Friday, December 15, 2017

The Good Parts

Was...Was he not supposed to eat it? If it's for Christmas then you should've made it on the 23rd or something. It's going to be stale by the time Christmas comes and stale graham crackers tastes like soggy linoleum.

Instead of getting mad at Wilberforce for eating something that should be eaten, you could've made it at your place and brought it over or instead of surprising him, just tell people not to eat it.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Christmas Greed

We are two grown-ass men! Why are we talking about giving a list to Santa?

I've never been rich and probably never will be but I've often wondered if there is a switch in the brain that changes when you get a certain amount of money where you wind up greedy and wanting more money. I understand wanting to keep your money--security and all that but why do you need more? Do you think your children are that incapable?


Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Great--Now the Elevator's Stuck

"Linus and Lucy", which was written by Vince Guaraldi in 1964, debuted on a jazz compilation by Guaraldi shortly before premiering on A Charlie Brown Christmas. It is technically not a Christmas song but yet always gets associated with Christmas. The song you should be playing from that special is this one:

Tauy Creek Digest #39: Bobbo in "Sleepwalk With Me"

Brooke had a slight snore as she slept. A small gurgle emanating from her throat and nose. She'd been asleep for couple hours--her bedtime being 9 o'clock. She then shuddered and pulled the blankets off her body. She sat up and extended her arms and began walking. Walking out of her bedroom and out of her house.

Bobbo was still awake, playing a video game. His window was open and his bedroom light was off so he was able to see outside. From the corner of his eye he saw someone walking down the sidewalk. He turned quickly, saw that it was Brooke, then went back to his game. Then he paused and dropped the controller, rushing to the window to confirm what he was seeing.

"Brooke?" he asked. "What is she...? Is she sleepwalking?" Bobbo left his room and went outside. He stayed several feet behind Brooke. He trailed her for a couple houses. Bobbo then peeled off and went to one of the houses and began tapping on one of the windows.

Max opened the blinds and pushed the window open when he saw Bobbo standing outside. "What's going on?"

"Brooke is sleepwalking," he pointed in her direction.

"That's not good."

"We aren't supposed to wake her up but we can try to make her safe and lead her back to bed."

"Uh, if you want to keep her safe then you might want to keep her away from that construction site," Max said.

"What?" Bobbo shrieked. Max jumped out the window and the two boys began running after her. Brooke entered the construction zone where an apartment complex was being built. There were several skeletons of buildings completed, all five stories. Brooke headed toward one of the buildings. She got onto some of the scaffolding and was soon making her way around the steel skeleton ten feet above the ground. Surprisingly, there was a watchman at the site eating a sandwich. "Hey, you have someone wandering around on one of your buildings."

The watchman turned and looked at Brooke, now, somehow, on the second floor of the skeleton. "She'll awaken...when she falls," the watchman said.

"That's a huge help, thanks," Max said and he and Bobbo ran into the construction zone to help Brooke.

"Hey, you two need hard hats!" the watchman shouted at them. He then shrugged and went back to his sandwich.

"What are we going to do?" Max asked.

"We have to try to wake her," Bobbo said. "You stay down here while I go up. Maybe I can lead her back down or get her to wake up on her own."

"Be careful, if you startle her she might fall."

"I hadn't noticed," Bobbo found a way up the steel structure and carefully walked along the beam. He made a quick down then panicked and grabbed onto one of the vertical support beams. "I didn't know I was afraid of heights."

His steps became more cautious and then he noticed Brooke now on the third floor. "How is she getting up there?" Max shouted from below.

Bobbo steadied himself and went after her. Down below, Max got an idea. He ran over to one of the big cement mixing trucks and found the keys still in it. "Terrible security in this place," he turned the key and started the truck. The loud noises of the engine and spinning drum echoed through the construction site. "Try to stay close to her in case she wakes up," he shouted to Bobbo but also followed her movement below.

