Tag Archives: anger

Go Insane, It’s OK

Insane Isn't So Bad

Go Insane – It’s OK

Why does insanity have such a bad reputation? Why do we treat it like an affliction that is to be cured or treated, when in reality, insanity is pretty much the norm every day we live our lives.

The USA has an insane president, plus a bunch of insane southern states who think the insanity they perpetrate every day is pretty normal. Trade wars are good for farmers. Bankruptcy only makes you stronger. Besides why would you want to cozy up to democracies when dictators are just so much more social and non-judgmental, and usually have a stable of fancy sports cars?

You can also label China, Russia, North Korea, Iran, and let’s say Italy, as being insane. Collective governmental madness. Like a bad fungus, it’s spreading. And anti-biotics won’t fix it either. Insanity is the new norm.

Conspiracy Theory = Insanity

Chances are, if you have complete and utter faith in a theory about why the world/social media/banks/the dark state/movie reviewers are all out to keep you from greatness, chances are just as good that your family has an extra helix of DNA where the insanity gene is dominant.

Let me cite some recent examples:

  • You ever watch those TV shows on cable about extraterrestrials and how the government is covering it up? And the so called experts making their case? Insane.
  • Flat Earthers? Insane.
  • Anti-Vaxxers? Criminally insane and should be forced to live on Jupiter until they come to their senses.
  • People who strive to be popular on Instagram or TikTok or YouTube? Deeply and narcissistically insane.
  • People who prefer cinnamon danish to chocolate danish? The worst kind of insane.

Which all begs the question: is insanity native to the genetic code or do we learn this behavior from watching too much TV, drinking Kombucha and believing what’s on social media?

Technology to the Rescue

It turns out it doesn’t matter what the source is because we can’t cure it. The bigger question is how do we identify it and thus use it to my advantage.

Given all the bio-metric hardware and software out there, I say someone shiftless and smarter than me invents a fingerprint reader that can instantly detect insanity. Stick your fingers on the little scanner and within seconds you get an answer determining whether or not you should be the leader of a major country, or whether you should stay on reality TV shows and never be allowed to breed.

Something like a 1-5 scale with 1 being the lowest level of insanity, “the bookish accountant in the actuarial department” and 5 being the highest level, “Donald Trump.”

The only possible risk to a fingerprint insanity analyzer is that it gets hacked and you find a way to substitute your own fingerprints with those of the Queen of England, thus allowing you to pass without suspicion at cock fighting matches and porno theaters.

So what can you take away from this lengthy diatribe that — as well as being proof of a wobbly circadian rhythm and proof of  lead ingestion as a child — has been scientifically enlightening and not terribly entertaining?

When the crazies think everything is normal, that’s when you know it’s OK to be insane. And get some good meds and chocolate danish to handle the stress.

Loyally yours,
Aristotle Ventius Druker, Slayer of Logic, King of Nothing, Protector of the Afternoon  Nap

Smoking Angry

Smoking Angry

Smoking Angry – The Lot Of Us

Lately, I think a lot people, everywhere, are smoking angry. There doesn’t seem to be a limit to it, wherever you look. I am not just talking about the putz of a POTUS, but just about anything you can think of.

White nationalists, a.k.a. Nazi-sympathizing fascists, North Korean insanity, international trade disputes, Scaramucci, Kenyan post-election violence,  Venezuela’s descent into an even worse dictatorship (is that possible?), the continued use of tofu in cooking. The list is endless.

And this can’t be good for the general health of the globe. Why, all this stress, all this violence, all this vitriol and bitterness – I’m afraid it will lead to more people taking up smoking.

Now if you’re the type to ask “smoke what?”, well, then I will let you, dear reader, decide if that is to be a legal cigarette, a pipe, a bong, a raft of Cuban cigars, a funny cigarette (for a little while longer), a brisket, a pork shoulder, some bacon, a freshly caught Pacific salmon, or even a caper or two.

Yet, the best course of action may not be to take up smoking in its various forms. Some would suggest exercise to combat the smoking anger. They’re idiots. Others suggest yoga and meditation. Colossal idiots. Retreating into tequila and massive chocolate and/or cinnamon danish consumption? Ok, now we’re getting somewhere.

The Ass That Launched A Thousand Shits

Perhaps getting to the source of the problem is what we need to do to alleviate all this hatred, this anger, this smoking cauldron of negativity. Mostly that would mean getting the POTUS impeached and then thrown into a vat of angry lesbians. But that isn’t going to happen any time soon.

We’re left with an ass in charge of the body politic. And I can assure you every time that ass fires off an alternative fact-based tweet, a misguided missive, a cantankerous comment, there are a thousand people in Washington who utter the word “shit!” He’s gone and done it again, he’s angered up the blood real good.

Retreat, Fight or Nap?

Left with another 3+ years in office and lots of hate-filled, environmentally-destructive and freedom-of-speech-depriving legislation to pass, the options left to the inhabitants of those sort of United States are threefold: retreat, fight or nap.

