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!

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I never cared much for history classes in school with their outdated information and their heavy text books full of boring names and boringer dates.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.

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.