Bobbo was heading after Brooke on the third floor and was about to reach her when she made a sudden turn. Bobbo stopped suddenly, lost his balance and fell over. His arm and leg was able to grab ahold of the steel beam so he didn't fall and wasn't dangling but he was now paralyzed with fear. Afraid that if he moved, he'd fall.

"Oh, balls," Max exclaimed. "I'm coming." Max ran to the building and made his way up to the third floor. When he arrived at Bobbo, he looked down to help his friend and got dizzy, falling back onto the steel beam. "I didn't know I was afraid of heights."

"Just help me," Bobbo cried.

Carefully, Max helped Bobbo onto the steel beam but both refused to stand up. "I say we just go back down and call the police or something. That probably should've been our first idea."

"That, or woke up her parents."

They carefully crawled their way down the building and to the ground. When they stood up again, their legs still shaking, they noticed Brooke was also back on the ground and heading out of the construction site back toward her house. They followed her and watched as she went down their street and turned toward her house. She opened the door, closed it, and was soon back in bed.

Bobbo and Max peered through the window and saw her climb into bed and go back to sleep. "What was that?" Bobbo exclaimed, waving an arm in a frantic gesture, his hand hit the window making a loud banging noise.

Brooke, startled, woke up and saw two faces staring at her through the window. "Bobbo? Max? What are you doing peeping on me? Do you do this every night? Get out of here you pair of perverts. You should be glad I don't wake my mom and dad. You should be glad I don't call the cops! Perverts!" she screamed and threw several stuffed animals at the window. Bobbo and Max ran off.

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

I'm Not Counting Time-Off

Why would people stop working toward the end of the year? It's not like school where you get two weeks off for Christmas and New Year, you get Christmas Day and New Years Day and maybe Christmas and New Years Eve. Your work shouldn't stop because you are still there. Forever. Until you die.

Sidenote: Veeblefester has started numbering the bags of money next to his desk for some reason.


Monday, December 11, 2017

Passing the Buck

I don't ever recall Veeblefester ever taking responsibility for anything that happens at his company. Maybe he actually thinks buck means money which it most certainly does not in this context.

Sunday, December 10, 2017

Beggars Can Be Choosers

I looked up a picture of an everything bagel and it does look like someone dropped it on the floor. All it's missing is the pet fur.

I'm intrigued by the use of Holey Bagels on the bag. That's the name of a bagel bakery in San Francisco. We've established that The Born Loser takes place in Cleveland, Ohio area so Chip should've used the Cleveland Bagel Company. Maybe he thought firmly in Cleveland would take people out of the story. Maybe Chip chose Holey Bagel because he tried one during a vacation to San Francisco to visit Alcatraz, Haight & Ashbury, and Telegraph Avenue.

Saturday, December 9, 2017

Supercomics #8

Superkitten thought that the guy in blue would be stronger. She always went full force during training with America but she had to go beyond that with this guy. Something seemed different with him though.

“Why are you in such bright colors?” she asked. “What’s the ‘S’ stand for?” she looked at the red pentagonal shield on his chest.

He actually paused and looked down. “Supercat.”

“Huh. Coincidence. I go by Superkitten,” Superkitten told him. “Why the bright colors? Red, blue, and yellow are not the colors of a villain.”

“I...used to be a hero,” Supercat said.

“Then why are you doing this?” Superkitten gestured at all the destruction in New York City.

“Kon saved me and brought me here. I will serve him until the debt is paid.”

“You don’t have to though,” she continued. “You could probably crumple Kon up like a piece of paper. He doesn’t own you.”

“Enough!” he growled angrily. He suddenly appeared next to Superkitten using his super-speed and grabbed her throat and torso. He lifted her over his head and threw her down to the street. He then flew into her, feet first, send both them through the street and into the tunnels underneath the city.

Superkitten quickly got to her feet. “You…” she began and hit Supercat as hard as she could “are better than this,” she screamed. Supercat flew down the tunnel and landed on the rails of the subway. The third rail sparked and smoked as he touched it but he barely felt it.

