As the weather heats up and my brain melts down while sitting in the sun, I am given to thoughts of laziness, intractability, wearing shorts, eating chips and drinking beer. And the combination of those aforementioned states of being are a perfect segue for this installment of Stanko & Tibor, the illustrated societal chronicle that has influenced a generation of musicians, poets, legal scholars and proctologists, and has led many of them to drink excessively. Especially the proctologists.

When people in society feel they have been wronged or cheated, they can do one of several things. They can protest, be it constructively or in some cases, destructively (like the sub-mental Quebec students I’m forced to avoid on a weekly basis). They can retreat to their iPads, computers and cannabis-laced joints and avoid reality and view from a hazy distance (unless it’s that new iPad with the crazy sharp screen). Or, the smart ones take control and go into business for themselves – or let others go into business and then the really smart ones with no compunctions regarding killing and violence join the Mafia and live like leeches off the good people of society and eat a lot of pasta and veal.

So you ask yourself, why – on this long weekend in Canada, where we celebrate a day off in the name of Queen Victoria for reasons that largely escape me but also allow me to sleep in unless my daughter is having a sleep-over and there are a bunch of screaming girls make my life a living hell – do I take my precious time to bring you comedy, philosophy and art in the form Stanko & Tibor? It’s not because I love you. Which I do, but I display it differently than most people. It’s because I want to warn you of the ills of organized crime and taking the easy road.  And maybe have a laugh as you read this and spend time with your family or at a bar and enjoy yourselves.

Lord knows I have.

Keep focused, never stray, remain sharp. And eat a whole bag of chips.

- Dr. Giovanni Bienvenutti

Given the recent events of the past few days in Europe, with the French electing a socialist who went on a diet, the U.S. elections kicking off officially with pomp and circumstance, the hockey playoffs going into the stretch drive, and International Workers Day having passed just last week, I’m reminded of the toiling and hard work we all put in, day in, day out, and I decided to give you a thematically related installment of the comic that was once described by Vassily Kandisky as “not fit to line my grandmother’s bird cage.”

It’s all about work, be it honest or dishonest, hard or easy, high-falutin’ or low-brow. It’s all the same.  And frankly, some days it does feel like we’re all horse manure inspectors.  Not exactly sure what that means, but I haven’t slept enough since I came back from Germany and my sugar intake has been inversely proportional to the amount of exercise I have been doing lately. Which is next to none, if you don’t count screaming at my children to brush their teeth.

But as the spring approaches and my backyard resembles a south Asian jungle any pygmy could love, I am reminded of the work I will have to do to keep the weeds (notice I didn’t say grass) at bay long enough for old man winter to come and kill them again. And then I think, maybe joining organized crime would be way easier because I could afford to pay some gardener to mow the lawn and rake the leaves. But I’m far too lazy for organized crime. Disorganized crime, with a lot of TV-watching and extortion by telephone would be more my speed.

And if that last paragraph isn’t enough to convince you that this episode of Stanko & Tibor is about to embark into uncharted waters, then you need more help than I do.

May you all be blessed with peace, love, happiness and access to a deli open til 3 AM.

Sincerely and unfailingly yours,

Professor Steinbrecher von Currywurst

Oh to be thin again, to be limber again, to be less gaseous and less rotund again. And to have healthy, strong teeth again. Having chipped my tooth some weeks ago, one of my front teeth no less, I realized that the onset of age, even in the realm of the dental knows no mercy.

As I stare into the mirror and smile to see this chipped chopper, I wonder both silently and aloud, “how the heck did my wife ever agree to marry someone as challenged in the looks department as me?” That question took on deeper significance this weekend as it was our wedding anniversary, and she — who felt duty-bound to keep her word and marry me despite probably having heavily regretted it when she woke up the next morning after I had proposed knowing she was under the influence of both jet lag and alcohol — once again said these past 13 years have felt like 13 minutes. Under water.

