Driving Faster Than Sound

July 1, 1966

Men, amirite?! But seriously, men suck. What is your stupid bowling bowl doing under the table. Put it in a closet or the garage or something. It's not even in a bag! How many times did Gladys and Fifner stub their toe on it as they ate dinner?

I like the bright colors in today's...WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THE SPEECH BUBBLE!!??! How does a mistake like that even happen? It's going off-panel, which leads me to ask what the original panel looked like or who does the speech bubbles? I swear to God if it's AI...

It's clear that Brutus is the better golfer, right? Knowing how Veeblefester is, it's not prudent to beat him at something. Although I would argue that it's prudent to beat him with something.

Capt. Kid "Sees Stars"

It's time for another installment of Captain Kid. Captain Kid wears stupid clothes, has stupid hair, and is stupid.

Today's comic has Captain Kid lying about knowing a famous movie star. Coincidentally, that movie star is passing through town so will Captain Kid have to own up to his own lying and go to therapy, or will everything end up hunky-dory and Captain Kid will end up the Pope of Chilitown again?

Today's comic comes from Comic Comics #7 and is written and drawn by Al Liederman, who was a normally a gag cartoonist for various newspapers and magazines from 1932 to 1939 and then assisted Jack Kirby and Joe Simson from 1941 to 1942. He worked in comic books from 1941 until about 1971.

Capt. Kid is a lying son of a bitch!

You lying son of a bitch!! At least the comic is over. What? It's not? That's for the movie they're watching in the comic? Sigh. Ok.

Rita Straworth would not waste any energy on knowing Capt. Kid. Unlike me.

Say "Rita Straworth is a busy Hollywood actress. I'm sure the studio will have some sort of party for her. And I'm sure her schedule in this town will be completely full."

Gee, you've never even met Rita Staworth, Capt. Kid? You've never met her? Huh. What a surprise.

I love the cut of Pudgy's jib. Pudgy is the short kid who's clearly tired of Capt. Kid's bullshit.

And yes. Yes, he would lie to you.

Yeah, I'm sure they will let you get up close and personal with Rita Straworth.

You're caught in lies all the time and they continue to talk to you. Honestly, I feel this is all on them at this point. They are clearly enabling you and are a part of the problem.

"If you try to sneak in again, we'll kill you!" *tries to sneak in again* I've never been more happy at a decision Capt. Kid has made.

This guy seems pretty cool with just letting some random kid (dressed like this) go up to a famous person's room for $5. If something happens, it's on you, dude!

Rita Straworth doesn't have someone in the room with her? And she has people at the bottom of the stairs, but not outside the door? It's almost like the studio wants something to happen to her.

Yeah! Plug him!

Quick! Pull the trigger!

*Sigh* Now he'll probably be proclaimed a hero and get a parade or something.

They hit their heads. That's definitely gonna hurt.

Honestly, I feel getting Rita Straworth to go to the party is more frustrating for Capt. Kid haters than being a hero and getting a parade.

Oh, Pudgy...I wish I could tell you how wrong you are, but sadly, I cannot.

Same, Pudgy. Same.

I Don't Think Your Boss Can Talk To You That Way

June 30, 1966

It is a good thing that window was open. The broken glass could've shaved this man's face off.

Is Veeblefester upset because he only has one bag of money on his desk today? Somehow Brutus kept Veeblefester from having two or more bags of money on his desk?

Watching a Star War

June 29, 1966

Call me crazy, Quincy, but I'm starting to think that Bernice isn't that much into you anymore. I feel she's just using you for your money and just based on the two strips I've now seen with her, she doesn't seem all that great. (Not that you're a prize either though...)

And yes, "Creme de cacahuete grillée sur des bouche d'incendie" does translate to "roasted peanut cream on fire hydrants".

I'm sorry, but there are no "spoiler alert" warnings on things older than five years. There's especially no "spoiler alert" warnings on things 45 years old.

Does Brutus always forget how The Empire Strikes Back ends? I'd go to the doctor and get that checked out.

Water, Water Nowhere

June 28, 1966

Abner's name here is Doodle? Ok. Floobush is a name. Floobush--it's a funny sounding last name. Ha ha. Doodle isn't a name. It's especially not a funny last name. It's nothing. Abner Doodle? No, thank you.