He pulled the rail, still sparking, up and swung it at Superkitten who was running toward him. He hit her square in the cheek and sent her down to the ground. “Stay down and we won’t have to continue this.”

“We don’t have to continue it at all,” Superkitten pushed herself back to her feet. “You were a hero. Why can’t you fight Kon? Do you have amnesia or were you brainwashed?” she asked.

“Kon did what he had to do,” Supercat said, ominously. Supercat raised his fist and it came for Superkitten. She was able to dodge and get the upper-hand. She began hitting Supercat hard, fast, and repeatedly. Supercat fell down and she kept hitting. “Suh...Superkitten,” he struggled to say.

She stopped. “What?” she asked cautiously, watching Supercat for any possible malicious movements.

“What have I done?” he sat up.

“It wasn’t you,” she said and helped pull him up. “It was Kon and the other three.”

“Rodham and Grunge,” Supercat grabbed Superkitten and flew her to the surface. A decent percentage of the city had been destroyed either by the ship or by Grunge and Supercat. “They aren’t going to stop until every city in the world is a pile of rubble.”

“Then we need to stop them,” Superkitten said. “You go after Kon. I’m going to help my teammates with Rodham and Grunge.”

The plan had worked for awhile. Grunge had taken a decent beating from gigantic rocks made by Geo-Whiz and launched at him by Agent Spider but he kept coming. They had gotten Smoke back and she was using her smoke and her ability to change the transparency to cloud Rodham’s view as America attacked her but both were adapting so the team needed something new.

The battle had led Grunge to a relatively untouched neighborhood. Superkitten recognized it well. All the buildings were the same dark brick with iron fire escapes. She had walked by these buildings nearly every day of her life. Had bought stuff from the stores--and, on a couple of occasions, stolen from them. Grunge had already taken so much from the people of New York, she was going to make sure he would not take any more.
Superkitten began running toward Grunge and slammed into his back. She continued running and pushing him with her. He lost his balance and fell over, creating a pot hole in the street. Superkitten continued punching him, trying to make him stay down and knock him out. Her vision was blurry as she struck Grunge over and over. He kept trying to get up and was stay conscious. Superkitten hit harder. A sharp, crackling pain shot through her back. Pieces of her uniform fluttered off of her. She stopped hitting Grunge and fell to the street.

In the air, Rodham still had her trident pointed toward Superkitten. Smoke, tired from the constant changing of transparency, looked at Superkitten, barely moving, as Grunge began to get up. America, Agent Spider, and Geo-Whiz rushed over to keep Grunge from hurting Superkitten. Smoke thought back to an impromptu training session with Superkitten.

“So what can you do?” Superkitten asked.

Smoke shrugged.

“You can mist yourself through tight spaces and change transparency. There’s got to be more.”

Smoke shrugged again. “Dad...Dmitri doesn’t include me in many trainings. You’ll probably get in trouble if he finds out you’re doing this.”

“Can you condense yourself into a smaller object?”

“Yeah, probably,” Smoke answered.

“Turn yourself into a ball.”


“Condense yourself into a ball and put yourself over my head. Cut off my air supply. Make me stop breathing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’m going to come for you, make me stop breathing.” Superkitten stepped back a bit and then charged at Smoke. As Superkitten was only inches away, Smoke condensed her body and placed herself over Superkitten’s head. She could not get Smoke off of her and soon she began gasping but unable to draw any air. After a couple minutes, Superkitten fell to her knees. Smoke removed herself from Superkitten’s head. She coughed and gulped down air as she wiped tears away.

“Are you okay? You told me to make you stop breathing. I’m so sorry,” Smoke panicked.

“Don’t be,” Superkitten coughed. “Now we have a secret weapon.”

Smoke went over to Rodham, coming at her from behind. As she got closer, she condensed herself into a ball and quickly placed herself over Rodham’s head.

