April 14, 2015


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April 9, 2015

PC Paul

Paul hoped his Wii wasn't being racist, but it definitely rewarded him for having a black avatar. 

April 3, 2015

Changing It Up Chet

Chet just had a random memory from back when Darcy was crushing his soul, when he was visiting for her graduation, all those years ago. When she was off getting it on with Toby Fucking James. 

All the while Chet searched on and off campus for her, stumbling around like a sad sap. 

As he looked, he ended up at a buddy's house. They needed a drummer. So he sat in. But he couldn't find the groove. 

These many years later, that’s why Chet remains just slightly bitter. Cause he couldn’t keep up with a jam. Cause he was wrecked by a woman.

Is that even country? Chet wondered, as he let the time drop for a quick half step.

March 31, 2015

Settling Sam

Sam was a much happier dog after he accepted his own limitations and stopped chasing squirrels. 

March 30, 2015

Out Ten Bucks

Jason spotted him from the bottom of the hill. Well, the bottom of the hill from where he had started.

Is that the same fucking guy? Yup. Same fucking guy. Same fucking corner. Same pleading look on his face.

And no recognition of Jason.

"Hey man, you got a dollar or two for bus fare? My car broke down and I gotta get my moms to the hospital."

"You said that to me last time, Man," Jason said.

"Sorry Man, I ain't got no job."

"Well, neither do I." Well, not full-time.

Jason’s wife’s job, combined with his steady part-time work allowed Jason to use that super expensive MFA, which no one actually paid him to use.

Still, Jason wasn’t going to give the guy another ten bucks, regardless of what kind of asshole he felt like.

Jason stormed off towards home, the dog barking in time with his raised blood pressure, neuroses… perhaps fear.

Jason let him bark; he did just tell off a homeless guy.  

Who probably didn’t have a wife. 

Maybe she left him.

Maybe she died.

Either way, it looked like the streets were winning.

Jason walked his ridiculously well-fed dog back to a warm house to eat a lovingly cooked dinner.  

And he knew he was the asshole again. 


But at least he wasn’t out another ten bucks. 

March 25, 2015

A Boy and His Dog and Simon & Garfunkel

Once upon a time there was a boy who sang as if God we're his ventriloquist.

But along the open road, the boy lost his heavenly voice, he couldn't even be sure where. 

One day, the boy found a dog who barked like a hurricane, like the Scorpions kind of hurricane. The rocking kind.

So the boy took the dog in. Unfortunately, the boy was homeless. 

The boy and the dog hit the street, the only home that would have them. But it bonded them tighter than any roof could, and they made themselves a home without walls. 

Though both had been self-described lone wolves before, now, neither could see the logic in that. They were pack now; forever.

Though the boy's divine voice still escaped him, he felt the air in his lungs getting stronger with each packspent day. Until one day, out of the heavenly blue, it was as if God, the puppet master of fate, reached out once again and put his hand up the boy's butt. And the spirit so powerfully moved the boy, he became compelled to sing gleefully to the wind. 

Upon hearing his master's soulful song, the dog joined in too, with a sublime ear for harmony, and just the slightest hint of a German accent.

It took a while, but eventually the dog and the boy came together, and by listening to each other, as pack members, they easily became one harmonious whole. They started a duet, loosely influenced by Simon & Garfunkel and Extreme. 

Like heaven and hell never parted, together, the boy and the dog created harmony so expansive it floated upon the summer wind of change, and the wings of angels, for all the world to hear.    

March 24, 2015

Charlie Barker

When Charlie Barker was just a wee pup, his master used to tell him no. 

But Charlie Barker is such a spirit, the universe just makes him blow.

March 23, 2015

Seattle Walking Can Be at Times Rainy

Since moving to Seattle, most of my transportation away from home occurs whilst walking. Two dog walks a day, usually in opposite directions, usually at least one trip to the coffee shop. Maybe the local pub if I'm "working" on my screenplay.

Everyday I see something interesting. So I'm going to try and get in the habit of posting at least one thing that caught my eye along the way.

While I may very well give up this practice tomorrow, today I saw a somewhat plump girl running in the frigid rain in just a very wet t-shirt that wasn't doing a very good job of keeping her warm and dry. Although it did a heckuva job showing off her fine form.

Her running form, People, sheesh. Perverts.

Okay, yes, her boobs were flopping in a wonderful way, but I was more focused on her face, well, perhaps equally focused during the two seconds it took her to pass by the coffee shop's panoramic view.

Boy did she look like she missed her jacket as she plodded along during the rainiest part of the day. Perhaps she was thrown off by the early rain and long stretch of afternoon sun? I too have been fooled by Seattle's mercurial nature, so I could easily recognize a girl who thought the worst was behind us.