And we're supposed to believe that's a sheep?

Wilberforce, at school: "My mom goes around the house and fake waters the plants. The plants aren't real and there's no water, but that's what she does. It's sad watching Mom slip away from us, but it makes her happy. Keep watering those plants, Mom. You just keep watering them..."

Tuesday Quickies

June 27, 1966

Oof. This is not a good look for you, Quincy. Or anyone. Just cuz she's not hanging on you and is just sitting there doing a cat's cradle...? doesn't mean she's losing interest in you. Can't we just be in the same room and enjoy the silence together?

You're greeting me at the door and immediately throwing this at me? At least let me get my pants off, Gladys.

Such an Awkwardly Written Last Panel

June 24, 1966

There's a simple solution to this. Don't loan things out to your neighbor. They're your neighbor, not a friend. They may act all friendly and polite, but they'll report you to the city if your gutters so much as look at them funny.

Of course they all remember each other. They probably get together for lunch or something every couple weeks. Not to mention the trauma bond they all share.

You Hit One More Person It's Technically a Spree

A neighboring county's sheriff's office posted back in March that a horse was found dead. Believing the horse to have been shot, the sheriff went well out of their way to find out who did it. Getting the Kansas Bureau of Investigation, K9 units, detectives from other agencies, and even veterinarians from Kansas State University in on the investigation, the sheriff ginned up anger from all across the United States and got about $10,000 donated as a reward to catch the perpetrator. Whoever killed this horse was clearly going to have a public hanging.

Then, about a week ago, they posted that the cause of death was discovered. Traumatic brain injury. They caused all this anger and finger pointing for absolutely no reason. Going through the comments on the post, most of them are going "Heh. Yeah, that's a horse for you. Always hurting themselves." Then why wasn't that the go-to explanation until you discovered more? When someone actually did call them out on it, the person was attacked with "They were doing their job" and "Everyone matters or no one matters". But they didn't do their job. They claimed it was murder, got other people to do the work, and couldn't find or do anything until they actually knew what happened. And let's be honest, they did more for this horse than most cops do for a missing or dead person, because they thought it was going to be easy. They even admitted in their posts that criminals that do this tend to talk about it so keep your ears open for people talking about it. The social media for this sheriff's office is run almost like a meme account. It is clearly run to generate views and interactions, so I guess mission accomplished. And all it took was turning neighbors against each other.

Yesterday, my story For Ashlea posted. It's the first thing I've written that I've posted since 2022. It took a lot of convincing myself in order to get it scheduled. Please check it out, and I hope you like it.

February 8, 1987

I guess that's not Brutus' hat? How many hats has Brutus lost now? At least four, I think. Maybe he should stop wearing them. It's the 80s, most guys don't wear them anymore.

I'll be honest. I initially checked out on the word 'oopsie'. I had to go back and read this again. Were they able to get the Thornapple family truckster off the other car or did Gladys get a ride, from I assume a police officer, and the car is still on top of the other?

If you would like to support me or this website, you can toss some money at the Support Page.

Hide-And-Abandon

June 23, 1966

Is it too late in my Born Loser-snarking career to admit that I never understood the title? I mean, I understand that back in 1965, They'll Do It Every Time was already taken, but calling every person in this comic a "loser" is stretching it. Most of what we see isn't loser behavior, it's just life bending us over. Maybe Art should've called this strip Life Bends Us Over.

"Well, I hope they aren't hiding in the abandoned cistern. It tends to flood even when it's not raining..."

I think this would be better if Brutus was sitting watching TV and Gladys walks in. "I'm back!" So? And?

For Ashlea

From where I sat in the park, at a wooden table next to Founder’s Rock, I could see the rose garden, Japanese Friendship Garden, the carousel and playground, and the mini-train depot. It was one of my favorite places to sit and write aside from the arboretum on the west side of the park. It was isolated enough to give some privacy, but practically in the middle of everything. There was a party or something happening at the carousel, so kids were running around, yelling and laughing. The breeze helped carry some of the noise away, but I was at a park, so I expected the noise.

               I was deep into chapter seven of the book I was writing when a figure entered my peripheral. She stood, arms out, hands balled into a fist. Her head was down but she was looking at me. I, at first, ignored her. She then scooted into my eyeline and emitted a low, piercing wail that I was impressed she could hold for so long.