Rodham tried to get Smoke off of her, swinging her fists and trident. She flew around in circles and criss-crosses but Smoke held on. Rodham ran out of air quicker and soon was out and fell to the ground. Smoke stayed on for another minute or so until finally releasing her.

America, Agent Spider, and Geo-Whiz looked at Smoke. “When’d you learn to do that?” Geo-Whiz asked.

“Superkitten,” she replied.

“I wonder if that would work with Grunge,” Agent Spider said.

“I don’t think he even breathes,” America said. Grunge was still down, kept down by America who kept striking and keeping Grunge off-balance.

“I’m going to get Superkitten out of here,” Geo-Whiz said. “When I get her back to the ship, I’ll come back,” Geo-Whiz picked Superkitten up and began carrying her away from the fray.

“What are we going to do with Gorgeous George?” America asked Agent Spider. “He won’t stay down.”

“I wish one of us could fly,” Agent Spider said. “Just grab him and take him into space.”

“This might be a little easier,” Dmitri appeared from down the street carrying a couple of circular belt-like things. “Spider, slip this on his head. It will hopefully shut down brain activity and put it into a coma.”

“If he even has a brain,” America said.

Agent Spider took one of the belts and slipped it on Grunge. The belt closed around his skull and it looked like Grunge began shutting down bit by bit.

“Put this other one on her,” Dmitri handed America another belt. “And I have another for our friend in the ship.”

“Supercat is heading there now,” Agent Spider said.

“You need to get up there and help him,” Dmitri said.

“Is she okay?” asked a woman on the sidewalk as Geo-Whiz carried Superkitten away from the battle.

“It’ll hurt. Probably some burn marks but she’s breathing,” he answered.

“I’m glad to know that she’ll be okay,” the woman started to tear up and then a tear escaped. “I’m glad to know she’s doing okay.”

Geo-Whiz stopped. “Do you know her?”

“She...She’s my daughter,” the woman sobbed.

Supercat inspired by characters created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.

It's Sad Uncle Ted Has No Other Family

He has a pretty big receding hairline, I must say. It would've been hilarious if Uncle Ted took his hair off and was holding it over the table. Sadly, now that Uncle Ted has compared his hair to carpeting, all I can think of now are merkins.

Friday, December 8, 2017

Even Wilberforce Knows

I feel like there should be more to this comic. Like Chip drew a fourth panel but the syndicate was all "No! You're a three-panel comic!" and edited out the last panel. Is the joke that he understands what 'apathy' is but not 'conflict'? What is he even trying to say here?

Hey, I helped out with an timeline almanac of Lawrence, Kansas history for Lawrence Magazine and the issue is now available. If you happen to be in the area, you can pick up a copy or you can read it here.

Thursday, December 7, 2017

Brutus and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

'Cause you had a bad day
You're takin' one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You had a bad day
Because you suck
You had a bad day...

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

I Also Like To Count My Eggs

I never order scrambled eggs from restaurants because it does look like you don't get as much. But the main reason I don't order scrambled and only get sunny-side up/over-easy is because I love the way the yolk tastes.

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Monday, December 4, 2017

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Sports? Marriage? I'll Just Put Both

Just go with 6:30--wait, they are in Ohio so 7:30. That's usually a safe bet because I specifically remember hating football with a passion on Sunday nights because of the constant preemption of Futurama. No one cares what Howie Long and Terry Bradshaw have to say, now bite my shiny metal ass and start that Christopher Tyng opening.

Saturday, December 2, 2017

POB #5: Idilia Dubb

God in heaven, what has happened! Do I dream, or is it reality? In the flight, I have
ascended the swaying stairs of an old castle ruin, and just as I have reached the plateau of them, a
terrible crash comes upon my ear, which makes me sink down into the depths of my soul. With a
bated breath and covered eyes, I listened for a moment, then
turning and looking, what I had to see! - the stairs had collapsed behind me! For a time I stood
as if frozen, without reflection, without thoughts-almost without feeling. I felt as though I was no longer living. Oh, it would be so
been! Only too soon did I return to myself and to my existence, which is without a doubt a horrible, lost one.
I can not find any way to get down there. The walls are high, with only a few projections, very distant from
each other. No pole, no rope, no help far and wide.

