Click

October 19, 1966

Nobody said there'd be juice.

Unlimited juice? This party is going to be off the hook!

Notice no one else is affected so he's either drinking a lot or he just can't hold his liquor. Either reason seems plausible.

"Old Brutus isn't very tech-savvy, is he?" "What makes you say that?" He still uses mostly coaxial cables. I didn't even know you could still do that.

As much as I hate to admit it, Brutus is roughly around my age. The Thornapples are Millennials. There's no reason Brutus needs to call the remote a "clicker" because he would never have a remote that clicks. I consider myself an old soul and know of and about a lot of old-timey things, and I've never called the remote a "clicker".

Seriously, Why So Angry?

I had to think about it, but I have never been denied anything from my health insurance. I think my wife has been, but it was reinstated because of the doctor or on appeal or something, I can't remember. However, it suddenly came to me that a healthcare denial has personally affected me.

My mom was in the hospital for almost a month. Because she had Aetna, every couple weeks she had to be testing to see if she was getting better. Honestly, depending on the day, it did seem like she was getting better, slowly but surely. Anyway, it came to a point where she had to be at a certain point or they would stop paying for her hospital stay and require she be moved to a nursing facility.

I don't understand or know what their criteria is/was. I asked but even the professionals couldn't really tell me. Anyway, an extension of her stay was denied so she was then transported to a nursing facility. In the meantime, because her insurance would basically no longer pay for care/rehab and I certainly can't afford it, we began proceeding to basically begin palliative care. She went to the facility where she died two days later.

Anyway, I don't know if former Aetna CEO Brian Kane, who left Aetna in August, had anything to do with it. But maybe all these insurers realizing how much they are hated and having at least one person do something about it will make current Aetna CEO Steve Nelson be better.

But probably not.

July 13, 1986

Part of this is on Gladys. Why did she use these words? She also didn't have to spill the beans on the chair. Is today Brutus' birthday? Maybe. It'd be one of seven, I think is what we are up to now.

Chip got me. I have been complaining since forever about Brutus eating out at fancy restaurants without his family and for no good reason. Well, we finally have a reason. Whenever he's in a fancy restaurant without his family, he's on a business trip. Chip won this round.

What I don't understand now is why this waiter got so angry so quickly. Brutus got the wine pairings right so it's not like he's being gauche. Don't be a dick, just offer a suggestion, dude.

In case you missed it, there's an original post about the He Said/She Said comics of the early 1990s. If you would like to support me or this website, you can buy me a cup of coffee over on Ko-fi.

Snow Day

May 27, 1965

I had this happen once. Only it was a bottle of fresh-from-the-dairy chocolate milk. 

It seems like a bad idea to shove these bottles in paper bags and carry them like that. You should be holding them from the bottom.

I would much rather shovel snow. I only have to shovel the steps, sidewalk in front of my house, and the path from the house to the street. But I have to mow the entire yard, and trim vines and tree branches. Mowing is much more work.

Although it's been awhile since I've shoveled two feet of snow like Brutus here.

Wouldn't the Meat-Eaters Starve Before Dying of High Cholesterol?

January 7, 1979

Jesus Christ! I'm all for spousal abuse (I'm not, actually) but this is unwarranted. Wine must make Gladys horngry. Get it? I'll see myself out.

Is it me or does the lack of speech bubbles look weird?

I subscribe to the belief that dinosaurs died because of a meteor smashing into Earth and ushering in an age of rapid and disastrous climate change from wildfires, volcanic eruptions, and wildly fluctuating temperatures. The 1990-1994 ABC/Jim Henson television series Dinosaurs helped influence my decision.

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Mother Gargle Has No Joy

May 4, 1986

I am all for using public transportation, but somehow I don't see Gladys being fine with taking the bus. Seems like it would be beneath her even though she is definitely no better than anyone that takes the bus.

For those who don't know, the joke goes "You're ugly/stupid/whatever." "You're drunk." "Yeah, but in the morning I'll be sober..."

Well, then, I guess you don't have to come eat out with us. Starve and die for all I care.

Honestly, Brutus sounds like one of those fathers who tries to make a stupid joke out of everything. "Nous prendrons une grande pizza avec les œuvres, s'il vous plaît," Brutus says with a loud guffaw at the Pizza Hut on South Taylor Road.

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World Octopus Day Celebration Dinner

March 8, 1986

Palaver is a noun meaning "unnecessarily elaborate or complex" but I think it's used here in the slang sense of "unnecessary excitement or trouble caused by something unimportant". Here's some advice, Brutus: Don't be worried about what others think of you. Just be the best person that you can be. Only one person can judge us--Bimmyjim the Adjudicator.