               “Can I help you?” I finally said, and the wailing stopped.

               “What are you doing?” she came over and stood next to me, looking at my notebook

               “I’m writing,” I replied.

               She looked at my notebook like she was trying to read it. I don’t know how much she could understand since my handwriting wasn’t great. “A book?” she asked.

               “Yes, actually,” I replied.

               “I’m at my cousin’s birthday party,” she said. “He’s turning six.”

               “Well, happy birthday to him,” I said and gave the girl a smile.

               “I’m older. I’m seven.”

               She looked younger. She was short with long, blonde hair. She had blue gray eyes with one slightly askew. She had a slight lisp but spoke and acted confidently. “I’m Ashlea,” she said, looking up at me, her eyes slightly fluttering.

               “I’m Michael,” I introduced myself.

               “What are you writing?” she looked again at my notebook, now practically in my lap.

               “It’s actually about a young girl and her growing up and surviving middle school,” I explained. I wasn’t exactly positive about where I was going with the story. I couldn’t figure out a hook for the story and currently had a stupid science fair as a placeholder conflict.

               “What’s her name?” Ashlea asked.

               “Abigail.”

               “What’s her middle name?”

               “Joyce.”

               “Mine’s Rose.”

               “That’s a pretty name,” I replied. “Don’t you need to get back to the party?”

               “Nah. They can see that I’m here,” Ashlea said and leaned over to wave at the people at the carousel. “They know how to reach me.” She took my pencil and began drawing on my notebook. I thought about stopping her but didn’t and watched her draw. She was sketching a flower, a sunflower from the look of it. It wasn’t very good but decent for her age. I could erase it if I wanted to. “Did you know there is a galaxy called the Sunflower Galaxy?” she asked me. “You know, out in space.”

               I stifled a laugh. “No, I didn’t know that.”

               “They say it looks like a sunflower, but I don’t think it does. It’s blue. Sunflowers aren’t blue.”

               She stopped drawing and looked at her work. She added a couple more dots for seeds and put the pencil down. She then walked away back to the carousel. I watched her leave and looked at her sunflower. I continued writing, leaving the sunflower and writing around it. Ashlea came back a few minutes later with a beat-up checkers set. There was a small stack of board games on a shelf in the carousel building. They were pretty beat up and most of the pieces were missing. When Ashlea opened the set, it seemed as if most of the checker pieces were there.

               “Play this with me,” she practically demanded.

               “Do you know how to play checkers?” I asked, closing my notebook.

               “No,” she replied.

               “It’s pretty easy. I can show you. Do you want to be red or black?” I asked.

               “Red,” she said.

               “Okay, you are going to put all your pieces on the dark squares,” I instructed and watched as Ashlea put the red checkers on the dark squares. “Now, you can only move one space diagonally. Like this,” I moved one of my pieces to show her. “Got it?”

               She nodded and moved a piece. We went back and forth a couple of times. “How’s the economy treating you?” I jokingly asked her.

               “Good,” she answered.

               I noticed she could jump one of my pieces and showed her. “And now my piece is captured. I can only get it back when I reach your side of the board and get kinged.”

               She happily jumped over my piece and gleefully yanked it off the board. Holding it, she cackled evilly and was clearly eyeing the board for other pieces to jump.

               After playing for about fifteen minutes, Ashlea won mainly because there was nowhere else to go. She had five kings to my four so I declared her the winner. When we started the next game, Ashlea took it upon herself to make slight, unapproved changes to the game play. She would move single pieces in any direction, jump pieces to the side. “Okay, well, now you’re just making up rules,” I said, pointing to a piece she moved five spaces to jump me.

               “Everything’s made up,” she said and inexplicably kinged one of her pieces.

               I shrugged, nodded, and accepted that argument.

               After Ashlea won again, through her new rules, we played once more, just moving pieces back and forth. “You go to school, right?” I asked.

               She nodded.

               “Do you like it? What’s your favorite thing to do?” I then quickly added “Don’t say recess.”

               “I like reading. But I only read in school. When I’m at home I like riding my bike and drawing with chalk.”

