They were hooligans too.

Dog Sketches

I was just organizing the stack of sketches that consistently manages to overtake my desk, and I found some dogs that weren't too bad. I drew these after watching a dog-drawing seminar with my good bud and co-story-guy, Bryan Lefler. Now that I know all I could ever want to know about canine skeletal structure, I'm even more ashamed than I was before at how little I incorporate actual anatomy into my drawings. But, hey - it's all about the gesture... and some poses don't work when you have bones.

Truck Driver

Okay, no - not all truck drivers look like this... because some of them are women. That wasn't very nice, and I only say it because I'm tired of sitting behind truck drivers who pass each other going uphill on the freeway at half the speed limit. Just so you truckers know, though 32 miles an hour is wrecklessly fast in a school zone, it's probably not fast enough to require you to block the freeway's passing lane for ten minutes while you gently sneak by the guy who's going 30.

Driving a truck would be one of the worst jobs I can imagine. I experience plenty of road rage just driving to work... if driving was work, the rage would never subside. That giant mug is based on my own 64-ouncer that I used to fill with Cherry Coke at least once a day. I switched to water when I realized I was beginning to look like this gentleman.

Flying Wounded Seals

It's Fantasy Football time again, and that means the return of the Flying Wounded Seals. Every fantasy team I've ever had in any sport has had that same name. I joined my first fantasy football league one night in August of 2001 right after watching the Discovery Channel's world premier of "Air Jaws." When I was asked to provide a team name, the images from that nightmare-inducing show were still fresh in my mind. I guess I could have gone with "Super Sharks" or something more intimidating, but I had been cheering for the seals who flew through the air with gashes in their sides that night... not for the sharks whose momentum and teeth had caused the seals to be flying and wounded in the first place. And because I'm too lazy to come up with a new team name, I've been the Flying Wounded Seals ever since.

Week One was a pretty good week for my three Flying Wounded Seals teams... two wins and one loss. I decided to finally draw a logo for my six-year-old fantasy team last night while I was watching Monday Night Football. You're probably wondering why the wounded seal is so happy. Just because you're injured doesn't mean you have to be sad. We could all learn a lot from flying, wounded seals... like how to lose a game even when your defense scores 52 points.

A Horse With No Name

On Monday night we went to see America (the band, not the country). I've always liked them, which I guess means I'm a fan of nonsensical lyrics that are loaded with "la la la's" and set to guitar music. You may remember my confusion about Ventura Highway's "alligator lizards in the air." Well, here's part of another one of their songs that I really like but don't quite get:

"I've been through the desert on a horse with no name.
It felt good to be out of the rain.
In the desert you can remember your name,
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain."

Is that a triple negative in the last line?! Glorious! I'm also impressed that they managed to rhyme a seemingly unrhymable word like "name" with the equally complex word "name." Genius! But the most incredible thing about this song is the attitude of the guy who sings it. Finding himself lost in the desert on a horse he can't even converse with because he hasn't the means to address it, instead of focusing on his inevitable thirst-related death, what he thinks is, "How nice that it's not raining." Good for him.

One time I sprained my ankle and forgot my name for a couple weeks... pain will do that. If only we could all live in the carefree desert.

A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

I have some problems with the phrase "a wolf in sheep's clothing" - some serious, mental problems. That ridiculous saying is draped in flaw. I've seen a lot of sheep in my life, all over the world, and not a single one was ever wearing clothes... not even so much as a hat. Unless there's a cult out there somewhere that dresses farm animals in people clothes, I can safely assert that all sheep are naked all of the time.

A sheep whose wool has been sheered appears to be more naked than a wool-covered sheep, but neither of them is "clothed." If you shaved all of your dog's hair and covered yourself with it, you wouldn't say you were wearing your dog's clothes... you would say, "I'm a disgusting individual with no foreseeable hope of marrying." You wouldn't have to say that, though. People are intuitive about things like that... they would know.

So what have I drawn here? A sheep in wolf's clothing? Come on - let's call it what it is... a "sheep under wolf's carcass." It doesn't sound as charming, but accuracy trumps eloquence. Hey, look! I just found a worse saying!