What does any of this have to do with this episode of the comic foretold in the bible as one of the 4 signs of the apocalypse and referred to by Salman Rashdie in his book club as “not suitable material to wipe a baby’s butt” have to do with toothpaste and beauty? I’m really not sure, to be honest. This is the Internet after all and they let any putz with a keyboard and the ability to type publish pretty much anything they want, so it’s your fault for reading this.

But I digress. The idea for this particular episode was not actually related to the aforementioned description of dental damage. It was a mere reflection of the marketing wordsmiths who gave us “new and improved” and other such marketing gems. And with that explanation, I will trundle to bed with a belly full of Thai food, a car magazine at the ready and maybe an intense focus on a 8-hour face-to-face discussion I’ll be having with my pillow shortly.

To those who have celebrated this long weekend with family, food and merriment, I wish you well. And remember to take out the garbage and brush your teeth.

Sincerely,

First Officer of the R0yal Brigade of Sheep Herders Lord Druker upon Cushy Bed

Perhaps it is ironic that I chronicle this episode of the comic once deemed a “reason to reinstate capital punishment” by Gandhi after having spent a semi-active day actually using the facilities of my local gym, only to post an episode deriding said institution of health and well-being.

Or is it merely coincidental? Or could it be that I don’t know the difference between ‘ironic’ and  ’coincidental’. We’ll leave that up to the editors of this intellectually challenging publication known as Stanko & Tibor to decide what it is I know and don’t. And then come up with a suitable remedial learning program.

I actually exerted myself at the gym today, causing beads of what I think was  sweat to come rolling off my forehead.  It was a shock to say the least, but it was well worth it, as it worked up an appetite that was quenched with easily triple the calories I burned off. Success!!

So when you are contemplating whether or not to do the right thing and exercise, all in an attempt to have a better quality of life, a more balanced state of mind, a potentially longer life, and more energy to face the challenges that face us day to day (like understanding this comic),  remember, you can’t really know fitness and health without knowing sloth and chocolate-covered baked goods laden with sugary goop.

Oh, and if you want some literary and visual sugary goop, check out the latest installment of Stanko & Tibor at a store near you.

Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the remote.

Admiral Jon “Gout Toe” Druker

To those of you who have made it through winter without succumbing to the need to leap on a tanning bed, fly south, read this comic or drink huge quantities of Aquavit, I ask, what is wrong with you? Now if you turned that question around and asked what is wrong with me, I’d have to distract you by screaming “Oh my God! What’s that over there?!” and then run out of the room.

As February ends, I anticipate the coming of spring in a couple of months and what that will mean for my wardrobe – specifically eliminating the torture of choosing the right coat that won’t make me sweat like a pig under a heat lamp in Jamaica in June. The early morning juggle of what sweater & coat combination to put together so I don’t arrive at work looking like I ran a marathon in a wet suit.

And speaking of work, if you put a monetary value on all the key strokes I put out into space tapping out email after email after email, all the PowerPoint slides I read and create, and all the meetings I have to sit through where I have to hear terms like “incentivizing”, “expand the envelope” and best-of-breed”, well, to be polite,  I am working cheap. It’s enough to make me want to take out my frustrations via exercise. Well, almost.

You see exercise, particularly when at a gym, is a soul-destroying affair. You go in, you sweat, and what do you come out with? Smelly clothes and armpits. I should win something every time I leave the gym, like an iPod or a chocolate bar. Now that would be good incentivizing!

So, as you read this installment of the digitally chronicled oracle once touted by the New York Times Book Review as “disturbing” and “an argument against free speech” think of the good you are doing society by not working out at a gym and watching TV or surfing the Internet instead.

The night is cold, the air is crisp as it encircles this city, full of corruption, bumpy roads, and pretty decent food. Coincidentally, there is a nice layer of fat and cinnamon danish that encircles my belly, giving me and it (yes, I think it’s becoming its own entity that really doesn’t head my pleading for a reduction in the “fattitude quotient”) something to write about, ponder on and rub quite often when I am lying in my bed thinking about that dream job as a full-time cartoonist.

