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
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.
Just a short post to let you know there is a new comic out. It seems odd, and it is, as am I, but in a good way, not in the bad, “have the police monitor his chats” way.
It’s the start of a short political series given the elections going in America, and other parts of the world where democracy is a force for good. Or evil. Or stupidity. I get those confused all the time.
I wish you all well, be healthy, be skeptical, and eat and sleep plenty.
And for those of you in the North American part of the world, I hope you had a wonderful and restful Labor Day (and Labour Day for those of you n Canada).
Jon is out of here.
The bond between parent and child is so complex and deep, so fraught with minefields, so unpredictable, yet so strong, mystical and vibrant that it makes you wonder why the hell you had kids in the first place. Really, is it worth all that expense and trouble to have genetic replications of yourself, just so they MIGHT consider taking of you in their house or if you’re lucky, letting you stay in yours? They could always ship you off to an “assisted living facility” a.k.a the old folks home, a death-adjacent edifice with 3 meals a day and rationed pills.
I often wonder what is that precise moment when the parent becomes the child and vice versa. It is probably just after the offspring gets married or shacks up with a significant other (possibly with a tattoo) and just before some new technology comes into fashion, one that will require the offspring to play handyman/help desk until death do them part. Or the machine breaks and the old man says “screw it, I’ll go buy a new one.”
And make no mistake about it – your children will love you, loathe you, and generally disrespect you as they age from toddler to teen and then forget to appreciate the wonderful things you did for them like put food on the table, bathe and clean them and try to make sure they didn’t die while playing with explosives and toxic cleaners you were too lazy to put up on a high shelf.
And then they’ll get married and turn to you for advice, wisdom and probably a fairly sizable loan to get into a house, or some such nonsense. And as a parent. if you can afford it and if your offspring has married a complete dolt, you’ll probably accede to that demand for cash. And you’ll do it a) because you love that kid, and b) because if you don’t, that kid may choose your retirement home.
So the lesson is this: That commandment about “Honor thy mother and father” is hooey. Be nice to your kids because they’re the ones who are going to take care of you down the road.