The Bodyless Badger

A year ago I posted something on my blog about badgers. That drawing looked kind of rushed, so I drew this new, meaner-looking badger using the same basic design, only this time the badger had no body. I tried to mask the lack of body by throwing one together in Photoshop. This took about four seconds and looked awful. So instead of re-doing it or taking the time to draw one, I just darkened it all into obscurity. Sometimes the most creative thing about art is finding ways to not do art.

Killer Whales

Orcas attack and eat anything they want to in the ocean... and sometimes they venture up onto beaches to kill stuff there too. They've even been known to attack great white sharks. Considering the threat they are to everything in or near the sea, it's no wonder that orcas are more commonly known as "killer whales." Then why am I more terrified of sharks than I am of killer whales if killer whales are the ocean's number one predator? I can think of a few reasons.

Because of their natural color markings that look like smile lines, killer whales always seem happy. Sharks are ugly and look mad. So even though both animals have dagger-like teeth that could easily rip my flesh from my bones, I find myself less afraid of the one who would look happy doing it.

Sea World has also influenced my feelings. At the Shark Encounter, ominous music plays in darkened caverns while sharks eerily encircle the exhibit's guests who find themselves trapped in tunnels well below the surface. At Shamu Stadium, cheerleaders in wet suits dance around to Brittany Spears classics while killer whales leap from the water, playfully launching other cheerleaders into the air. It's hard to misread the message Sea World is sending.

And the last reason that sharks are scarier than killer whales... it's impossible to trust a fish.

John Denver

Hey, everyone... I like John Denver! Yeah, that's right... and I'm not ashamed of it. Out of the 6,721 songs on my iPod, John Denver sings 239 of them. I even broke up with a girl once because she said she hated John Denver. That wasn't the only reason I broke up with her... I just knew that someone that unstable would probably eventually claim that babies are ugly and ice cream is gross.

Even if you don't like him or his music, you can't argue that John Denver's the coolest person who was ever born with the last name "Deutschendorf." Sunshine on his shoulders made him happy. Guest appearances and Christmas specials with the Muppets made him a star.

The Wild West

I drew these guys while trying to put together my "wanted" poster, but they didn't seem like criminals, so they became abandoned concepts instead. They were about to become part of my giant stack of discarded sketches when I noticed that the two drawings kind of fit together side-by-side. So this scene doesn't make sense because it was never meant to be a scene. All the same, here's some "forced sense" for it:

While the older gentleman on the left is trying to figure out why he has fewer fingers on his left hand than everyone else in town, the guy on the right stares in hat-floating amazement at the remains of a man who was born with his head upside down. Anatomy... not a popular subject in the Wild West... or for me.

Lyle Gunnerson

I drew this for the most recent topic on the Avalanche blog: "Wanted in the Wild West."

I never realized how much fun it is to draw cowboys... all the more reason to bring a sketchbook to the state fair next month. That place is a sketchbook goldmine with its pig races, bears on unicycles, countless wandering fair-going weirdos, and the opportunity to see the world's tallest horse for just fifty cents. Yeah, I know if I'm there, that makes me a "fair-going weirdo" too. But at least my belt buckle's smaller than my head.

Pinocchio & Jiminy

I've mentioned on my blog before that Pinocchio is my favorite movie ever. Then I said the exact same thing about Mary Poppins. Clearly I don't know what I'm talking about or what I think. For the purpose of sounding like I know my own opinion, I'm going to say that Pinocchio is my favorite animated movie ever. For Toon Club's Pinocchio topic, I finally had a reason to try my hand at drawing Pinocchio again. My first attempt was... well, reviews have been mixed. This was a lot of fun to draw... especially the "Jiminy Cricket" part.

Jiminy Cricket is the coolest. He taught me that, if I don't ride my bike into oncoming traffic, I might live to be 23. I'm getting close to 33 now, so I must have subconsciously heard the second verse too. Actually I just don't ride a bike at all... which is the best way to avoid bicycle-riding death. I'm no fool.

I hung Jiminy Cricket on the rear-view mirror in my car... but not in the "Old West execution" style like it sounds. It's actually a Christmas tree ornament, and Jiminy's hanging from his umbrella... not his neck. I put him there because I thought having a conscience nearby might curb my road-rage. Hasn't really worked, though. If you're not passing anyone, get to the right! Even "plastic Jiminy ornament" knows that.