In this episode of the comic that won’t take prisoners, won’t take no for an answer and won’t go away unless one of you bribes me heavily, you see the continuation of a theme, or a meme, or something vaguely resembling a story line conceived by a half-wit. A story about keeping fit, and what it takes to stay fit. And sadly I don’t do what it takes because that would interfere with things like watching TV, reading magazines, surfing and eating foods rich in motor oil and sugars.

A man has to set priorities.

But take heed, this story of a gargoyle and his doctor does have a message. You just have to guess wildly at where it’s going. And if you do, you will win a FREE t-shirt. Good luck.

It’s time for TV, sleep and maybe a slice of butter-rich banana cake.

Much love,

Chef Juan

Any time there is a new calendar year, be it Chinese, Gregorian, Latin, Jewish, Muslim, Mayan, Shinto, Hindu, Zoroastrian (I can’t believe Zoro had his own calendar), there will be resolutions of things to fix, to correct, to make right again –  for things that have gone, very, very wrong. Shockingly wrong. For example, swearing you’d update your web browser or email filters to make sure this web cartoon is met with a swift and violent Delete action, be it from your hard drive, your soft drive (a.k.a. your actual memory in your brain) or from the universe itself.

And what does this train of thought have to do with the crass comedic constant known as Stanko & Tibor? If you give me a minute to take a swig of my port wine, I’ll come up with something.

But what of these resolutions to resolve what you’ve done wrong? You know you can’t catapult the neighbor’s cat for crapping on your lawn and tearing up your garden, even if that would be the just thing to do. You can’t just suddenly stop eating greasy cheeseburgers, laden with thick, smokey slices of bacon and slathered in mayo and other forms of natural artery lubricants, knowing full well that could cause mass unemployment in the beef, statin research and cardiovascular medical industries. What would the poor heart surgeons do for a living? They’d turn to crime and back street bypasses.

So look around you as I have looked around at me, and resolve to be a better person this year by possibly dropping a few pounds so your trips to Costco’s clothing section become less frequent. Or maybe, gain some weight in order to keep the poor Chinese laborers employed at a 1$ a day, lest they be terminated (literally) by their profit-focused employers.

But whatever you don’t look down. Big mistake. I couldn’t see what lay below my expanded belly except for the tips of my feet. And worse, I had my glasses on and could see the myriad dust weevils swirling about the wooden floor which hadn’t been swept, vacuumed or mopped in well over 3 weeks.

So take this episode of Stanko & Tibor for what it is — the beginning of a terribly tenuous storyline involving weight gain, weight loss, resolutions of better health and probably some offensive lines about the smells one encounters in a gym.

May the gods of dieting be kind to you and may all your ice cream sandwiches be consumed without anyone seeing you and emitting an angry scowl that contains enough kinetic energy to produce an actual sound.

Hugs and kisses,

Master Trainer Yan

All ye who have read this passage of text, and have not hit the ‘Delete’ button (usually triggered by the primordial fear of being identified as a reader, or even worse, a fan of the artistic creation electronically penciled by a man who is often accused by his doctors as being unwell at the physical and metaphysical levels), may ye be blessed for not following conventional wisdom and social pressures that strongly suggest you should shun the latest edition of Stanko & Tibor, the comic that dares to be different.

It is with this holiday season here and me on vacation that I give you these thoughts to chew on. Not tender, melt-in-your-mouth morsels of humor, but rather they are more gristle with some decent meat to it and well-marinated in ever more sinus and cold medicine.  You really have to chew on them like a $7.00 fried steak and think about what it is this comic is trying to say. If you have figured it out, please tell me so at least more than one of us is clued in.

This is an offbeat episode of Stanko & Tibor, but it is meant to give you time to reflect on what a bunch of weirdos the Republican candidates are, and how it’s great fodder for a guy like me who is always looking for inspiration. And as this comic tells us, falling asleep with the TV on, you tend to get strange dreams, and even better ideas for the comic. No, I don’t watch porno or Law & Order. I subscribe to basic cable and Teletoon, so you can see where my priorities lie.