Still, she had to run on. And run harder, for what else could she do? Walk into a coffee shop with her boobs all gloriously about?  No, into the storm she ran. In spite of it!

Anyways, the determination on her face was inspirational. And though I would've been more impressed if she were running uphill, she still takes the cake for the most interesting thing I saw along the way today. So now it's documented.

March 17, 2015

Educated Ed

Ed sent Penny two stories, neither of which he actually read, yet both he knew to be true at headline level.

Headline 1:

Are Men Idiots Who Do Stupid Things? Study Says Yes

Headline 2: 

99% of All Farts Don't Smell 

In Ed's ever-failing quest to reveal his true self to Penny, he hoped she would also accept these statements as truth. 

Then he polished off a delicious salt shake. 

March 10, 2015

that said

Not that i have anything really bothering me, other than it all. But being in a new town, getting to know Seattle for all its very good and all its kinda surprisingly bad, well, i should be writing about it. 

Though this has lately been a cartoon blog, i still feel like it's the right medium for my Seattle musings. 

Comics and musings are obviously related; the only way to look at life is comically. Especially in Seattle.

This place is a bit bonkers. And real. Like not joking around. Not like Playa del Rey seemed to be.

No. Far too serious here. The part of it I've gotten to know, anyhow. Which I just don't get. Like the kids in high school who always felt wronged and needed to pursue justice and dress weird because it was their right to.  

I'm all for justice, but can't humor still be righteous?

I'm new here. And springtime does seem to be loosening everything up. Spectacularly so, even. 

Still, there was an armed robbery in broad daylight on my corner today, from what I read online. And I still feel like going for a walk on that corner at dusk, because the glory of dusk is powerful enough to dissipate the stench of crime and need and gentrification and discord. 

Or so it is for me. Or so it is today. 

funny face

I don't blog from passion enough. I write best in my journal, which has no pen police. But here, with you, with precedent, well, i must edit.

You know how hard it is to move forward when all you want to do is look back and make sure your work is good?

I promise to try and stop that, from now on. I'm going to post about things that are real to me, even if the news isn't as chipper as one off-the-wall cartoon every couple of weeks.

Because I can't just put a funny face on everything, can i?

March 9, 2015

Tied-Up Tim

Before going on his afternoon walk, Tim spent the better part of five minutes trying to remember if he had gotten high yet. That's when he decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

December 17, 2014

What-Was-That Walt

“It’s not that I wasn’t listening, Honey, it’s that I forgot what I heard when I was listening.”

December 15, 2014

Death-Obsessed David

David always had an irrational fear of sharks, until one day, Brie explained that he'd have a much better chance of being killed by a falling coconut than by a man-eating shark. 

After that, David always had an irrational fear of sharks and coconuts. 

December 13, 2014

Stiffy Steve

Steve used to be embarrassed by his constant erection, but now that he was hitting strictly on cougars, it was a huge asset.

If he could just get it to go down on holidays.

December 12, 2014

Aloof AdPock

AdPock had been ignoring Missy since they first started dating. But now that they were married, she deeply resented it.

December 10, 2014

Bong Hit Bob

Bob was way into the communal concept of getting high at 4:20, but if he waited till then, he'd waste half his day.

December 9, 2014

The Dolphin's Savior

60 seconds, motherfuckers. Just hang on for 60-fucking ticks. Christ, this is dick-sandwich time.
Stop it. No bad thoughts. No bad juju, not now. Now is when the Fish need you most. It's now time. Hold the line.

"Hold it. Right here, baby! We hold them here and it's ball game! Sweet Jesus who art in heaven, please let them hold it right here, baby!"

"Does baby Jesus root for the Dolphins too, Daddy?" Asks Charlene, the yelling guy's precocious 6-year-old daughter.

"Ask your mother, Char, Daddy's focusing...”

The Dolphins don't hold.


First down Bills. Down to the Dolphins 34. But the Fins are still up by 4.

"Right now, fuckers. Just keep 'em out the endzone, Fish! Right now!"

"That's a quarter, daddy. Actually, two."

"Charlene! Not now! And there's no charges during Dolphins games, right?" Now is when they always fucking take that big fucking bite of hot dick sandwich.

Bills reverse to Sammy Watkins for 4 yards.

John Lennon's Making Me Dick Off Again

Since I can remember, I've been affected by John Lennon. I recall vaguely the day he died, 34 years ago today, and being very scared, because my parents were very sad. It was the first time I can recall seeing sadness like that.