O father! O mother! O George and dear Marie! How will you look for me, cry and moan! And I
am here on this lonely, abandoned, desolate tower, and have no means of giving you a sign of my life

I've called all day, but no one has heard me. My voice, I believe, is not enough. At
the edge of the hole into which the staircase is cast down, I do not dare me, lest I go down
would fall. In the first moment of terror, I hurried to him, but the dizzying depth and
darkness of the darkness gave me so much relief that I half-faintly staggered. All the
sheets of my sketchbook I have copied and thrown down one by one. Some I saw over the trees,
others flying into the water. Oh, I could have done it! But I close the high wall of the parapet.
In vain I tried to swing myself up to the edge; My powers were not enough. As long as I
could move the arms, I blown with the handkerchief. Nothing helped. And yet I know, father,
mother, George, Marie, you are looking for me with heart, and let me seek. Will no one come to this tower

O my God! I cried all day. Now comes the night. It's getting cold and chilly. I hear the trees
rustling under me in the evening wind; Over me the night birds are rising with heavy swinging wings.

God in heaven, have mercy on me! -

Huddled in a corner, bitterly crying and sobbing, I finally fell asleep. I am
freezing, hungry; The tongue sticks to my palate. Father of all creatures, will not you send me salvation? Should
I be lost forever? Parents, siblings, do not you know? If any of you were here, I
would find him! My heart would lead me, my poor heart, who will be afraid, pain, hunger, and thirst, and
suffocate my own tears. Again I have called, blown, made all sorts of exertions. My
hands, my knees, my whole body are sore. My eyes, my lips burn. In my ears I have
Terrible whirring. O, my God, O my God, shall there be no help to me? One hundred times it was as if
I heard human voices; Clearly I meant to hear the mother calling me. Oh mother, your poor
child, your Idilia! Do not you urge a dark train of your soul here! Marie, George! You must hear me! Hear!
Hear! Your sister, your poor, desperate sister!

Free! All in vain! In Death, I began to loosen loose stones with the nails from the mortar,
and to impregnate them into steps. My fingers bled terribly, and when I once went in pain to the mouth
and felt the warm fluid, I could have ripped myself to drink my blood. My
blood was so good to me! Oh God! It had been my only food for 48 hours. Already I have
chewed on the straw of my hat. But as terrible as I am for food, the horror of my situation makes me forget the
needs. The whole day I piled up the loose stones. Finally, towards sunset
Their height seemed to me considerable enough to reach the edge to which some board steps have led,
but which are now rotten and shattered. I climbed them. The land lay far ahead of me. How quiet, how
happy all! I saw in the surrounding villages smoke the chimneys and
ride a steamboat on the Rheine . Violently I blew with the cloth and thought to notice that I was blown again! The lucky ones
down there thought it was a greeting of joy. Ah, they did not know how much the sign of distress and
despair was! The band's music sounded on the back deck, the bank, the hotel, their arms
The loves! What waves me? Death from all corners of this gruesome ruin. And what kind of death? Father,
mother, George, Marie, would you let me die so terribly, so terribly?

Am I still alive? - It seems to me that I've been up here for an eternity. The tongue sticks to my mouth, I
can not call. My clothes are hanging in shreds; My hair is disheveled; I think I am deaf;
I hear nothing more, the world is as extinct. Yesterday, two burrows
flew up , and sat down on the edge, weary with the flight. It was the last happiness that was my part, a greeting
from the world, from life. When they flew away, I watched them for a long time, I thought they had to fly straight
to mine and bring them news of my misery.