Furthermore, I didn’t want to deprive you of a good chuckle, and it’s better to produce something I deemed humorous when I thought of it in the shower so I can keep my skills sharp and then in the New Year, get back to the story line I want to experiment with on you folks.

I want to wish the loyal readers of this oeuvre d’art who aren’t taking mood-adjusting medication and/or who haven’t had corrective eye surgery for tweeting, forwarding, sharing and promoting my mission to make the world laugh one person at a time via this electronic vehicle called Stanko & Tibor. It would be nice if you actually bought a t-shirt or a piece of swag so I could afford the hosting fees to do this. Just saying is all.

To those lighting the candles, happy Hanuka. To those looking forward to some yuletide cheer, eat, drink and loosen your belts. Overeating is worth it, I know. And have a “good slide” into the New Year.

With love and kisses, Father Jon

CLICK TO ENLARGE

To my ardent followers, ye who have forsaken reason, logic and more often than not, proper hygiene, to follow this online chronicle of the factually inaccurate and often preposterous but comically gifted:

For too long I have not provided you with the comedic sustenance you so deeply crave, often forcing you to resort to inferior and some would say “unholy” entertainment. The kind that could get you arrested at the U.S. border. And in some cases some you have even stooped to reading the “funnies” page in the newspaper (an artifact my parents still subscribe to and something that riles my dad to no end when I tell him we don’t read a newspaper). You sicken me.

Well, I plan on putting this situation right by giving you this latest visual hors d’oeuvre, an image that draws (pun intended) on the artistic inspiration provided by the uncommon mix of THE DANCE and an excess of body hair.

Now let me come clean: I made this drawing less to sustain you, and more to defend me. My lovely daughters repeatedly asked for a drawing they could put on a t-shirt so they could show it at school and other important social gatherings. They hounded me as little sea urchin children selling newspapers at street corners would in those films of yore. They kept coming back at me, over and over, pestering me until I finally caved and cried “All right!”

Now I know the majority of you reading this think I did it less to gratify my children and show I’m a decent daddy, but rather I did it more as a feeble and transparent excuse to sit in front of the computer and draw while actively neglecting my fatherly duties and watch sports on the side doodling away in the basement. (You’d only be half-right — I wasn’t watching sports, I was watching cartoons, so there.) You know, it’s so hard to neglect kids these days, it’s not like in my parents day, I’ll tell you.

So I produced something relevant and meaningful to them – the cast of Stanko & Tibor engaging in a moment of ballet frivolity, minus the grace and elegance, despite what the caption says. And to be honest, I like what I produced. It has a certain Degas-like “je ne sais quoi” that mixes with the sledgehammer thematic I tend to produce to get my message of humor across. And this image for YOUR consumption is proof of such.

Let all (3) of you who read the comic know this: I will make the world laugh one viewer at a time, one t-shirt imprint, one eventual e-book at a time.

Keep the motor running through the holidays and I will produce many new episodes in the new year, largely revolving around the oppressed many, organized crime, and sewing. That one will be a gem.

Your humble, yet cynical servant, Lord Jon

Dear followers of the last, great illustrated bastion of freedom of expression that has been deemed by the CIA and most Western religious groups as being mentally corrupt AND corrupting (not an easy feat), as well as deviant and just plain poorly drawn,

I send to you this latest depiction of the absurdity and frailty of life as illustrated by the hideous chore of  leaf raking, perhaps the most humbling, futile and idiotic activity humans have devised since the dawn of time. Sure, it gives me time to think of stuff to write for this comic, which is akin to giving a simpleton (me) with a penchant for hard liquor and fireworks (definitely not me unless it’s gold tequila) the keys to the fully stocked liquor cabinet along with a new Zippo lighter for his birthday (hint, hint).

And then you wind up with mental mush like this prose as a preamble to the comic.

What I came up with was a comic that delights in its visual and philosophical acuity yet is just a simple sight gag intended to tickle the soul with a devilish charm. Like life itself does from time to time. Or more accurately, this episode of Stanko & Tibor is like my birthdays.