But mostly, my memories of John recall being infatuated with his life of art. Every little thing that oozed out of him was art. And John made me want to be art too. 

These photos of doodles, which I retouched today, are taken from random notebooks I've kept through the years. I imagine each doodle came to be, because upon hearing John sing, I stopped doing whatever it was I was supposed to be doing, and became compelled to create instead.  

He continues to have that effect. So for me, John's as alive as ever.

December 7, 2014

Bored Bill

Bill couldn't help thinking that he might have had a really promising future if his parents hadn't made him go to college.

December 4, 2014

Tough Luck Toby

Toby liked to start his day with a game of solitaire. It got the mind moving while his bowels did the same. And what else was there to do once he'd finished scanning five self-allotted minutes of Facebook?

Unfortunately, Toby also allotted himself exactly one solitaire win. How else could he move on with the day if the game didn't finish to its proper completion?

Unfortunately, this day, Toby never won that game.

So he never left the toilet. 

December 2, 2014

Third-Degree Dean

Sure, Dean caught fire when he downed that flaming shot, but at least he wasn't a pansy.

November 26, 2014

Thankfully, I'm Not Manly In That Classic Sense of the Word

A few years back, my father's associate, Barney Rickshaw, persuaded him to go down to the boondocks of Argentina to go hunt doves. That's right, doves: the birds of peace.
            At first it was hard for me to swallow. My dad—whose knowledge of shotguns was reserved for golf tournaments—was no killer. I laughed at the prospect of him doing anything so rugged. So manly. I figured it was probably just a good business move, as Rickshaw was one of Dad's best America-fleecing clients.
            Surprisingly, my dad came back from the trip a bon-a-fide killer. Apparently, Argentina for dove season is unlike hunting anywhere else in the world. As the birds fly to and from their roost, they fill up the sky, turning day into night. There are no regulations as to how many birds you can shoot or how many shells you can load. So for those two hours, it's a hunter's paradise—a veritable dove genocide.

October 25, 2014

Has-Been Hank

That was the moment Hank realized he’d never been better at anything in his whole life than he was at Sega Hockey ’94.

October 23, 2014

Attentive AdPock

Fourteen minutes into his epic percussion solo, AdPock realized he had to finish putting away the dishes and stop smoking weed.

December 28, 2012

Life of Pi

Life of Pi: 92 Points. Definitely an escape, and a beautiful one at that. The only time I really felt out of the story were moments I’m pretty sure Ang Lee wanted me to feel out of the story – to give pause, to assess my own situation. It’s hard not to assess your life after watching Pi’s extraordinary adventure. It’s hard not to assess your faith. And if you don’t have enough, you might leave the theater a bit bereft, a bit jealous of those who can believe so fully. But if you think about it a bit more, let the lost-at-sea story sink in, you might also be able to see it as good reason to have faith in something other than a higher power: humanity.

November 18, 2012

Denial is For the Birds

I’m not very good at denying myself things; I can’t say no to any of my myriad compulsions. I’m a slave to them.

While it’s a close race, my most powerful of cravings is my need for Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie. If the idea sneaks into my mind, the idea must be eaten.

Maybe because I can’t see the point. Why shouldn’t I have what I want? Why should I try to deny myself what my base instincts so desire? What’s wrong with pleasure? I believe in pleasure.

However,  thanks to my Hebrew upbringing, I also believe in guilt. And where there’s guilt, there can be no pleasure.

So, in defiance of my upbringing, and to see if I could deny myself something – anything – I decided to give up ice cream for lent.

I almost made it too.

The Wednesday before Easter Sunday, I caved. And it wasn’t like I was so craving Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie that I couldn’t live one more hour without it, it was that I couldn’t remember why I was trying to deny myself the stuff in the first place.

Denial is for the birds. What’s the point? Why not live my life as it’s meant to be? Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the arguments. Rise above your beastly nature and let your civility rule you. But that’s crap. Who’s to say our natural selves aren’t as moral as our civilized selves?

I don’t believe it for a second. But fortunately, I have guilt to keep me from doing anything really stupid.

August 20, 2011


That last blog post i created was the first one i did in some time. Not since i started working, coincidentally.

To save you the click, here's all it said:

i blogthereforei'm spam
Can you tell how much effort i put into it?

Anywho, i have a tendency to over-edit myself, which has been holding me back from getting anything posted; that and the fact that all i wanna do is nothing once i come home from using my brain all day long.

So during this nothingness, i was coasting Facebook and noticed one of my "friends" posted the following: "if you want to increase your page views, tag your blog post with the keyword religion!"

i was intrigued. But in order to attempt the experiment, i would first need to post something. Anything! But it's been just so hard to post even anything. So hard to have my own thoughts after cranking out work thoughts all day. And twice as hard to edit those thoughts to the point where they actually communicate and entertain.