Death By Vacation

Vacation days are too few. If I had 120 vacation days a year, I would probably allow myself to spend a few of them relaxing at home. I could certainly use that kind of break. But because vacation days are so limited, I refuse to waste them on boring activities like "resting" or "breathing." In fact, I can't think of the last time I had a day off that wasn't considerably more exhausting than going to work would have been.

I've heard people say at the end of a tiring day that it was "no day at the beach." For me a day at the beach is worse. A typical one consists of about nine hours of fighting the ocean tide, a three-mile walk through the sand while the sun sets, and about eight hours of card games. A day at the beach nearly kills me because a night at the beach is only a few minutes long.

This drawing shows how I feel when I get home from a typical vacation. Now that I think about it, if I had 120 vacation days a year, I'd already be dead. It would just be more time I'd refuse to waste.

I love vacations... they're a fun way to die.

The Battle of Endor

When I was a kid, I had over a hundred Star Wars action figures. By the time my mom sold them all at a garage sale without telling me so she could estrange me for the most depressing years of my childhood, most of them were pretty battle-scarred. Because of their tattered appearance and their status as "not yet collectible," the whole set, including the Millennium Falcon and five or six other play sets, sold for much less than they should have. If you're the one who bought all my Star Wars toys, I'll buy them back from you for more than ten times the amount you spent on them in 1985. I am writing you a check right now for $3.62. Why would my mom sell my Star Wars toys? I've asked her... there's no answer.

I drew this for the Avalanche blog... the topic was Stupid Star Wars Characters. I've always loved the old Star Wars movies, but even as a kid I remember being a little disappointed that the final battle between the Empire and the Rebels came down to a forest shoot-out between aim-disabled Stormtroopers and teddy bears with sticks. If you were picking teams for a galactic battle, I'm pretty sure the battle would be "locked" long before any Ewoks or Stormtroopers were drafted.

Bear vs Tiger

I must have drawn these guys ten times... and I couldn't get them to fight once. In fact, one of the times they were dancing. So the question of "grizzly bear vs. Bengal tiger" remains a mystery... because bears and tigers are too reasonable and understanding to fight. Stupid, uncooperative sketches.

One other thing - next week is "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel. Don't miss it or you'll risk having nightmares about other stuff.

Elephant vs Monkey

I've often wondered what the outcome would be if a grizzly bear and a Bengal tiger got into a fight. Barring a zoo outbreak or a second worldwide flood, this fight will most likely never take place. I guess that's good for tigers and bears, but how will I ever know who would win? Any theories? I pick the bear, but that's just because he cheats.

This is what would happen if a monkey and an elephant got into a fight, because elephants are too friendly and jolly to beat up monkeys, so they'd just yo-yo them and stuff... which I guess isn't all that friendly. This theory needs work.

Summer is Lame

There was a period in my life when summer was my favorite time of year. I would swim all day or take five-hour naps or play basketball or tennis until it was too dark to see. Late at night I'd watch The Arsenio Hall Show long after I would have already been asleep the rest of the year, then I'd sleep in the next morning until The Price is Right was on. TV programming was the only reason I ever knew what time it was. I had no responsibility... nothing to accomplish or work on. Summer vacation was a three-month break from everything. By the depressing first day of school each fall, I had completely forgotten how to read and write from a summer of allowing my brain to atrophy inside my sun-baked head. Summer was wonderful... then I got older.

Now summer is the same as every other time of year except there's a lot more yard work, there's no football or basketball on TV, and I burst into flames every time I get in my car. Any season that includes weekly lawn-mowing is an enemy to me. I'm ready for fall... with its 70-degree days, football season, and the return of entertaining TV. Summer's so lame.

Garn Reunion

I drew this several months ago for some reunion t-shirts. The Garns have giant heads, so the weather-balloon-headed octopus was an easy choice. Because what fun is a family reunion if you're not wearing matching t-shirts that draw further attention to your family's genetically shared abnormalities?

