Scrolling Through Old Sports Comics

October 17, 1966

Did...Did this guy just accidentally blow his brains out? I mean, I guess he's still standing there and maybe he looks burned(?), but that's clearly a gun and NOT a cigarette lighter. I'm glad Veeblefester finds it so funny. What does he care, it's another head for his wall. Not that there's a lot of head probably left under that bad scan.

The elephant foot trashcan? (ottoman?) makes me physically ill.

Hmm. Now I know where Gladys and Wilberforce get it...

"This is the middle of the third quarter." Ok. That doesn't answer my question at all.

Hey, wait a minute...  2014       2025  Wilberforce already knew hockey had three quarters and two halftimes.

Six A.M. Smells

September 28, 1966

It took me a minute but Blackie has killed at least four people in this shoot-out. Good for him!

I like how the sheriff star on his hat is just an asterisk. Just a tiny butthole on his head.

I'm the same way. I will wake up like an animal with an alarm, but if you just let it happen, I'm in a better mood. I hate waking up in the morning. I especially hate waking up and then having to do stuff.

The + symbols in the eyes when these characters are excited are weird. +s and Xs are a symbol for death. They'd be much more at home in the first panel.

See?

Is Hattie Brutus' Best Friend?

February 23, 1966

Viva la Revolution!!

Living in a country where firing squads might become the norm, I hope there are some out there able to convince the soldiers to direct their rifles over to the commander. I'm surprised he was allowed to talk enough to sway opinion.

Aren't roosters and crocodiles essentially the same thing? Modern day dinosaurs? My amalgam of crocodile and rooster--croosterdile--makes a bit more sense. But I give this riddle a solid 4.7 out of 5. It's way better than Gladys' pathetic attempt.

Saturday Quickies

January 24, 1966

He's a witch! BURN HIM!!

Let us hope that he never uses that finger on a person.

Why is an eight-year-old girl buying presents for a grown-ass man anyway?

He Just Leaves Those Stacks of Money On the Desk?

Remember when Wilbur Weston fell overboard off a cruise ship in Mary Worth? Well, you can relive that moment in this repost that has a couple of comic strips plus a history of the temperance newspaper The Crank and where the name Wakansa came from.

August 18, 1965

I feel another Born Loser character is going to wind up tied up. I thought there were more comics where someone was tied up.

Honestly, I would just start squirting him. It would confuse and disorient him and who likes getting wet?

Doesn't Brutus have an office? This strip is very vague about that. I've always pictured Brutus in an office but I guess it's possible he's in a fairly large cubicle. Do his walls go up to the ceiling? Are they detachable?

There is a definite difference between offices and cubicles. It's not that complicated.

Tauy Creek Digest #44: Gun

In the early morning hours of February 16th, the father of one of my students was shot and killed. This came not even two days after a 19-year-old opening fire in Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School killing 17 people and injuring 14 more. The perpetrators of these heinous crimes shouldn't have even had guns and taking those weapons away from them should've been easy but for whatever reason, they were able to possess them. I can't even tell anymore if the people who are so adamantly against gun control are really pro-gun, anti-government, or just children doing the opposite of what somebody wants you to do. I do know that they are acting selfishly, putting themselves above everybody else which is fine but when people are dying--when your actions involve other people--then you don't get to have a choice anymore. Your rights end where someone else begins.

When I worked on my middle school paper, my first article was about a school shooting. While it wasn't a massacre like some of the others that have happened, it will still so weird to write. I am not positive which one it was--either Greensboro, North Carolina or Blackville, South Carolina--but it has always stuck out in my mind especially after Columbine in 1999. The shooting in Greensboro, in 1994, was because a student was suspended for smoking. The student shot and wounded the assistant principal and then killed himself. Blackville occurred exactly a year later in 1995. Again, a suspended student shot and killed a math teacher and wounded another math teacher before turning the gun on himself. Little did I know that school shootings would end up becoming a theme in local and national news over the next 25 years.