This is, I believe, the fourth day! Day? The Fourth Amendment to Hell! Yesterday I felt as if I was listening.
Everything was terribly dead and still; I was as in the grave, without feeling, without thought or sense. Suddenly I heard
my name as if from afar, as we call from our house in Edinburgh. I pulled myself up and
climbed up again the piled stones; Already I could not see any more! It lay like a veil
before my eyes. In the sway, the underlay dissolved, and I fell with the stones to the ground.

How long I lay, stunned by the trap, I do not know. All I know is, my death is certain. Once
more I will pray for the salvation of my soul, for you, father, mother, George and Marie. Then I will see whether I
still have strength to drag myself to the dark hope of the tower and to fall down. Oh, why did not I do it
right away.

Father in heaven, be merciful to my soul.

Idilia Dubb and her family were originally from Scotland. In the late spring of 1851, The Dubbs, Idilia, her mother and father and brother and sister took a trip to Germany. On their trip, they visited Lehneck Castle in the city of Lahnstein along the Rhine River. Idilia, wanting to record a view of the river, climbed the dilapidated stairs in the abandoned castle to the top of the pentagonal tower. With her sketchbook in hand, she was to start drawing the magnificent view from the castle but the wooden stairs collapsed trapping her in the tower.

No one knew that she had went up there and all expected her for dinner that evening. When Idilia didn't show up, the police were notified and a search went out. Everywhere and everything was searched. The only place that wasn't was Lahneck Castle. Fearing the worst, Idilia's family hesitantly and despondently, returned to Scotland. Idilia screamed and waved at whoever she could from the tower but no one heard, no one saw, no one cared, no one came.

In 1860, Lahneck Castle was finally going to undergo repairs. Workers climbed to the top of the tower and found a skeleton in tattered clothes, some pages of a sketchbook nearby. Words scrawled on the pages told the story of the final days of Idilia Dubb. Her parents were brought in from Scotland, her remains identified and taken home.

Most people agree that Idilia Dubb did not really exist, that her diary is a fraud, and that her tale of tragedy is just that: a made-up story. Researchers have been unable to find evidence of the Dubb family anywhere in Scotland and that her diary is in such good condition despite being exposed to the elements for nine years.

Is the story of Idilia Dubb a complete fabrication? Is it a mix of truth and fiction? We will likely never know.


When I was a kid my Mom and I would go to my grandparents house every other Sunday. My Grandpa and uncle would wind up taking a nap. Not in chairs but they would get up, go to their bedrooms, and sleep there. My Mom, at home during the weekends, would fall asleep on the couch. She stills does and then tells us all about it on Facebook.

Friday, December 1, 2017

It's Great to Be Back, Back, Back

What? They're rerunning Christmas specials from the 1960s and 1970s? They never do that.

My favorite Christmas special is A Mr. Magoo Christmas Carol which is an adaptation of Charles Dickens' story about Scrooge only with Mister Magoo and Gerald McBoing-Boing. I highly recommend if you can find it somewhere.

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Rich Ego

Well, Veeblefester does own the tea cozy factory? Warehouse? Business. So, yes, this tea cozy world does revolve around Veeblefester.

I wonder what Brutus was being egotistical about. What if Veeblefester just wanted to say this. "Here is some age old advice. Do not be egotistic, Thornapple." Yes, I'm going with that. Veeblefester is thinking up ways to talk about himself by starting out the conversation with bits of "advice."

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Does Arnie Really Think Brutus Would Exercise?

 Sounds like a health issue. You should get that checked out. Are your hiccups waking you up or do you wake up and then get them? Either way, go see a doctor. That doesn't sound good.

"Please let us produce your tea cozies, or sell you our tea cozies. I'm not entirely sure which one we do around here. Maybe both? Sincerely yours, Skilled Writer Brutus."

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Give Me a Head With Hair

I went through the Arnie archives and I don't see any difference in his hair. "Annihilated it" seems a bit rude. I always get my hair cut short so I go the longest amount of time as possible before going back to the barber. Also, it doesn't matter how amazed and complimentary you are, Brutus. Arnie's not going to let you touch his hair.