In the spring of life, they entertained with the promise of gifts a-plenty, and wrapping paper and plastic enough to choke a horse and fill a landfill. However, there were many gifts that needed batteries and made noise — man, I hated those.

And then came the summer of life, where birthdays were joyous affairs, sometimes filled with booze, dinners and tasty cakes, and sometimes fraught with 2 ex-girl friends showing up simultaneously to give you hell for things you shouldn’t have done in a social setting with your underwear.

Then in the autumn of life, birthdays contain memories, aching body joints and discussions about medications, therapies and combustible, yet all natural medicinal herbs that help one forget that which he left in the kitchen not 5 minutes ago.

I don’t want to even think about the winter – that entails shoveling and scraping and salting and I’m just not ready yet. Oh and the kids and their filthy winter boots. But I digress.

So as this comic shows us the lesson of the ever-returning chore of leaf-raking in its most simple and humorous light, don’t forget one thing — that my birthday is Tuesday and I expect one whopper of a high calorie, high fat steak dinner that will trigger a 4-alarm gout attack followed by some damn gooey chocolate cake!

May you all find your true paths of glory. And if you found yours already, don’t rub it in my face, please.

My loyal followers, and those that feel guilty and follow out of shameful guilt (love you the most),

Through no fault of my own did I contract this unending sinus infection/cold that has helped make the tissue companies and pharma industries reach record quarterly profits due to my many purchases. But I am mending slowly, so much so that I raked the leaves in front of the house as any good sucker would.

Sweeping the thousands of leaves that fell from the tree in front of our house, I had time to think. Too much time, as it turns out, because I came up with this mental muesli which I am now imparting upon you folks. It largely revolves around taking a stand against something. Anything, really. In this case, it’s a stand against fundamentalism. Fundamentalism of all kinds — moral, religious, environmental, economic, corporate, automotive, food, you name it. Although there aren’t too many atheist fundamentalists. I don’t think they’re willing to die for anything, unless it’s maybe something like their favorite Chinese food restaurant being closed by the health department for flagrant violations involving small woodland creatures, a blood-soaked chopping block and rusty knives. But I digress.

I must especially take a stand against comedic fundamentalism. Those comedic people are the worst and most fundamental. You should have seen the comedian convention last year when the pie-in-the-face faction squared off against the seltzer faction, and then came the heckling, erudite Molière backers, who know how to use snobby, powdered-wigged wit in a deadly way. It wasn’t a pretty sight and more than one funny-boned purveyor of laughter was trucked out of there on stretchers. Blood, toupees, sinew, coconut cream and sharp words littered the messy, messy floor. I’m still scarred after that convention.

As I sat at my desk today performing menial, mind-numbing tasks in order to help a colleague,  my various trains of thoughts, all loaded with many cars of twisted, ephemeral cargo, skipped the tracks, as if  a drunken, heavily unionized switchman on his last day of work before vacation and with a large dose of  cold medication in him were at the switching controls.

And it’s apt that I mention cold medication as I have been suffering (not loudly enough it seems) from a sinus infection that only now, after what would seem like a few hundred decongestant pills and other kinds of sprays and vats of chicken soup that have been popped into my body on a pretty regular basis, seems to be getting a little better. But only a little. I still need reasons to complain.

As for those thoughts skipping off in different directions, I managed just long enough to string together enough of them to do this cartoon, on a topic that cried out to be covered by the sharpest mind, the keenest wit, the most vicious humor this side of the western hemisphere. Unfortunately, he’s on vacation and the rest of the staff were fired due to “right-sizing” and “rationalization” so I was left with the job of cartooning this sucker. How it got from Wall St. protests to dim sum I am really not sure.

It really did distract me from my ever more decrepit house that requires untold amounts of stabilization and repair (think Champlain Bridge, but far worse workmanship). If I could convince you people to buy a t-shirt, or better yet, when I get around to it, the e-book I plan on creating of this comic, I would have just enough to finance those repairs. Or buy the repairmen a beer. You have been warned — an e-book is coming of the  Stanko & Tibor saga.