I wrote a story about a school shooting back in the 90s and revamped the story a few years later. I haven't published or posted it anywhere because it seemed like whenever I had it planned, a real school shooting would happen so I'd postpone it. When Stephen King announced that he was allowing his book "Rage", about a school shooting, go out of print after several school shooters were revealed to have read it for inspiration, I decided to quit trying to publish it and just forget about it. When people, especially friends in high school, read the story, they were shocked. A couple even wondered if I was going to shoot up the school. Clearly they didn't know me that well because I didn't have access to a gun even if I wanted to and that's the whole point of the gun control we're talking about.

People who want to use guns to hurt others shouldn't be able to acquire those guns and those who enable their ability to get them should be punished. Maybe it would make gun dealers think twice about the people they are selling to if they could also be arrested for murder. Maybe parents and friends would keep their guns better secured and put away if they could be charged as an accomplice when shootings happens. Would doing this actually create fewer shootings? It certainly wouldn't stop all of them but it would stop a few and to think it wouldn't is just ignorant.

We could also beef up our mental health system. Since Sandy Hook, conservatives and pro-gun people have been pointing to mental health being the real cause of all the shootings and that is true and it's great we're talking about it but, just like with gun control, that's all we do. You would think that the people in charge would, even if they didn't want to restrict guns, would at least commit to fixing our mental health care system but I think that shows us that they don't really care about fixing the problem and that they hope we'll just forget about it, which is what usually happens, or that we'll finally just throw up our hands and say "This is the way it is."

But we shouldn't have to do that and the fact that people out there feel that we should all live in fear of one another and arm ourselves to the teeth to protect our bodies and our homes is just bafflingly backwards. I will always firmly believe that humans are basically good. I've seen people say that we are less safe than we've ever been and that's just the way it is now but I don't believe that at all. If we are less safe it is because we are making ourselves less safe. We refuse to learn about other people, we move away as soon as someone "undesirable" comes into our neighborhood, we cling to our opinions, our religion, our guns with no regard for people who have different opinions or a different religion or a fundamental difference on who needs a weapon.

You could also look at this way. We could work together and compromise to create sensible gun control laws and better mental health now or we can continue badgering you about this every single time this happens, which as you know, is a lot.

Tauy Creek Digest #6: Bobbo

The hashtags and headlines all run together.

It seems as if twenty minutes ago, nothing was wrong. Fifteen minutes ago, another police officer shoots an unarmed black man.

He was armed? Why does that matter? There are more than 300 million guns in this country and you're worried about one black man with one gun? I know white guys with guns pointed at their front doors just in case someone looks at their house the wrong way.

Ten minutes ago, protests began. Always peaceful, always motivated by what is right.

#BlackLivesMatter. Not saying other lives don't matter. Just saying that it seems that black lives matter less. Evidence shows it. Everything bad that could happen to an American tends to happen disproportionately to the black community. We overlook things like that because the majority of this country is white so why should we care what happens?

Five minutes ago, shots ring out. No longer peaceful, once a unified body becomes separate again.

Two steps forward, one step back. That's how we are anymore. Despite all the advancements we cannot overcome, for whatever reason, our history. Why do we feel like we have to keep people down. Several generations have come and gone and we are still fighting the Civil War.

One minute ago. It all starts over again.

~*~*~

The blond haired boy carefully walked along the top of the eight-foot privacy fence with his arms extended while the cute dark haired girl watched. "Ooh, be careful, Bobbo," she said, in odd amazement.

"Don't worry, I could do this with my eyes closed," Bobbo said. Right about at that moment, Bobbo began to stumble and then fall over the fence. He landed with a thud on the ground in a tulip garden. When Bobbo finally rolled over and stood up to leave the garden, most of the tulips had been flattened.