You could celebrate the birth of Paul Hogan (Crocodile Dundee), Chevy Chase (if you're into that kind of thing), or R.L. Stine. It's also a Feast Day for several variations of Christianity. Or Arbor Day in Namibia.

Five bucks says they don't take Wilberforce with them.

Wine-Oh

May 18, 1976

I guess that's progress. How many mistakes can a person make? There's only so many.

What's the word? Thunderbird!

What's the price? Thirty twice!

Why does Brutus need a wine to go with his food? You know, you don't have to order fancy alcoholic drinks when you go out to eat at nice restaurants. And if you do want a nice beverage, you have to understand that it might be a little pricey.

There's a McDonald's right next door to this restaurant, Brutus. Maybe that's more your speed.

The Great Wine Connoisseur

November 26, 1975

Geez, Brutus, calm down. You're in public.

Brutus, you're, like, 40, 45. Stay away from those 20-year-olds.

According to the internet, cabernet sauvignon should be served at around 60 degrees which means it should be slightly chilled. What I saw is that it should be in a wine fridge of about 50 to 60 degrees. If it's too warm, you can't taste the flavor because of the alcohol or some crap.

That, and Brutus being by himself in this restaurant yet again really take away from the waiter's great microwave line.

Muesday

November 24, 1975

Brutus is going to get a lot of watered down drinks now.

Just order a damn drink, Brutus. And tip well.

Look, Brutus, you can either stay home and have your kid annoy you or you can go to work. Either way, stop complaining.

Even if Brutus got all his work done, it wouldn't fit in his out box.

Just Eat At Home!

November 20, 1973

Wilberforce mailed a letter that really reamed Hurricane Hattie. Feeling guilty and better for just having written the letter, wanted it back. As you can see, hijinks ensued and now Wilberforce is locked inside the mailbox. Classic!

Smart move. I love scrambled eggs but sometimes it does seem like you get less egg. Now, a lot of times at restaurants, I order eggs so I can count the yolks. Nothing against the restaurant, I just like a lot of egg.

"Hey, Brutus? Is that your kid getting back in the mailbox out there?"

Sorry I Bothered You With My Politeness

March 19, 1975

He's gotcha there, Doc!

We're going to discuss today Brutus' drink of choice, Old Zip Coon. Old Zip Coon is an alternate and racist version of the song, "Turkey In the Straw" sung in exaggerated Black English Vernacular. It inspired the Zip Coon minstrel show where Zip Coon, a freed slave, tries to act deserving of his station in life but speaks in malaprops and puns that are less than dignified. Keep in mind, these are white people performing this character.

I think through animated movie shorts from Disney and Warner Bros., Turkey In the Straw became quick shorthand for alcohol or liquor (similar to XXX on a jug) so it makes sense that Brutus is drinking Old Zip Coon here, but that doesn't make it right.

I would just flip the table. I don't have to put up with this in my own house. Didn't even get a sentence out. If you don't want to be here then why are you here?

Summer Math Is the Worst Math

I have made it over 100,000 words in my novel. For comparison, the last book I wrote was just over 62,000 words. I still have a bit to go and I know things will get added and removed when I go through editing. But at 100,082 words, Vagabond Girl is now the longest single thing I've written.

May 20, 1974

Hey, that's just Veeblefester in a fake mustache.

Kordiak sounds like the name of someone Art would know. Surely it can't be famed Anoka County, Minnesota county commissioner Albert Kordiak, but you never know.

I love that the wine was bottled this month.

What kind of fresh hell is this? Why are teachers sending out homework over summer break? Did this use to happen? She better not expect that pack of math problems to return to school or be graded because that's crap. I don't have to do this. You don't have any power over me.

Also, why you opening my mail, Ma? I know I'm 9 but I should have a reasonable expectation of privacy.

Who Knew Brutus Was Such a Lush?

February 21, 1974

Gladys' husband just got struck by lightning, or got vaporized, or turned into Shazam! (or back into Billy Batson) and she is not the least bit concerned? We got some real Andy Capp energy going here.

How many times has Brutus died in these old strips?

I like that Chip is starting to heed my suggestions now. I wonder if this is a call back to last Friday when Veeblefester let Brutus leave early because he's bad at his job.

*Uncle Ted points to one part of his arm* "This Is the Only Place It Doesn't Hurt!"

January 7, 1974

The front of Brutus doesn't seem to match his profile view. Eh, whatever. I can't keep my eyes off the cork. I love how it looks the same in the first panel and the last. And this was before computers. Beautiful.

Brutus is over 40. Hell, he's over 30. Brutus should be well-accustomed to random and constant pain. I kept waking up the other night with side cramps. I'm laying down asleep, what am I doing that would cause both sides to cramp up.