So keep reading this comedic/operatic saga that will stand the test of time, unless my PC dies before then. Highly likely.

Be well, and don’t forget to speak with pride when you mention my comic to  your shrink and/or parole officer.

-Giovanni di Prosciutto

Ahoy ye Followers of the Comedic and Comic,

Why the pirate-based greeting? Because I’m tired and didn’t sleep enough today. Should have napped when I had the chance and I didn’t. All I did was cook a vat of chicken soup, and then made a colossal dinner for the family that involved frying, steaming, baking and a whole lot of cleaning afterward.

And it was while cleaning the dishes that I had a minor revelation: my belly and the universe are two very similar entities. They are both still expanding and have masses of swirling gasses. The only difference is that I produce “big bangs” slightly more often.

What does that have to do with this latest installment of the finest, and some say strangest “oeuvre d’art” since Picasso smoked that bad weed with an absinthe chaser  and came up with Cubism? Everything and nothing. OK, that was a lame answer, but it gives me time to come up with a better answer.

Actually, this episode of Stanko & Tibor, the comic banned by both the Taliban AND Mel Gibson as being “sick and depraved”, is all about what is genuine. And what is indeed genuine? My love for my children? Some days, sure. And mostly when they are asleep. Or is it my addiction to chocolaty foods (notice I didn’t say “chocolate” – the stuff I eat has been through at least one lab and two genetic modifiers)? More likely.

But that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying this comic and the ensuing guffaws and deep laughter that SHOULD ensue from reading it. That is, if you’re normal. Only abnormal people don’t laugh at this. You know who you are.

Keep reading, keep eating and keep sleeping. That combo could lead to a long and healthy life.

-Jon de Val-Jean

Dearest comrades, brothers and sisters, and fellow fans of this timeless online objet d’art that has a shaky grip on reality much like its creator,

I just downed a meal that involved grilled meats, fresh corn from the field and other such treats and as a result, the digestive functions have kicked in and rob me as I type this of the blood and oxygen needed to form a coherent thought.  I am  slowly fading toward unconsciousness on the First Monday of September, a.k.a. Labor Day (in North America), the day we cherish what labor is, how hard we labor at our work and most importantly — why we are wildly happy to have another day away from the office, where they have easily taken 16 or 17 pounds of my flesh. Not sure what that would be in metric.

The idea for this comic has a long a tortuous past if you go through my emails where I write down and store most of my ideas. Safe to say, it was simpler to draw than to write it. But I have to give credit where it is due. My sister-in-law’s sharp wit  inspired the final frame, but I liberally stole her idea and made it my own. If this comic ever makes me any money, she’ll sue me for it. As will my best friend and much of my family. Mostly for sport more than for any substantial reason.

So now that I have published this latest installment of the comic that is often cited by critics as “foul literature”, an “artistic blight”, and by the medical establishment  ”as a clear sign of mental degeneration and likely a genetic defect masquerading as a sense of humor”, I shall retire to the bedroom, rummage through my car magazines and dream the dream of the just, with images of me at the wheel of a fiery sport cars, towing along a trunk full of butter-rich croissants and maybe a dozen fresh bagels.

Keep the faith, and please keep over-eating so I’ll look a little thinner next to you.

-Johannes the Druker

Hello friends of summer,

This episode of the oft-criticized, regularly maligned, fervently attacked by the Left and the Right, most dangerous and subversive comic within a 3 mile (5 /km) radius of our favorite bagel store is a shout-out to one Lesley Trites, a soul-filled colleague of mine who has had or is having her book of poetry published shortly. (I asked for a free copy and she made a 1-fingered gesture considered rude at social gatherings and leading to violent escalations in traffic situations and told me to get in line like everyone else.) Congrats, Lesley, I’ll be at the poetry reading even if you have me on the do-not-admit list.