Read today's full strip.

Saturday, November 25, 2017

Homebody Dad #1


David Livingston was sitting in his cubicle listening to a call. Every few seconds he would pause and write something down then start the call up again. While listening, he faintly heard his name being said. He stopped the call, took off his headset and turned to see his supervisor standing behind him.

“Glad to see you monitoring some calls. We have a few concerns about some of the calls you’ve been scoring.”

“Really? Why cuz?”

“Well,” the supervisor sat down and opened a small three-ring binder. “These are the more pressing concerns. We audited these calls and found glaring examples of protocol being skipped over.”

“What? Really?”

“Like this call. She neglected to read one of the scripts, didn’t give out a phone number, and didn’t verify the caller’s ZIP code.”

David took the paper and looked at it. “I remember this call. There were three scripts she neglected to read. I marked her down on two of them.”

“Even if you don’t mark her down, we’d like you to list what script was skipped.”

“That seems unnecessarily malicious,” David said. “As far as the phone number, it was a number that wouldn’t have helped the caller. She pointed that out during the call. As for the ZIP verification, I know. I chose not to include that because that would’ve lowered her score to a 1 which means she would’ve gotten a verbal warning. I noted that she needs to verify the ZIP code and that next time I wouldn’t overlook it.”

“What we’d really like to do is have the CSR say ‘There is a number you can call. I’m not sure if it will help you but let me give it to you.’ See?”

“But then they are giving useless information to the caller which is also something we score down on, and makes the call longer, which we also score down on.”

“You get scored less heavily on those though. Better safe than sorry.”

David gave his supervisor an odd look. “Bottom line, you want me to start being nitpicky over the calls? Start throwing the hammer down? Show that there is no longer a Mr. Nice Guy?”

“We just want you to do your job,” the supervisor sighed and stood up to leave.

“‘We just want you to do your job,’” David mocked.

“Did you have any questions?” his supervisor popped up over the cubicle wall.

“No. I’m good,” David quickly said.

David got home and parked in the back in the alley. He got out slower than he normally did, weighed down by what he was told at work.

“David, guess what?” Milo Story, a neighbor and good friend of David’s came over from across the alley. “I finally went downtown and got approved to start bottling and selling my beer.”

Several years ago, Milo had started brewing his own beer in his basement and since then it had kind of become a big organization and he had been talking about getting a license to bottle and sell it for several months now.

“Congrats, man,” David shook Milo’s hand. “Let me know if you need my help. I want to support you in any way I can.”

“I need investors so if you know anyone who would like to get in on the ground floor, let me know.”

“I will. See you later,” David waved and headed to his house.

David went in and walked through to the living room. Their nanny, Rose, was sitting on the couch watching TV. A vacuum cleaner hung on the front window curtains. “Hi, Mr. Livingstone,” Rose said.

“Hey, Rose. How was Oliver?”

“A perfect angel like always. He ate at 9, 1, and 2:30 and I put him down for a nap at 3:15. We watched that new show on Nick Junior. It was okay. I think Nick Junior has better shows than Disney. You would think that Disney would be better but Nick Junior, I think, tries harder.”

“Yeah, I see that. I always liked Nick Junior when Sophie and Lucy were little. Did you ever get that thing on the bottom of your foot looked at?”

“Oh, yes. I did.”

“That’s good. What was it? Wart? Corn? Blister?”


“Oh. Of course,” David shrugged. “Rose? Why is the vacuum hanging on the curtain?”

“There was a spider on the curtain and I didn’t want to use a tissue or something that could leave a smudge on the curtain so I tried to vacuum the spider up. It didn’t quite work out.”

“I see. Just use a tissue or napkin next time. Or just ignore it.”

“You’re the boss,” Rose shook her head. She got up off the couch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Livingstone.”

“See you, Rose. Have a good evening.”