Genetically I am a grab bag of all that is undesirable from both sides of my family tree. I got the enormous head from the Garns, and from the Lewis side I got the excessive amounts of "sweaty" and "hairy," as well as the crooked nose. When I wear glasses I look a little bit insane or like I was just in a fight because glasses won't sit horizontally across my face... on my giant head. Hooray for genetics.

Jaws Movies

One time when I was a kid, my mom left me in the care of my dad for the night. Somehow he made the grossly erroneous decision that I was old enough to watch Jaws. I'm not even sure I'm old enough to handle it now, so his math was off by at least thirty years. Good call, Dad. Before that night I didn't even know "scary" was an option for movies. I thought movies were about magical lands and singing animals. Five minutes into that thing I knew I never wanted to swim, bathe, or even run through the sprinklers again.

Luckily the Jaws sequels made sharks less scary by continuously increasing in absurdity. In Jaws II, the shark took down a helicopter. A little hard to swallow... both for me and for the shark. Jaws III featured a shark that was roughly the size of Florida. Hurry to Sea World, everyone... they finally got a Megalodon. In Jaws IV: The Revenge, a descendant of the original "Jaws" shark followed the Brody widow all the way to the Bahamas. This lady's husband died of a heart attack caused by his own intense fear of sharks, one of her sons was eaten by a shark, and her other son was studying in the Bahamas to become a marine biologist. Hey, Brodys... move inland! Coastal cities and islands aren't for people who've managed to offend multiple generations of great whites.

One time my sister's high school class watched Jaws on a big screen while sitting on rafts and tubes in the darkened city pool. What a great idea! Maybe the mutant who planned that activity can arrange for next year's seniors to watch Shawshank in Shawshank. Come for the popcorn... stay for the violent prison beatings. I don't even like watching Jaws on my couch... no way I'm watching it in (or near) a pool. Sharks are cool... if you like nightmares. And thanks to that night my dad was my babysitter, I've had a lot of them.

The Never Beginning Story

If you've seen The Neverending Story in the last 20 years, you've seen it more recently than me. I don't remember a lot about that movie... just that the main villain was "nothing," the horse sunk into tar because its self-esteem was low, and of course, Falkor - the flying snake-dog with udders or tentacles or something. I guess when a snake and a flying dog breed, the result is a "dragon." What a messed up movie. What?! It was written by a German? No.

Classic Peter Pan

I stumbled upon this gem while looking through some old boxes. It was probably drawn around the same time as the Pinocchio sketch I posted a while back. There are several things about this one that I consider worthy of my own praise. For instance, the crocodile's wandering eye... that's a nice touch. Also, the crocodile's other wandering eye... equally stellar. The leaf on Captain Hook's hat is an interesting twist. Then there's Mr. Smee, striking an impressively flamboyant pose there in the background. But I think my favorite thing about the whole glorious image is Peter Pan's double-jointed knee... or his dislocated hip... or his badly twisted ankle. Whatever it is, I'm going to consider it the highest level of dexterity ever seen in the history of artistry.

Drawing Some Bears

I've heard that a lot of kids I know and some I don't have been drawing flying pigs for the last little while because of a video I made. I feel that there is a limit to how much winged pork you can draw in a lifetime, and while I fortunately haven't reached that point, some of these poor kids did weeks ago. Since they don't know how to draw other stuff, they're still cranking out pigs. To keep them from burning out on drawing completely, I put this new video together. Look, kids! You can finally draw something else! I wish I had used a darker pencil… something for me to remember when everyone's sick of drawing hugging bears and I have to make a new drawing video. Hey, kids - DON'T hold your pencils like this! It works just fine, but the resulting ridicule never ends.

Harry Potter

This is the cover of the final book in the Harry Potter series: "Harry Potter and the Worthless Education."

It's a shame that potential employers care so little about the good grade you got in "Spell Casting," and the way they mock you when you say they haven't heard of the school you graduated from because it can only be accessed through an invisible portal at the train station. Way to prepare your students for the real world, Hogwarts.

I don't mean to imply by this that flipping pancakes at IHOP is a bad occupation... but when you're trained in the largely useless art of wizardry, it must feel like a big step down. Sorry to have spoiled the big twist at the end of the final book.