As you can well see, there is little topical in the way of this comic, and that is because I am too tired. Work, charity, kids, blogs, comics. Forget it. I need a break. Now to take 2 weeks off to do much of nothing.

It’s hot here, sticky humid, and I have got the A/C cranked as any good North American with full disregard for the environment and a ballooning electricity bill would do. Well, if I weren’t so fat and hairy, I might not suffer as much, but the short-term solution of man-made cooler air really appeals to me more than losing weight and waxing my body. My god, I would need a candle factory’s worth of wax. Still that would be less than what my brother-in-law Sparky would need.

I promise many a fun-filled episode to come in the future and I will devote more time to the comic that ruins your inbox so that more humor, mayhem and guffaws make their way out into the world. And as a thank-you, maybe you could by a t-shirt or a tote bag from me?

Be well all, and most importantly, eat well.

-Bono Jon

To those who dare follow this comically drawn comic containing social commentary that endangers the lives — and sanity — of the innocent, the not-so-innocent, and the hairy among you, to those who dare to read it, or even have it bookmarked as one of your favorites:

Since the last posting, another few weeks have passed, and in that time much has passed. Like some stones through my kidney, some pain killers through my system, and perhaps worse, some steak, chocolate danish and loads of other junk through my large, hairy belly. NOTE: The expansion of the latter has nothing to do with the ingestion of the former. Or is that the other way around? Whatever.

This comic installment was an idea long in the making, and the recent Rupert Murdoch/News Of The World scandal made it that much more timely. So I give you a comic about misinformation, lack of facts, and general stupidity. So critique it if you will, tweet it if you will, print it and post it on the bathroom door at work, but just don’t ignore. Or do ignore it, I am really tired from eating way too much tasty Thai food at dinner and avoiding exercise with lame excuses like “I shaved today, I can’t risk sweating and breaking out in a rash on my neck!”

One last thing – I have created a whole slew of designs that you can have put on a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, a tote bag, or even an iPad cover. So please have a look at them here:

http://stankotibor.com/buy-impress-friends/

And then tell me which one you like best and I can get you a deal on one of these. I know the hack artist who created them.

Much love and even more sleep for us all.

-Jonny D

My dearest adherents to this comic,

As I walked to work the other day I gazed up at the early morning sky to see the sun brightly shining with a light corona of haze on its upward arc in the east, only be shortly met in mere minutes by a semi-translucent, semi-inky ridge of clouds that looked like they wanted to choke off the sun’s intense heat to give relief to an overheated city. I was amazed at the beauty of how sun and cloud play together at that time of day and how humans anthropomorphize our world around us to better cope with it.

Then I thought to myself, what a profound thought from a guy who watches Bugs Bunny with his kids and also produces a comic that involves a lot of fart jokes and sub-mental humor. And then I thought that such a deep thought could only have occurred due to the confluence of several key factors: a lack of meaningful sleep being crucial, modern pharmacology’s miracle of allergy medicine + my gout pills, probably a recessive gene that kicked it at that very moment, and then promptly switched off like a cheap incandescent light bulb, and lastly the left-overs of many a chemically-enhanced sugary product (i.e. gooey cinnamon danish) that spiked my blood sugar to levels not seen since my ingestion of a 100g bar of Marzipan right around Christmas.

And then when that thought dissipated like a drop of oil in a hot frying pan, I was left with this comic’s latest installment, once again on food. And my obsession with it. Not in a “Chef Paul Prud’homme, I can barely get my hands to touch because I am so fat” way. More like a “what am I ingesting that keeps my belly plump, round and unable to pack into my size 34 jeans without deep belly sucking.”

Personally, I like the product names way more than the reality of what’s in them and the effect they have on me. And that’s why I am going to be purchasing products that may well kill me (not the cigarettes, however. Relax, ma) albeit slowly and tastily.

Enjoy, and please check out some new designs I have for t-shirts and sweatshirts, you bunch of wonderful people with generous souls and open wallets.

Well, this is what happens when I am left to my own devices. After a week of work, more work and all kinds of non-work-work. I know — it’s confusing, but so is my mental state as I type this. It’s late and I didn’t sleep enough this weekend.