"Bobbo!" a voice screamed from the direction of the house. "My tulips! What do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry, Mr. Popadopolis," Bobbo muttered. "There was this girl and..."

"Get out!"

Bobbo ran from Mr. Popadopolis' backyard and back around to where the girl was. "Are you okay, Bobbo?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Can't say that about Mr. Popadopolis' tulips though."

"Well, Bobbo. It could've been worse."

"I guess. What a great way to start a friendship," Bobbo sighed dejectedly and began sauntering home.




"You should have seen it, Max. I made a fool of myself in front of that new girl, Brooke," Bobbo complained to his best friend, Max, as they walked through the wall.

"You make a fool of yourself in front of a lot of people, Bobbo, how is this different?" Max asked, drily.

"Har, har. I just want to impress her. What should I do?"

"Stay away from her. That would impress me, anyway, if you could stay away from a girl for 24 hours."

They walked by a kiosk where something caught Bobbo's eye. He stopped to look in the case at the kiosk and saw a bracelet with five charms on a small chain link. "What about that? Do you think she'd like that?" Bobbo pointed at the bracelet. The charms were a heart, a music note, a four-leaf clover, a peace sign, and a star.

Max snorted. "I don't know. How would I know what she likes? I haven't even met her."

"How much is that charm bracelet?" Bobbo asked the guy working the kiosk.

"Ten dollars," he answered.

"I don't have ten dollars," Bobbo sighed and he and Max walked away. "What can I do to earn some quick money?"

"You should spend this kind of energy on your chores and schoolwork," Max said.

"I got it!" Bobbo exclaimed. "I'll see you later, Max."

"No rush," Max said.




"Is that you, Bobbo?" Old Lady Vandacourt asked. She had wheeled herself over to the door to answer it when Bobbo knocked. Old Lady Vandacourt was around 100-years-old, still spry and sassy, she relied on the kindness of her neighbors between the times her daughter and granddaughter would come out to help with groceries and doctor's appointments.

"Sure is. I wondering if you had any odd jobs I could do. I'm looking to earn ten dollars."

"I could probably find something for you. Come on in," Old Lady Vandacourt wheeled her wheelchair backward to give Bobbo room to go in. "You can help me clean out my kitchen cabinets. I've been wanting to do that for months," they walked to the kitchen which was stuck in the 1960s. Everything was at least clean but very dated. "Just go through that cabinet and tell me what's in the can and the expiration date. I'll let you know if you can get rid of it."

For the next hour, Bobbo went through the cans in the cabinet. Half the cans were deemed unsuitable to keep while the other half could be kept. Old Lady Vandacourt then told Bobbo to help clean out her refrigerator. Dozens of moldy plastic containers were tossed out as were a couple cartons of milk. Bobbo was excited when he was finally done with that.

"Anything else, Ms. Vandacourt? I really need to get the ten dollars," Bobbo panted.

"One more thing," she said.

Bobbo's face lowered.

"Can you take Simpson out for a walk?" Old Lady Vandacourt asked.

"Simpson?" Bobbo looked over and saw a dog lying on the couch. "Your dog?"

"Yes. He doesn't get out much except the backyard to do his business. He needs a good walk. The leash is by the door."

"Sure, I guess."

"I'll have the ten dollars ready for you when you get back."

Bobbo hooked the leash onto Simpson's collar and the two left the house. They made it halfway down the block when Brooke came around the corner. "Hi, Brooke," Bobbo stammered.

"Hi, Bobbo. Who is this cutie-patootie?" she kneeled down and rubbed Simpson's head.

"This is Simpson. He's Old Lady Vandacourt's dog. I need to get some extra money so I'm doing some chores for her."

"Oh, that's nice. Why do you need the money?"

"There's something at the mall I want to buy," Bobbo said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm heading to the mall actually."

"I'm headed back there when I'm done with this. Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe. I'll see you later."