But for some reason, I really wanted to tag my blogpost religion. So I just did it. I threw caution to the wind. I barely even edited! I just up and posted that five-word sentence! Like Marc Zuckerberg!

The next day, I checked the stats. My Facebook friend was right: In a 24-hour period, I got my second highest page views ever. Granted, everyone who viewed it hated it, but that's not the point, is it?

Anyway, this blog has been tagged with the keyword religion.

April 6, 2011

The Fried Pig Belly Sandwich

My wife is trying to train me to share restaurant food with her. She wants us to start splitting everything, apparently in some sort of fairytale effort to make me eat less, save money, shed cholesterol, and learn about the widespread benefits of sharing in general.

She formally proposed the idea about three weeks back. “Honey,” she said while looking over the menu. “Let’s split a salad, an app, and an entrĂ©e?” Then she got all excited, like it was the best idea she ever had: “Yep! That’s the plan. Every time we go out!”

At first, per usual, I thought she was out of her mind, and told her so. Splitting meals? What kind of a man splits a meal? Not a proud American man like myself.

I ordered a steak. And I ate the fat.

Obviously, that wouldn’t be the last time we talked Sharing. Oh no, it’s in her head now. But she’s wizened up since that first attempt. She’s refined her strategy. She’s put those other sharing benefits on the backburner and placed all her guilt-laden emphasis on the one sharing virtue I can readily buy into: saving money.

Saving money is stellar, I’m naturally cheap. But in AdPock’s World, saving money shouldn’t come at the cost of keeping the restaurant dining experience special. No, if dining-out ceases to remain special, then I will have become spoiled. And I want very badly to remain fresh.

So when I’m out, I like to order special food. Out food. And I like to not think about anything unspecial, like cholesterol. Since my wife knows I remain steadfast on this point, and since she really wants us to Share, she’s temporarily giving up trying to get me to give up ordering rich food and has merely focused on the money saving benefits.

Or at least that’s how she pitched it last night when we went out to eat. Being an open-minded guy, I agreed to give her sharing idea a try, with one bona fide caveat. “I’ll share,” I said, “if you let me order whatever fatty dishes my saintly heart desires.”

Which she happily and readily agreed to. And as the meal went on, I realized that sharing’s great! Instead of just one dish, I get three! I get to try more savory tastes and get all the choice bites and mmm… warm spinach salad with bacon… mmm… mac n’ cheese with chorizo… mmmm… fried pig belly sandwich… mmm.

And all of it was delicious. I had shared. And it was good.

But of course, she hated it. All the food was far too rich for her dainty stomach. It ruined her meal. Which subsequently ruined mine!

Me trying to make her happy, by sharing, and her trying to make me happy, by letting me order what I wanted, made neither one of us happy. 

I'm not sure what that says about happiness, or about sharing in general, but hot damn that pig belly sandwich was good!

March 24, 2011

The Big Picture

After finally finishing a painting I’d been working on for weeks, I proudly displayed my handy-work to my wife. “Well,” I said, “Wife, what do you think?”
Wife looked over said painting for all of two seconds before she decided, unequivocally, she was unimpressed. “Eh,” she said.
I was shocked. How could she not like it? My hard work and ingenuity created it. It is me. I am it. We are one. If she didn’t like it, then she didn’t like me. And if she didn’t like me, who would? She’s supposed to be my biggest fan and all. Right?
“Maybe I don’t have to like it.” Said Wife, rationally, like it didn’t matter in the slightest. Then she went back to doing whatever it is she does and I painted over my painting with thick black paint.
Of course I disagreed with her at the time, as my instincts usually tell me to, but after six weeks of deliberating, I’ve decided that actually, against all odds, I’m wrong, and she’s right: she doesn’t have to like the painting.
Because, as shocking as this is to swallow, not everything I try is going to be great. It can’t be. There’s only so much greatness in the world, and if everything is great, then nothing can really be all that great. This is a very liberating lesson to learn, because if everything doesn’t have to be great, then I’m much more free to try everything.
No, she doesn’t have to love every little thing I do. She doesn’t have to love every meal I attempt to cook. She doesn’t have to love my Supercuts’ haircut. She doesn’t have to love the way I rearranged the furniture. And she doesn’t have to love every picture I paint. Just the big picture.

March 22, 2011

Appropriate Adpock?

AdPock spent hours on end, trying to put himself in Binky’s shoes. But Binky didn’t wear shoes.

