Archive for December, 2007

Jimmy Carter Wins!

It’s official: between an algebra equation, a pile of candy, and the 39th President of the United States, Jimmy Carter is hands-down the favorite of this blog.

I’d like to take a moment to thank those of you who responded to the poll. Without your efforts, this blog would be just another crackpot’s rambling nonsense. Thanks for making my blog THE source of information for Jimmy Carter, Friday Robots, and of course Falling Rock National Park.

If this poll is as representative of the nation as one taken by CNN or MSNBC, and I believe it is, then Jimmy Carter should definitely run for president in 2008. Think about it: if the Man from Plains can win against candy, he’ll mop the floor with the Republican candidates. No question in my mind.

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I Am King

I’ve long joked about changing my name to Stephen King. That way, when I do get published, all my books will be inadvertently mixed with his. The undiscerning reader may accidentally pick up one of my comics instead of the latest bestseller by the other King. I’d get sales without any promotion! All the work would already be done by Stephen King the First’s publisher. Then, if things start really going well for me, I could run for president under the name Zachary Taylor. He’s remembered fondly, right?

My new mantra

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to speak with Ted Rall, the features editor at United Media. He looked over my work and told me in the kindest possible terms that he was totally uninterested in publishing it. He did give me some pointers as to what I should be working on, which is good, because I’ve grown tired of “work on the art” line I’ve gotten more than a few times.

One of the more interesting things he said was that I should have a mantra. Not a mantra in the sense that I should repeat it under my breath throughout the day, but one that relates to my comic strip. I should have a single phrase written on a 3X5 index card that sums up what I want to do with my comic strip. You know, get to the heart of the strip so that every single episode I draw is cohesive to the whole.

The comics business is a serious place, folks. It kind of makes sense, though. They don’t want just any schlub off the street drawing funny pictures for a living. It’s tough! Competitive! It’s like Wall Street, a funeral, and CSPAN all wrapped into one!

I haven’t figured out a mantra yet, but I now have a temporary one:
“Don’t Piss Off Batman.”
It’s kind of like What Would Jesus Do, except more relevant for an agnostic Jew like me.

I think that will do for now. Do you have a suggestion? Let me know!

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A Big-Hearted Man

The President of the United States of America loves bunnies. He is a kind man, with a heart swollen to the size of Barry Bonds after all his steroids, except the President has no need for artificial enhancements.

Bunnies, according to the Leader of the Free World, deserve to live just like any person. Maybe they have an even greater deservedness than some humans. The President believes that the life of a bunny is worth 37% more than the life of a human. He is continually horrified at the loss of baby bunnies due to extreme weather, lack of food, and at the hands of a wily coyote. That this is allowed to happen, in the Greatest County on Earth, is beyond his comprehension. Baby bunnies need to live, so that they can bring joy into an otherwise gray, featureless Earth.

When the cameras are off, when he can hide from the peering eyes of a nation, the President weeps. For every baby bunny who dies, he sheds a single tear. He weeps openly and plainly, out of grief and frustration. So many lost bunnies are due to circumstance. “Natural selection,” as one scientist puts it. But the President does not believe in Science. He believes in Belief.

The President’s wife, a former librarian, is a disciplined woman with a hard stare, and a long, rough physique obtained by years of self-starvation and meticulous neglect. She has no empathy for her husband. He is, in her deep-set eyes, a weak man in need of the right book to set him back on course. She will no longer listen to him speak of the “horrible injustice of it all”, the way the world seems “set against baby bunnies from Day One.”

When the President begins one of his near-daily monologues, the First Lady will calmly call for aid and watch in silence as he is dragged into a secret closet just to the right of the War Room. There he must stay until the torrent of emotion passes. Sometimes this takes hours, sometimes longer. Many of his long “vacations” are not spent in the sunny hills of Texas, but rather the stuffy confines of this closet.

It is said that in early 2001, the maids and groundskeepers believed the White House to be haunted by the ghost of Richard Nixon. They could hear the wailing of a man wracked with pity by something inexplicably large and unyielding. Never did they suspect that the current Commander in Chief was the one who made such a racket. Eventually word spread, whispered words spoken behind doors and in the shadows of those giant White House pillars, that the President felt the pain of every baby bunny who died before its time.

The responsibility of steering a country is a daunting one for even the strongest of men. We must feel fortunate that, at least with this current President, we have a man who cares so much for our unfortunate fluffy friends. One hopes that, with the election coming up next year, we can select a person (woman or man) who has a fraction of the feeling of our current leader.

He is a man who loves bunnies.
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Friday Robot

friday-robots 12-6-7
Today I wanted to get back to last week’s image of Mt. Hood, except I wanted to show the mountain more clearly. What better way to show off a beautiful mountain peak than by drawing a giant robot flying over it?

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