Cold shoulder

I don’t post a lot of Betty Boop cartoons. I’m not sure why; maybe it’s because it seems like somebody else has already done it and it’s not that original to do so. I like her fine, but it seems like the ubiquitous truck stop merchandising featuring her image has tarnished her a little in my mind. That’s not really fair. Some dumb lady with her Betty Boop wall clock and Betty Boop coffee mug and Betty Boop slippers going, “Oh, I’m so Betty Boop!” in a baby voice* shouldn’t turn me off of what is a pretty good cartoon character. Just watch how she handles these devils. Go get ’em, Betty.

*Maybe I’m being unfair and mischaracterizing these ladies. Perhaps some time I will have a nice chat with one of them to see what aspects of Betty they identify with and be pleasantly surprised. Perhaps.

Answer me

It’s not as prevalent as it used to be, but there’s a thing in pop culture called the answer song. An answer song, usually recorded by another artist, is a response to a previously recorded song. “Southern Man” is followed by “Sweet Home Alabama.” “Work With Me, Annie” is answered by “Roll With Me, Henry,” which is ultimately answered by “Annie Had A Baby.” If you want to get dark, there’s always the song “Little Blossom” (a song from the point of view of a neglected child who eventually gets killed by her drunken father) and the ensuing, if unimaginatively titled, “Answer to Little Blossom” (sung by the father who is now in prison and expecting to get the death sentence).

The song “Boy Named Sue” already has a kind of weird and terrible answer song (look it up; I’m not linking it here), but I think I found a better one, lost pet notice-style. Friends, meet a bitch named Richard:


“Bitch” using the classic definition, of course. I’m sure she’s a very sweet pup.

There’s a hang-up

Okay, okay. I know I didn’t manage to even post a cartoon this weekend. The election and social media and oversharing put me in kind of a bum-out spiral for a bit. Hopefully this half-hour of multi-sourced re-drawn Spider-Man will atone for my laziness. It’s certainly a fine lesson in collaboration or something.

<p><a href=”″>Spider-Man Re-Animate</a> from <a href=””>Ron Doucet</a> on <a href=””>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

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Published in: on October 17, 2016 at 10:58 am  Leave a Comment  
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A ticket, a tocket

I got some brand new rockets for this year’s Rocket Day. One is tall and thin and shaped like a pencil. Benny laughed at me for getting it but it’s supposed to go really high. The other one is short and squat and isn’t supposed to go really high, but it kind of looks like SBI-5.

I’ll let you know if I encounter any Atlanteans or dinosaurs or fancy space millionaires while flying it. Wish me luck.

Etiquette & superstition: old wood


Many years ago, a friend gave me a wooden pipe that had been carved into the shape of a penis. It never got used much by anyone and we will not speak of it again, at least in this post.

ETIQUETTE: If you are having a dinner party but wish to show off your lovely antique wooden table, it is perfectly acceptable for you to use nice placemats instead of a tablecloth. Keep your place settings as simple as possible to avoid a cluttered “island of utensils” look, and make sure you have enough trivets and coasters for any serving dishes and implements that are on the table.

SUPERSTITION: According to the letters received by the rangers (check them out here and here), if you steal a piece of petrified wood from the Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona terrible things will happen to you. Your dog will die, your fancy new vase from Mexico will break, a loved one will get kidney problems or cancer, and you will fall through the roof of your new house. You’ll probably have some car problems as well.

Don’t bother sending that piece of petrified wood back to the park, either; the rangers can’t verify where it’s supposed to go even if you draw them a fancy map, and they’ll have to throw it onto the ever-growing cursed Pile Of Conscience they started by the side of some unlucky road.

Photo by Philip Porter via Flickr

A minty mischief of rats

Benny and I are having our seasonal rat problem right now, and the current group of rats is driving me more insane than normal. The other night I found a fat one eating an apple in our fruit bowl in the kitchen, so (after screaming) I took all the apples and put them on the trash can lid for later disposal in the compost bin. Not an hour later, I found that one of the other apples had been knocked off the trash can lid and chewed upon. I don’t know how this creepy rat made it up the side of the metal trash can to do that, and I really didn’t like thinking about it.

Because I had read online that peppermint oil was a good rodent deterrent, the next day I soaked a number of cotton balls in peppermint oil and left the balls in the kitchen corners and near points of ingress/egress. After using up my current vial I went out to buy more peppermint oil, and when I got back the whole house was overpowered by the peppermint smell. A nauseating level of peppermint. When Benny got home his eyes started watering, and the dinner I made that night was terrible because I couldn’t taste or smell anything correctly. Of course later that night when I went to get a drink of water, I came across my fat rat friend running from one cottonball to a different cottonball with nary a care in the world.