               “I rode my bike all the time when I was a kid. I learned later in life. Fourth grade. I haven’t ridden a bike in years.”

               “You could ride mine but it’s at home.”

               “Thank you. It’s the thought that counts.”

               “Ashlea!” a woman called from the carousel building. “Leo’s opening presents!”

               Ashlea groaned loudly. “I have to get back. Come with me.”

               “I should be going.” I closed my notebook and began to get up.

               “Just come with me,” Ashlea took my hand and led me to the carousel building. “This is Michael. He’s a writer.”

               “Hi,” I nervously waved to the woman who I assumed was Ashlea’s mother. “Sorry. She just hanging out with me and I didn’t want to be rude.”

               “She’s a very friendly girl. She makes friends with everyone.”

               “She’s a really great girl,” I looked down and smiled at Ashlea. “Have a good party.”

               “We should play again,” Ashlea said. “I can write you a letter. What’s your address?”

               I did happen to have a business card with a P.O. box listed on it. I fished one out of my portfolio and kneeled down to hand it to her. “Send me a letter and I’ll send one back.”

               “Okay,” she looked at the card. I stood up and began walking away. “Wait!” she exclaimed and went over to her mom. They talked. I couldn’t hear them but they both pointed at me a couple times. Her mom nodded and Ashlea ran back over to me. “Can I hug you?”

               “If it’s fine with your mom, it’s fine with me,” I kneeled back down and she wrapped her arms around me. I did the same and we hugged for several seconds before she pushed away, running to her mom and then to the carousel building.

               “Bye!” she briefly turned around and waved. I raised my hand in return and then she was gone.

 

🏵        🏵        🏵

               It was almost a year when the forwarded letter arrived at my new P.O. box. It was clearly addressed by a child. I didn’t even realize who it was from until I saw Ashlea’s name scrawled on the back of the envelope. She said she would write but never did. I just assumed she had forgotten and moved on. I about forgot about her over the last few months. Every so often she’d creep back into my brain, usually when I was writing and trying to draw inspiration for the main character. I carefully tore the envelope open with a letter opener, wanting to preserve the envelope. She had drawn a giraffe on the sealed side next to the return address. Outline drawn in a reddish-orange marker, scribbled in yellow, with brown spots.

               Dear Michael,

               I hope this letter finds you well. I am fine. I am sorry I haven’t written sooner. It has been pretty crazy around here. Let me start from the beginning:

               My cousin got a lot of birthday gifts. Then he cried because he didn’t get a basketball like he wanted. He got everything else he wanted so I don’t know why he was a crybaby about that. I just sat alone in the corner eating cake and ice cream.

               For Halloween, I went as a brain guy. Or brain girl. I had a black cloak and a hat that looked like a brain. I wish I could’ve put something on it to make gou gooie slimy but it was cloth. I got a lot of candy and peeople didn’t like it when I said I wanted to see their brain.

               We went to my Grandma’s for thanksgiving. Like every year. For Christmas, I got a lot of Legos. I like building the sets but I like building whatever I want more.

               This boy in my class gave me a spechul valentine because he likes me. I threw it away but I kept the chalklit chocolate. For my birthday (I’m 8!!!)—and she drew a cake with eight candles on it—I had a pool party! It was really fun! One of my friends said I was trying to drown her. I said it was a pool party and when you are around a lot of water you might get a little drownd.

               When school ended, my family and me spent a month in Colorado and New Mexico. I thought about sending you a postcard but I didn’t have your address when I was there. Here it is anyway. The postcard featured the Taos Mountains with the sun symbol in the sky and was folded up in the envelope. We just got back so I thought I’d get this letter written before I forget again.

               We only have a week before school starts again. Clearly Ashlea forgot about the letter and picked it back up several weeks later. A new park with trails opened near me so I’m spending a lot of time in nature or at the pool. When it’s too hot, I stay home and read. That’s how I found this letter. It was in a book I was reading as a bookmark.

               I’m really going to send this letter this time.

               Love,

               Ashlea

P.S. I’ve been practicing checkers for a rematch.

P.P.S. Forgive the lateness of my letter.

P.P.P.S. How’s your book going?