"See you," Bobbo waved and they went their separate ways. Bobbo continued walking Simpson down the sidewalk. Suddenly, Bobbo tripped, fell down, and let go of the leash. As if on cue, Simpson began bolting away. "Simpson!" Bobbo hollered and quickly stood up and ran after the loose dog. Bobbo chased Simpson down the street. The dog turned suddenly and ran into a yard. He began digging in a bed of tulips. "No, Simpson, stop."

"Bobbo!" Mr. Popadopolis yelled.

Bobbo clutched Simpson with both arms around the chest and carried him away from the other bed of tulips. "Sorry, Mr. Popadopolis." Bobbo put Simpson down and the two bolted from the yard. Bobbo returned to Old Lady Vandacourt. "We're back, Ms. Vandacourt."

"Oh, good. Did Simpson have a good time?"

"He seemed to," Bobbo said.

"I don't have any cash on me but here are ten one dollar coupons for that frozen yogurt place in the mall," she handed Bobbo the coupons. "You can use them all at once and they don't expire so you can get ten dollars worth of yogurt."

Bobbo reluctantly took the coupons. "Thanks, Ms. Vandacourt."




Bobbo trekked back to the mall. Near the food court, where the frozen yogurt place was, he ran into Brooke. "Hello again, did you get your money?"

"Kind of," Bobbo shrugged. He then perked up. "Do you want to get some frozen yogurt?" he pointed to the frozen yogurt shop.

"Sure, I'll take some."

"Great. Get whatever you want. My treat."

Tauy Creek Digest #4: Sunday Morning

A beautiful Sunday morning. However, I was woken up long before I wanted to get up by my dog who had spent at least twenty minutes just walking around the room. "Fine," I said gruffly. "I'll get up since you clearly need something." I got out of bed, my dog hopping happily alongside me as we walked to the back door so I could let him out.

I went into the kitchen and looked in the coffee can only to find it empty. "Really? Empty? Then why did I leave the can on the counter," I said to myself. "I guess I could get out and get me some more," I shrugged. "Or I could just run through somewhere. It'd be quicker and I can stop after work tomorrow and actually get some coffee."




I found myself in the checkout line at the grocery store with a can of coffee crystals and three bags of coffee beans. I sat my stuff on the belt and waited for the cashier to check out the person in front of me. When it was my turn, she quickly scanned my purchases and dropped them into a bag.

"$21.53," the cashier said and I began scanning my debit card through the card reader.

The guy behind me suddenly spazzed out and pulled out a gun, pointing it at the cashier. "Give me all the money in the register!" he shouted.

"What the hell?" I asked, only wanting to finish my transaction.

The cashier shrieked and backed away from the register. "Please don't shoot me," she begged, her eyes tearing up.

"He's not going to shoot you. He just wants money," I said. "Armed robbery, he may just get probation but murder," I made a long whistle.

"Shut up or I'll shoot you," the robber screamed.

"You aren't going to shoot anybody. Open the register and give him some cash so he can get out of here and we can sic the police on him," I said to the cashier.

"No need. We're already here," someone said. "Luckily we had to stop in to grab something."

Two police officers were standing off to the side with guns pointed at the robber. He sighed and slowly raised his hands. Suddenly, a shot rang out and a piercing pain went through my shoulder. I dropped to my knees and grabbed my arm.

"We have a second shooter," one of the officers shouted and took off toward the gunshot. The other officer got his handcuffs and cuffed the robber while radioing in what was happening. "It's just someone thinking he could play hero," the officer came back, another man handcuffed with him.

"I called for an ambulance. It'll be here soon. So what was his problem?"

"He thought he could be a good guy with a gun. Didn't have a good angle and missed."

I groaned loudly and stood up. "He shot me," I screamed. "Why did you shoot when you knew two policemen were here?"

He didn't answer as the ambulance pulled up the grocery store doors. I was loaded into the back of it and taken to the hospital.