March 11, 2011

The Rivalry

My wife and I play tennis. It’s our thing. If you don’t have a thing with your wife, I highly recommend you get one, otherwise you may find yourself without a wife. And I don’t know about you, but that would seriously disrupt how well I eat.
Anywho, I really enjoy this tennis thing for a number of reasons, foremost being because I get to compete with my wife. But while competition is a healthy part of any marriage, I don’t believe it can be the main part. Most of marriage should be about teamwork.
If you can’t get your competition out on the tennis court, odds are it will come out in a battle for space. Or more appropriately, for boundaries – the walls which protect our space.  
I used to let my wife win a game or two, to help with her self-confidence. Then, one day when I was particularly hungover, she took advantage and won four games! She pushed it to a series of deuces at 4-4 before I finally resorted to hitting nothing but drop shots, which her bad ankles don’t let her properly defend, at least not without a great deal of pain.
But it wasn’t that she had me on the ropes that had me so concerned. No, that was fine. I think I actually liked that because it made me play my best to win, which is the most fun you can have on a tennis court. No, it was that after she took those four games, she got all flippin’ mouthy. Just yap yap yapping away to all our friends: “Did AdPock tell you I almost beat him at tennis the other day?” “Did AdPock tell you I took four games?”
No, AdPock failed to mention that. And I haven’t given her a game since. She’s earned a few, which is what’s so great about our “rivalry”, but she hasn’t come close to winning since.
Now it’s personal. No more points where I let up a bit just to make sure she’s enjoying herself. No more wimpy first serves. Nothing easy.
See, I can’t let up. Or she will beat me. Because I know, in my Jewish athlete’s heart, that she’s good enough to beat me. Especially if she learns how to take advantage of my gentle psyche and starts talking a little trash. 
But if she does beat me, then that’ll probably spell the end of not just our tennis, but our marriage. My ego just couldn’t take it.
Or at least I keep telling her that, just to give her something to think about, in case it’s ever her match point.

March 7, 2011

Love and Sandwiches

I love everyone. And I love that I love everyone. I pride myself on my open-mindedness almost as much as my ability to slap da bass in a dirty-song band.

When my fraternity brother came out of the closet about ten years ago, I reacted by hugging him and telling him, “Mazel Tov!” Though I found out a moment later that’s not really something he considered congrats-worthy, I was still pretty impressed with how easily I accepted the news. It was a true test of my homophobia, and I passed with rainbow colors.

I guess it’s one of the reasons I moved to Los Angeles in the first place: to be in a wonderfully diverse community. I live here because I love everyone, and because most everyone here seems to love me. We feed off that love to create a more beautiful world. 

But when you throw around a word like love as easily as I do, you’re liable to get yourself in trouble. Because I also love Chic-fil-A. And apparently, from what I read in the New York Times, Chic-fil-A doesn’t love gays.

Again, I’m not just throwing that word around. I fucking love Chic-fil-A. Like when I go there, I don’t take anything to read, as I normally would, because I like to look at my food and ponder its glory as I chew.

Sometimes, on days it’s prepared just right, I’ll even have a little love talk with my sandwich. I’ll say, “How’d you get to be so good?” And she’ll say nothing at all. Looking plump and tender and moist.

And I’ll say, “You know, you make me want to be a better man.” And she’ll just sit there, steaming. And for a minute, I’ll believe there may be such a thing as a Mormon higher power.

Then I’ll give her a look that says, “Let’s go.” And I’ll chew my bite, nice n’ slow.

So you see, it’s a bit of a love affair. It’s one of my longest-standing relationships. And here I am, caught in a vicious love triangle. Because, I also love gays. So does my love for Chic-fil-A prevent me from truly loving my gay friends? Do I really have to choose? 

Sold Out

Never talk to the Girl Scouts. Nothing good can come of it. You either get fat or you’re a jerk.
Is it my fault they sold out of Thin Mints? I understand they’re trying to make a buck for a good cause, but don’t the laws of supply and demand still hold? If you’re out, you’re out. I shouldn’t be made to feel guilty because I don’t like your Tagalongs with the same sort of worth-the-calories abandon that I feel for the mints.
It’s your fault. Not mine, Girl Scout. So back off with your over-salesmanship, and give me some goddamned consumer space!

March 3, 2011

AdPock Thought...

Sure, AdPock was a bit saddened that his therapist chose to let him go. But in a way, it was mutual; she was looking for someone to agree with her, and he was looking for someone much more enabling.

February 28, 2011

Alchy AdPock?

AdPock was fairly certain that both he and his wife could live without wine. But he was 100% positive they couldn't live together without it.