Anyhow, I decided to give you folks a treat –  a hand drawn episode of the world’s finest comic, if you don’t count fan base, or copies sold, or page views. But those are “mainstream” metrics.

I tried drawing on paper again and to be honest it was fun, if slower than I had hoped. And you get used to the tools the computer gives you that you can’t do on paper. Like correct spelling mistakes, of which there are several.

So don’t bust my jewels about the spelling mistakes. This means you, Dan. And all my other literate, persnickety friends and family. Cut me some slack. Entertaining you people is a challenge.

Oh, and the topic this week is from two weeks ago, when the so called Rapture kept us rapt, but was a dud, and then rescheduled by that religious figure in California. Then again, given the horrific weather, the E-coli outbreak in Germany and general discontent in the Middle East, who knows? I certainly don’t.

Oh, this comic will return to its electronically drafted format in the next installment when I return to the “truth in food” theme. So much material there.

Be well, my dear readers. I am about to apply my face to my pillow and see what short discussion will arise.

Wow, I am tired. What a long weekend here in Canada. In addition to it being my soon-to-retire mother’s birthday, we in the Great White North take an extra day off to eat, drink, be merry, and plant stuff in our yards under the guise of celebrating Queen Victoria’s birthday.  I could make some horrendous comment about a dead monarch with a tight corset and probably some kind of sexual repression issues, but I ate so damn much good food that I am swollen, dizzy and generally dopey.

So let me say this – this comic is an old idea I had literally a year or two ago, but couldn’t get around to doing. Now I have done it, and later on, there will be a few more on this topic, but give me some time. Actually, I was aching to do a post on the not-really-a-rapture, and I have the dialog and the sketch, but I figured, I’d get this one out of the way and then do a hand-drawn rapture comic. And to be honest, I spent the day of the rapture mowing my lawn, trimming hedges, and ripping out weeds, so maybe that was my diving punishment. Then again, since we live right next to a well-attended church, I figured if there was some kind of rapture thingy that we’d get rapture rub-off and we’d get sucked up too. By dint of proximity to the house of worship, I guessed that heaven’s GPS might take us along with the church. No such luck, I still have to make mortgage payments.

Well, it’s time for bed and possibly a sugary, mass-produced confectionery masquerading as a cookie, but is really a product of petroleum, recycled synthetic motor oil and Silly Putty®.

Keep the faith and keep hoping I regain self-control so I can lose some weight and fit into my shorts.

Dear slaves to this comic,

What a month it has been since I last posted a tour de force in comic format. The last one seemed to have struck a chord with those of you following current events or with a fondness for Burt Reynolds, circa ’78. You know who you are.

Well, this particular commentary wasn’t really planned. But with Osama getting a unintended dose of rapid-fire hot lead from SEALs that aren’t all that interested in fish really made the news. And of course, every nutbar and his conspiracy theory brother came out of the word work, and some never left. Like Mr. Trump, for example. Although many wish he would, but sadly he has supporters and a lot of money. Where is a benevolent god of any kind to smite someone who really deserves to be ‘smoten’, I ask you?

But this skillfully crafted and drawn oracle containing all things commentary-worthy will return to its regularly scheduled mania, mayhem, moronic madness and other words that start with ‘m’ – once I find a better letter for alliterations. Until such time, I may take a bike ride to try and trim the 10 pounds of belly fat I have accumulated over the past 4 weeks or so, through a deft combination of no exercise, high-fat foods, foods with sugar in formats that could only  have been created by Monsanto in a secret lab in the desert, and hot dogs. I feel shame.

By the way, for those of you don’t know and who probably don’t care, I am now writing for the main car blog site, known as The Car Connection. So go there, look for my wry blogs on all things advertising in the car world. Impress your friends.

Better yet, read this comic and forward it to your friends, enemies and make it one your favorites. Or just lie to me and tell me you did. Same thing.

OK, time to blog and eat cookies. I meant celery.