Several months later, on another Sunday, I was once again woken up long before I wanted to get up by my dog who, again, had spent at least twenty minutes walking around the room. "Fine," I said, gruffly. "I'll get up." I got out of bed, my dog hopping happily next to me as we walked to the back door. I let him out and bounded into the backyard.

I went into the kitchen and looked in the coffee can only to find that it was empty. Again. "Why don't I throw these empty things away?" I asked myself. "I guess I could run out and get some more. Or I could just through a drive-thru somewhere and buy more coffee on Monday after work."

As I stood in the kitchen, I thought about my last excursion out on a Sunday morning and carefully touched my shoulder where the bullet had been. I shook my head and went to let my dog in. I got in my car and began driving. I drove across town, well out of the way of home and any grocery store and pulled into a drive-thru. I pulled up to the order box and rolled down my window then waited a second or two before someone came on to take my order.

"Welcome to Starbucks. What can I start making you?" the barista asked.

1249: Handwriting's Not Bad, Just In a Hurry

Oh, look. Yet another shooting.

You know how news outlets already have obituaries typed up for some celebrities and heads of state in the event they suddenly die? They can start doing that with mass shootings. "A shooting at a [insert place] in [City, State] has claimed the lives of [insert number] people. This is the [insert number] mass shooting in [insert number] [timeframe]. Since [year] started, there have been [insert number] deaths caused by a mass shooter. While we're all tired of hearing about gun-related deaths, nothing will be done to stop them."

Two days of doctor-related strips. Chip must have recently been to the doctor. I can picture him, sitting on that examining table in a paper gown as his doctor is scribbling down his prescription. "Hey, doc," Chip begins to giggle. "Does bad handwriting equal being a better doctor? Is there a course on bad handwriting in medical school?" Chip bursts out laughing. The doctor finishes the prescription and sighs.

I hate cartoonists, he thinks.

1219: Charleston

We need to do better. It doesn't matter if this is a conservative issue, liberal issues, Republican issue, Democratic issue, race issue, police issue, mental health issue, what matters is that it is an issue. We cannot use the argument we always use. If bad people want a gun, they can get a gun but what we can do is make sure that bad people who don't have guns don't get them. But that's not going to happen. On December 14, 2012, we agreed that gun violence is okay no matter who it happens to.

Charleston is just the most recent shooting, as of this writing. Dylann Roof, who often claimed that blacks were "taking over", supported racial segregation and supported pre-Apartheid South Africa and the government of Rhodesia, went into the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina, to attend a Bible study. He sat for nearly an hour participating in the study before pulling out a gun and saying "I have to do this". Roof killed nine people and was brought in, unlike several non-murdering black people lately, alive.

Roof chose the Emanuel A.M.E. Church due to its role in African-American history. The church was founded in 1816 by former members of other churches when the discrimination became too much. Having an all-black church was, for all intents and purposes at the time, illegal and the church was raided several times. In 1822, co-founder Denmark Vesey was implicated in a slave revolt plot and was executed, the church being burned down. In 1834, all-black churches were officially outlawed so the congregants met in secret. The church was also the center of the civil rights movements of the 1960s. If you can't see that this was a racially motivated shooting, then why did the shooter admit that he wanted to start a civil war, that he wanted to start a race war? Everything he has said and worn comes straight from white supremacist websites.

I understand why we aren't talking about the racism that persists in our country. It's hard to talk about because then our prejudices come to the surface and we'd have to confront those. Why we are fine with people--human beings--being routinely killed by police or gunned down because we view them as a threat is beyond me. Racism is not behind us. No amount of African American Presidents is going to end racism. Racism will end when society acknowledges the issues and works to end it. We can't just say that all people are equal and have it be so. A few years of progress cannot erase centuries of inhumane treatment.

This should be something we can work together to fix but people need to want to fix it and unfortunately, it just seems like there aren't enough of those people around. Let's put an end to this. No more innocent victims. No more grieving families. Let's do better.