So I threw the cottonballs away, Benny set a ton of traps, and I think we executed the main jerk by the next morning. Here’s hoping his minions got the message and will stop bothering us now.

Anyway, all of this was a rather long-winded way of saying that Peppermint Land is not the delight that it seems to be in this cartoon.

Point well taken

I drove by what is probably my favorite liquor store sign today and thought about trying to take another picture of it, but I was late for an appointment. I always take rotten photos of this sign for some reason, and I would really like to have a nice photo of it someday. When I don’t stop to make another photo attempt, it’s because it’s too hard to park there, or the light seems bad, or whatever. And I already missed getting a photo of it before it got a big hole in it.

When I was leaving my appointment, I heard the news that the Melrose Witch (a/k/a Lava Lady, a/k/a Wellington Witch, etc.) had died. I drove by the liquor store sign, took a few more rotten photos, got home and bumped up the color on the photo as far as it would go, and now I’m posting it in honor of the passing of a most unique lady.


RIP, Ray Suzan Strauss. You were one of the first things I liked about Los Angeles.


UPDATE: More links about Suzan Strauss here and here (I’m being informed that my hyperlink color is too close to my regular text color, so you might have missed one of these above)

If you see Kay, tell her I’m not voting for her

When I was in high school, I wrote a humor column for the school paper. One column was about my not getting accepted to the college of my choice; against my advisor’s judgment, I titled the column “If You See Kay.” My advisor’s point was that I could have gotten away with it without much parental/administrational backlash (people actually read this newspaper, see) if I had bothered to set up a fictional “Kay” in the column, rather than just letting that dumb chestnut of a joke float unmoored in the headline. But I hadn’t bothered, and the paper came out the morning of the day I had a scholarship interview with my second-choice college’s representative… who just happened to be the principal of our high school, who had been fielding obscenity complaints from parents since lunchtime. I did not get that scholarship.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. My friend Lyman found this impassioned bit of electioneering up in San Francisco this weekend; he directed my attention to the fine print at the bottom. I’m guessing that this anti-Dan Neel committee definitely has meetings on Tuesdays, and could possibly be headed up by my old friend Kay. Good luck against this tarnishment, Dan. Kay can really fuck things up for a person.


No shit

(erases joke about cat being pursued by the hound of the Baskervilles)
(erases joke about cat being found at 221B Baker Street)
(erases joke about cat going to score some blow)
(gives up)


Published in: on September 22, 2016 at 4:46 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Etiquette & superstition: parsley


I’ve been somewhat lax in posting lately; I confess that I find it difficult to write in a lighthearted tone when I feel like punching people in the throat. I believe there are 48 days until the 2016 presidential election. Hopefully I will be able to maintain a cooler head in the days to come so that we all may continue enjoying our Fancy Notions. Let’s talk about parsley

ETIQUETTE: Parsley is used as a garnish for a savory food dish; it should not decorate a dessert plate. This sturdy sprig is perfectly acceptable to eat and in fact will help overcome strong mouth odors you may have acquired from consuming a pungent meal. Simply pick up the sprig with your fingers (no need to be overly daintly with a fork unless it is covered in sauce for some reason), and chew well before swallowing.

If you are dining with a companion who has parsley stuck in his or her teeth, let them know in an unobtrusive manner as quickly as possible. If you are the person with the parsley tooth, and your first couple of attempts to swish or wipe the leaf away are not successful, excuse yourself from the table and attend to the matter yourself in the restroom. Your partner’s attempts to pantomime the exact location of the bit are clearly not helping and you both look ridiculous.

SUPERSTITION: A wreath of parsley worn around the neck will prevent intoxication. How you get this parsley, however, is a bit trickier. People don’t give parsley to others unless they want a heap of bad luck. You’re going to have to grow it yourself. If you’re a woman in charge of planting the parsley, be advised this you might get pregnant by doing so. More on this later; moving on.

Plant the parsley in the place you intend it to stay, because transplanting it will kill someone in the household within the year. Don’t get discouraged if it doesn’t sprout right away; only very wicked people seem to have luck growing it. Oh hey, are you a woman who is worried that she got pregnant when she planted parsley? Stick some sprigs in your vagina and you’ll get your period soon enough.

Photo by Peter Lindberg via Flickr
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