Earthy. It Tastes Earthy.

||||

He was a regular customer. He always chose us to get his new tattoos. He was covered in them from neck to feet. Sleeves on his arms, images of his mom and grandma on his chest along with Jesus on the cross in-between them. He was starting a big project on his left leg only a few months after finishing a huge project on his right leg. One of the only parts of his body untouched by ink was his neck, at least up until a year ago when he came in, first thing in the morning, right after we opened, and got a line.

It was just a line. |. It was thicker than just a line, I still had to fill it in after creating an outline. The line was just a bit smaller than my pinky. I showed him the result in a mirror. He seemed pleased, paid, and thanked me. The whole job took about ten from him coming in to him leaving. About three months later, he came in again. First thing in the morning, and got a second line right next to the first one. Nearly four months after that, he came in for his third line. I often wondered what the lines meant but it's not our job to question what somebody wants on their body.

Two months later, I had just opened. He came into the shop. "Hey. Your appointment isn't until tomorrow," I said, referring to the continuing work on his left leg.

"Yeah, I know. You know why I'm here," he said.

"Already? It seems like I just did the third line yesterday," I joked.

"A couple months ago," he got into a chair with the back of his neck to me. "Time for another one."

I got prepared and grabbed the needle and the same black color he used for the last three lines. "Same distance from the last one? Same height?"

"Same as the others," he said.

"All right," I got to work. The buzzing of the needle broke the sudden silence. I drew a skinny oval-shaped outline just like how the other lines started out. I then filled in the empty space and finished up. "All done."

He stood up, quickly looked at it in a mirror and we went over to the counter. "Good work as always," he said.

"The lines are pretty simple compared to everything else you have," I said. "Still see you tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah. We only have, what? Two more appointments to get my leg done?"

"I believe so."

"I'm also working on something to add to my back," he revealed. "So I'll be throwing that business to you as well."

"You can throw whatever business you want at us," I laughed.

"Thanks for letting me get this done without an appointment."

"It's quick work. No problem."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he raised his hand in a wave and headed out the door.

I stood at the counter for a couple of minutes thinking about those lines. What could they mean? What were they for? I told coworkers and other customers about it, even a couple of friends and they all give the standard answers--kills, exes, divorces, all the normal stuff you would keep track of on your body.

My attention was finally broken by someone coming into the store. "Are you available to do a tattoo?" she asked.

"Depends on how complicated. My first appointment is in an hour and a second person doesn't come in until 9:30," I answered.

"It's this," she showed me a picture of a dolphin on her phone. A simple drawing. Easy to do quickly.

"Yeah. Hop in that chair," I motioned at the chair the guy with the lines on his neck had just gotten out of a few minutes ago.  "How's your day going?"

"I just woke up but so far it's okay," she answered.

I kept the phone propped up on the table with the dolphin on the screen. I verified the colors she wanted and grabbed the bottles off the shelf nearby. I got the needle ready, double checked the look of the dolphin, and spoke. "Where do you want this?"     ⏹



For fans of physical media, my first novel Harter Union is now available in paperback from Amazon. Go check it out or you can still purchase a copy for your Kindle. Heck, get both if you are some kind of masochist. If you would like to support my writing or my research, you can buy me a cup of coffee on Ko-Fi.

That actually sounds good. Too bad all wine tastes the same to me. Maybe I just don't have the palette for wine. I'm not made for upper crust rituals like wine-tasting. "It tastes like a tangy fruit flavored alcohol and didn't make me want to spit it back out. A+!"

It's Just Irish

If that's just a cup of whiskey then Gladys didn't need to ask what he was drinking, she should be able to smell it. Also, Gladys isn't wearing green so now she'll spend all day getting pinched by a drunken Brutus. That's not a fun day.

Uncle Ted After Dark

Uncle Ted was a raging drunk.

Why are we talking about happy hours? It's clear they're not in a bar but a coffee shop. Maybe the coffee shop has a happy hour. Maybe it's one of those hipster coffee/bars where I can get a maibock wheat to go with my almond milk infused red velvet macchiato or whatever the hell.

Liberty #63: A Whisky Murder

Written by T.A. McNeal; originally published in "When Kansas Was Young", 1922. Capper Publications.

Medicine Lodge never acquired the reputation of being a wild and wooly town in the sense that that name attached to Dodge City, or Wichita in its early days, or Newton or Abeline when they were the end of the Texas cattle drive, or Caldwell or Hunnewell in the days of their pristine glory. Before the railroad reached Medicine Lodge, the day of the cattle drive was passed, and while a bad man occasionally sojourned there for a night, or maybe a week, there was no congregation of killers. Medicine Lodge never had a dance hall such as flourished in each of the other towns, when they were the objectives of of the vast plains of Texas on their ways to the markets of the North and East.