               I smiled at the letter. I was glad it was still able to be forwarded. I had finished my book. It had undergone a major rewrite. I had changed the main character into a girl like Ashlea. She and her parents came from that sunflower galaxy she had mentioned to me. Their planet had been taken over by aliens from another galaxy and her and her parents were now refugees on Earth. The aliens were now heading toward Earth and only these three could stop them. I had turned it into a young adult novel and found an agent who was searching for a publisher.

               The entire book was finished except for one thing. I logged into my laptop and opened up my novel. I had about three pages of acknowledgement, people I wanted to mention that helped me in the process of writing. I didn’t have a dedication page and thought about not having one. It’s clear who the book should be dedicated to. I scrolled to the blank fifth page and typed a dedication. ▩

Using 'Monsieur' Very Loosely

June 22, 1966

Do you need to go somewhere, Alice? There are places you can go that will protect you from him. Can you go stay with someone? This guy does not seem to be as cool and fun as his namesake tiles.

You don't need an appetizer. It is just you. Just get some extra food or a side with your meal if you are that hungry.

The waiter's face in the third panel. "Oh, geez. Sounds like I'm getting a $5 tip with this one."

My Afternoon With Hattie

June 21, 1966

Honestly, I feel you could just connect these panels and call it good.

See? That looks fine.

I've never been a fan of dog whistle jokes. I don't think they are/were as prevalent as movies, TV, and old cartoons lead us to believe.

Yes. My answer would have to be yes.

I don't know. I think Hurricane Hattie would be a fun daughter to have. I've always wanted a daughter so I'm going to grab any opportunity to be a loving father figure to Hurricane-esque girls.

Droned

June 20, 1966

How much would you tip this guy back in 1966? Fifty cents? Maybe giving him a cookie or two would be a better tip. I don't know.

Yes, yes, drone is only spelled one way. Wilberforce is an idiot. But whenever I did vocabulary we needed to know the definition, so which 'drone' is it?

Four Bags of Money

June 18, 1966

Everyone named Hercules sounds made-up, like a character in a novel or TV show or something. This is no different. The names Hercules seemingly portrays strength, but when you look, most people named Hercules are nerds and dorks with the occasional soldier thrown in.

In 17 years, Brutus has only had 3 raises totaling $13? Also, Brutus hasn't had a raise in nine years? Those both somehow seem illegal, but it probably isn't.

Working 8:59 to 4:59

June 17, 1966

Did medicine have flavors in 1966 like they do now? I know medicine used to be really gross--metallic or bitter-flavored. And let's not forget things like cod liver oil or other gross "natural" things that kept you "healthy".

Everyone loves medicine that makes your head want to collapse in on itself.

Wow. Brutus is clocked in and ready to work at 8:59. Let me document this occasion with a picture. Instead of talking to the reader, you should be going through that in box.

I'm unnerved by the lower case 'a.m.' and 'p.m.'

A Golfer's Wife

February 1, 1987

Is Brutus a jerk here? According to the actual definition of 'jerk (derogatory)': "a contemptibly obnoxious person", so I guess you can say Brutus is that. Anymore, I feel 'jerk' is used for someone who is consciously mean--a nicer way to call someone an 'asshole'.

"So by rule..." and then what? Depending on how they were playing, either they have to play the hole again with the correct balls or the player who hit first loses the hole. I guess we'll never find out because Gladys can't stand to talk to and/or listen to her husband.

Y'all know you are supposed to like who you're married to, right?

Late Night Quickies

June 16, 1966

Ok, sir. Get back in your car. Just wait for the police. You don't need to beat this guy into a bloody pulp. Let his insurance do it.

How does he fit into that car? "Everyone deserves to drive an automobile, even the very tall..."

It's nice that Brutus always goes into Wilberforce talking about playing sports believing he won. Maybe someday Wilberforce will win one.

What does playing an "intersquad game" have to do with anything in this strip?

Jordan Road Bridge

This bridge, located between Wakarusa and Carbondale in Osage County, was built in 1920 and features a steel girder construction with wooden planks for a deck. It crosses a small unnamed stream and run perpendicular to a railroad track.

The bridge has been deemed structurally deficient and due to circumstances like its age, width, deterioration, and stream bank erosion, replacement is probably not too far down the line. However, it's estimated only 40 cars travel on this bridge per year and it may be easier and cheaper to close it and dead end the road from the north and south.