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.
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.
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.
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.
But I have gone off track again. So let it be known that if I don’t take a stand against fundamentalism in most of its forms (preferably the non-violent ones), and in particular against comedic fundamentalism, who will be left to joust with jesters and provide you with the artistic and savage commentary and buffoonery that is Stanko & Tibor? No one, that’s who.
So bear with me for this episode of the comedic sage that fits neatly on a page, and laugh if you can. It’s wordy, it’s visually WAY too busy, and it’s silly. My advice: Don’t let the comedic fundamentalists win.
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.
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.
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:
What happens to a cast of characters in a month, eh? Well, it turns out, quite a lot. It seems much has transpired in the seedy and dark world where our characters reside. Many of those things really are too horrible to describe here in this space, so I’ll spare you the gory details.
Upon seeing his download bill for "adult" films
Who am I kidding. If I don’t expose these foul characters for what they have wrought on society, religion and the environment, I am just as guilty for not revealing their crimes. And dark, dastardly deeds they be.
The Foul Father
It seems our leading man, the Father of All Things Unseemly, exceeded his monthly cap for downloads to the tune of $8,304.52 for numerous XXX-rated films — all in Hi Def of course — and then claimed them as educational items on his tax return. It turns out the tax authorities do not consider “The Postman Always Licks Twice”, “Womb Raider”, “Throbin Hood (Prince of Beaves)”, “Breast Side Story”, “Spankenstein”, “White Men Can’t Hump”, “Blowjob Impossible” or “Shaving Ryan’s Privates” as educational material, even if he was going to sell illegal copies to inmates at the local prison as well 8 of the male teens at St. Judas High School for the Very Catholic as methods for teaching safe sex. While his intentions were only well-meaning, he erred by using his wife’s credit card, and she happens to check her statements. When queried about the massive charges by his wife, he naturally blamed the baby sitter and his son, but to no avail.
His appointment at tax court is set for June 17th. His appointment for therapy follows shortly thereafter. All of which presupposes he will have physically healed from the beating he received from said wife that left him two dislocated eyes and a small wound at the top of his head from a Wolfgang Puck heavy gauge cast iron frying pan (purchased at 50% off at Winner’s), which has been used mostly to prepare fried chicken and pancakes.
The Sanctimonious Son
Our sweet yet holier-than-thou young boy character, he of the school of doing good, being kind to small injured animals and saving the planet from his largely deranged father, has spent most of the last month glued to the TV playing video games, when not at school or sleeping.
Addicted to Vids and Loving It
It seems our trusty lad has a small video game addiction, not unlike that of a heroin/crack cocaine addict, however in this case, he only sells his father’s dirty magazines and accumulated “adult” magazines to his friends at school in order to pay for the latest games and the membership for the online community for World of Warcraft. Oddly, the boy has taken the character of an androgynous, three-armed mage, who casts spells using a pink wand and cheer-leading pompoms. His parents are suitably concerned. And his father calls him “loser”, “sissy pants” and “Ronald” at the dinner table to try and help the boy’s self-esteem.
Our boy will triumph in the end however, as he has all the passwords to dad’s computer, various Swiss bank accounts and he knows where dad stashed the gold he stole from the heist back in World War II. But that’s another story for another time.
Safe to say, he is resourceful, cunning and not above using the garage in their home as his father’s retirement home one day in the not so distant future. Remember, one tap on the pipes for liquids, two taps for solids, and three for going to the bathroom or requesting toilet paper.
Sequestered Sparky the Bear
He hasn’t been seen much lately, our woodland, hairy friend. And for a good reason. It revolves around a drug deal gone bad, some drug enforcement agents, some time spent as a paid informant, and a temporary spell in the witness relocation program, thus a name change was in order. Allegedly, Sparky went under the name Martin Sheen, which wasn’t successful, and was then renamed to Kittipong Kanchanawat-Schmidt, which alleviated all suspicion while he lived in small town Oklahoma, however, he had a devil of a time trying to get a credit card without a valid credit history. Eventually, Visa was willing to give him a card with $50,000 of credit at 37% interest.
Where is Mr. Sparky?
Having ratted out the top 5 mafioso in New Jersey and subsequent Mexican drug lords, plus his own cousin for tax evasion and polygamy, he has returned to the sleepy burg where he lives with with our hideous gargoyle-esque friends, awaiting the day the forest behind the house grows back to its original splendor so he can finally move back to his natural habitat and his heated cave with stolen cable TV and a bar fridge stocked with booze, pickled salmon, Mars bars, a huge bag of B.C. bud, and an ancient box of baking soda.
Postscript
It should be noted that as the cartoonist in charge of this cast of characters, I am somewhat behind on my drawing tasks for my beloved comic. It’s largely die to overwork, and a side project for my cousin’s son that will be nothing short of brilliant. I am busily cartooning away to have it ready in time for the big celebration in April. It needs some post-production, some printing, some framing and then it will be all ready for presenting to the boy.
So stay tuned and and I promise to have something juicy for you that will make fun of some important event, however, will not make light of nuclear meltdown in Japan. That is some bad s**t.
It has been so long since the last post. So much work, so little time. Spreading myself too thin and not taking care of myself, this cold is proof.
But given the BP oil catastrophe, I had to do something about it, so cartoon I did.
And I have to give credit where credit is due. My dad was the one who came up for the idea, and of course I refined it and took it off in a humorous new direction.
Also, given Tony Howard’s outrageous comments of late, like the oil spill isn’t that big given the relative amount oil compared to the amount of ocean it’s in.
But I digress.
Enjoy the comic, more to come, but on a slower basis given the tsunami of work I am under currently.