Still there were some tragedies, and this story relates to one which I think had something to do with the fact that in the election of 1880 this frontier county gave a majority for the prohibitory amendment to our state constitution. While there was not so much of it sold as in some of the towns, the quality of the whisky sold in Medicine Lodge was as bad as the worst. I have known men who were ordinarily quiet and peaceable when sober, after imbibing a few drinks of the beverage, to go stark mad for the time being and become more dangerous than Bengal tigers. I know a most reputable man, kindly, law-abiding and in every way a model citizen for many years past, who confesses that he shudders when he thinks of how near he came to being a murderer when crazed by a few drinks of border drug store whisky. But that is another story.

One May day in 1879 a country boy, perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age, rode into town. John Garten had not been known as a "bad man". He was just an ordinary, gawky, green country boy, who had reached the age when he probably thought it would be smart to show off and also an indication of manly quality to fill his hide with drink. It was probably this ambition, rather than any confirmed appetite for liquor, that caused him to take on several drinks. Probably at that, nothing serious would have happened if he had not been filled with another ambition, and that was to carry a gun and acquire the ability to draw and shoot like one of the gun fighters he had heard about.

It was along toward evening of the long beautiful day in the latter part of May, that young Garten mounted his horse, probably at the suggestion of the town marshal, and rode out of town, emitting a few "whoops" as he rode. A few miles west of the Lodge, at a crossing of one of the little tributaries of the Medicine, he overtook two women, a mother and her daughter. They stepped to the side of the road to let him pass. He rode past them a few rods and then with a drunken howl pulled his pistol from its holster and fired two shots in the direction of the women. With a cry of anguish the younger woman, Mrs. Steadman, fell mortally wounded. It is quite possible that young Garten did know know that he had hit either woman, for hte rode on without further looking backwards, stopped at the ranch where he had been working, unsaddled his horse and made no effort to escape. He expressed great surprise when a few hours afterward the tall, gaunt frontier sheriff rode up to the ranch house and said quietly, "John, I want you for murder."

Garten protested that he had just intended to give the women a scare and didn't suppose he had hit either one of them, and quite probably he was telling the truth. The murder aroused a storm of indignation when young Garten was brought into town. An inoffensive, popular young woman had been shot down without any provocation and there was talk of the law of the border. There were mutterings of vengeance and knots of men gathered and conversed in low earnest tones, more dangerous than loud threats or bluster. A few hours afterward the big, lank weatherbeaten sheriff with the prisoner in charge, rode away through the moonless night to the northward and put Garten for safe keeping in the Rice County jail to await his trial. In those days there were only two terms of court in Barber County and before the time for Garten's trial he escaped from jail and, it was believed, fled to the mountains of New Mexico.

The father of the murdered woman was a lean, powerful man by the name of Champion, a typical frontiersman. I think he had come originally from the mountains of Kentucky or Tennesse and if so was born to believe in the doctrine of the blood avenger. Sparing of speech and stern of face, Champion made little demonstration of his grief, though it was understood that he possessed a quiet and deep affection for his children.

When the news came that Garten had broken jail, Champion said nothing, but those who were in his confidence knew that he had gone to New Mexico. For almost a year nothing was heard from him, but there was a persistent rumor that he was playing the part of the avenger of blood; that he had gone on a relentless, tireless man hunt for the slayer of his first born.

Finally he returned. He said nothing for publication, but there was the look on his face of a man who had accomplished his task and fulfilled the old law, the law still of the mountains, an eye for an eye, a life for a life. No one outside of Champion and his few confidants knew what had been the result of that long year's hunt through the mountains and over the burning desert sands, but Garten was never found by the authorities or returned for trial.

Those who knew the boy never believed that he was a willful and deliberate murderer. His crime was the direct result of the villainous liquor that was sold in the frontier town. At the next election the question was up to amend the constitution so as to make the sale of whisky as a beverage forever unlawful. The rough bearded men riding the range, with ample time to meditate as they rode, considered the case of the boy Garten, the murdered woman, the lean-faced, stern, unsmiling close-lipped frontiersman on his lonely vigils in the mountains, searching with indomitable will and marvelous patience for the man he meant to kill. They considered and voted for prohibition.

1296: Red, Red Wine

...

Oh, I get it. He had a decline in memory shortly after mentioning that drinking red wine could prevent a decline in memory. Had to think about it today. It's not my fault, I'm writing this at 12:30 in the morning.

1275: Is Norm a Real Person Or a Joke On the Cheers Character

Welcome to the strip Brutus' hipster friend, Norm. I look forward to learning more about you like do you brew your own craft beer or were you a student at Kenyon or are you a professor there? 

Oh wait, we won't learn any of that. Norm will just be reduced to a character Brutus can complain about his life to like guy in diner wearing hat and Arnie.