David went upstairs and into the attic. “Where would they be?” he asked himself quietly. He moved a couple of boxes and opened a plastic tub. Inside was a bunch of comic-related books and magazines. Packed away with them was a manila folder with David’s own comic strip in it.

He had drawn the comics through high school and part way through college. As he flipped through what he had drawn, he chuckled at a couple of them. The art left much to be desired--not much more than stick figures but he thought they had potential. Even if they didn’t look good, they were kind of funny although he may have been biased.

He heard the door open and someone come home. He gathered his comics and went downstairs. He saw his oldest daughter, Sophia, and wife Alison, standing in the kitchen. “Hey, Sophia. What are you doing home, honey?” David gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek.

“I had to go pick up our daughter--son--from school. She...He hit another student.”

“What? Why?”

“He kept calling me a girl,” Sophia said.

“But you…” David began but Alison interrupted.

“Michael has decided to identify as male,” Alison said.

“Okay,” David sighed. “That still doesn’t mean you hit other students.”

“He was being stupid and made me angry.”

“I understand. But you will soon figure out that a lot of things are stupid and will make you angry. There are a lot of stupid people in this world especially on things like this but just remember that most people you meet in life will support you no matter what. Okay?”

“Okay,” Michael nodded. “I’m going up to my room.”

“All right,” David said. “Leave your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“You hit a kid today. You’re grounded. Three days.”

“Okay,” Michael huffed and laid his phone on the kitchen counter.

“What brought all this on? He left here as a girl,” David asked.

“I don’t know. You know Michael hasn’t felt comfortable in quite a while. This is just where those feeling ended up,” Alison said. David leaned down and rested his head on the counter. “Bad day at work?”

“Not really. Things just got all piled up today. My boss wants me to be more of a, well, I don’t want to use the word Nazi but I don’t know what word even comes close.”

“You’ve been unhappy with this job for awhile now haven’t you?”

David nodded. “I wanted to ask you something. Since you went back to work, I have been thinking about cutting back my time at the call center.”

“You mean quitting because they don’t allow people to cut back on time.”


“Look, David, I get it. You hate your job but it’s been really nice having your extra income these last few months. We could still make it but it’d be tighter.”

“I was thinking of that. We’d save money by not hiring Rose and Milo is going to start bottling and selling his beer and he’s looking for investors.”

“So we won’t even have what we have saved up over the last year or so? Just so you can drink with your best friend?”

“You don’t seem to approve,” David said. “We’ll start making money as more people buy but, I agree, it may be awhile which is why I have plan B.”

“Begging in the streets?”

“No. Creating a webcomic.”

“Oh. Begging on the Internet.”

“During high school I used to draw a comic strip and I think it has potential,” David slid the folder of comics toward his wife.

She opened it and began flipping through them. “I remember you saying that you drew these. You’ve never shown them to me before.”

“They were always put away or I forgot I saved them. Anyway, with ad revenue and maybe donations from fans we could maybe clear a few dollars a month. I know it’s not ideal but I think it’ll work.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this,” Alison said.

“It’s been a busy half hour.”

“We can try it. Six month trial? We can go from there. Okay?” she wrapped her arms around David’s torso.

“Really? Oh, thank you, hon,” he kissed her. “I’m gonna go wake up Oliver, change my clothes, and sketch some ideas before we make dinner.”

“Okay,” she chuckled and watched him run upstairs. She went into the living room. “David? Why is the vacuum hanging on the curtains?”

Giblet Spice

I don't know why the coffee shop is using leftovers to flavor their coffee but I do know that they would never use the word 'giblet' in the name of the drink. For some reason, using 'giblet' makes me think the latte would be chunky.

Friday, November 24, 2017

Football Friday

I have watched exactly zero minutes of football this Thanksgiving and I know I'm overstuffed with it. It was bad enough trying to not care about football before the president began to make it a policy issue. On holidays I used to be subjected to all day football. You would think after years of watching it as a child I would be able to understand it's appeal. Nope, didn't get it back then and I still don't get it now.