If you’re the scaredy-cat type, you retreat, try and flee to Canada (hey, it’s cold, people, and Prime Minister Sissy Pants still hasn’t legalized weed yet). If you’re smoking angry, you fight. Well sort of. There’s this #resistance thing going around, but let’s face it, President small-hands was actually duly elected in a democracy (with a lot of fake news, it seems). That leaves you with one option that I am quite fond of: Naps.

Will it bring about change? Nope. Will it fill the airwaves with inspiration and action? Not a chance. Will it lead to less smoking anger and potentially some ruffled sheets? Highly probable.

The Moral

What’s the moral of this story? If you can find one, you’re on more mood-altering medication than me, and you really should take a nap after eating some delicious chocolate babka that will put you into a coma once the sugar-high wears off.

Pontificatingly parochial,

Mozi The Mooch Maldonado-Druker

Name Calling and Other Policies

Stanko & Tibor - Name Calling

Name Calling – Because It Works

A simple yet universally true observation of human behavior: Whenever you are walking anywhere, any place, and there are others afoot around you, you say to yourself “what’s with this moron who is walking too slowly and blocking my  progress?!! Idiot.” Conversely, the person who flies past you at a much greater pace, on his or her way to somewhere important like the toilet or the casino, is inevitably met with the thought “why is that jerk face in such a rush?? What a bipedal asshat he is.” You resort to name calling.

It’s such a natural human behaviour to apply a derogative label to someone you don’t agree with or think is somehow making your life worse. It also applies to people who don’t agree with your view on life, or politics, or any other facet of existence. You call them names because we cannot all just get along. But why do we do it, when we as a species really ought to be trying to chill out and not be so aggressive?

Name calling is so liberating and energizing! Don’t like someone’s religion? They are zealots. They are atheist? They are dirty heretics. Don’t like a country’s leader? Call him (it’s almost always a ‘him’ except for Eva Perón and my 9th grade math teacher) a filthy fascist! Or a dirty communist. Or an inbreed. Or a buck-toothed, cross-eyed yokel. (Note: yokels per se aren’t usually blessed with good access to dental care plans , so that’s not really a fair name calling strategy.)

Whether it be political, financial, sexual or religious orientation, humans have come up with some kind of nasty name to call the other person. And man, does it feel good!

Name Calling – Creativity for All

Name calling is not just convenient for letting off mental steam, and not just because it lets anyone feel superior to anyone else by demeaning the other person. Name calling isn’t just for the short-temepered, uneducated boobs among us. It’s a wonderful form of creative expression open to all (except probably the deaf & mute contingent). As proof, there’s a fantastic Shakespeare Insult Kit you can peruse online. It’s WAY more useful than working at your day job. I’ve heard. Dare I say, it’s a form of abusive art. Kind of like this comic. But I digress.

When have you ever not felt elated and all tingly about calling someone a nasty name? Never, that’s when. It’s such a great outlet. And less costly, most of the time, than shooting a gun. So it could be said that shooting off your mouth is less damaging than shooting off your gun. But I’d have to do some in-depth research involving a gallon of whiskey, some cheap ammunition and profanity-laced episode of Archer to be sure.

Some of the most creative, hurtful, demeaning descriptors I have ever heard were uttered by my father, usually while in traffic. In fact, I seem to recall most name calling and epithet hurling occurred where there were many humans in a crowded space. My goodness – if name calling is a result of high human density, that would explain why genuine New Yorkers are such jerks. I can barely imagine the name calling that goes on iat Costco on a Saturday… such a commercial use of words.

Words Matter. Mostly.

And words do matter, people. Concepts we verbalize or print have tremendous power. If you’re branded “a fat bag of gaseous impotent rage” (a.k.a. Prezeedent Donnie Trump), you’re not going to like it.  Call Vladimir Putin “a soulless, conniving killer who’d murder his own  grandmother if she looked at him crooked” then you’d merely be stating a fact, which is not so much name calling.

I would argue strenuously (as long as it wasn’t too strenuous and made me sweat) that humans cannot live without name calling. Many studies have shown that when you try to convince people of your point of view – with facts, no less, the opposite turns out to be the case. They dig in their metaphorical heels and refuse to believe you even more, no mater how much evidence you give them.

So why spend all that effort gathering fake news or real facts to get someone to agree with you? Way too much effort. Stick with name calling and be done with it.

Name Calling Is Genetic

I would argue based on scant research that name calling is genetically built in to humans. Look at the letters of the genetic code: A, U, G and C. And also sometimes T. If you rearrange them, you get “UGAC” – which derives from Bugac, which is a village in Bács-Kiskun county, in the Southern Great Plain region of southern Hungary. [Editor’s Note: He’s not lying, I fact-checked this and he didn’t make this up.] Anyone who knows anything about Bugacian Hungarians know they are the biggest name callers on the planet and must have been the originators of epithet hurling when they were cavemen. See? It’s in our genetic code!! [Editor’s Note: Now he’s lying big-time.]

I’ll bet you that even the sweetest Buddhist monk, the kindest most peace-loving Bahai, the laziest, most rational atheist couldn’t go half an hour without calling someone, somewhere a nasty name.

The Takeaway

So what is the take-away from this scientifically unfounded rant? Is it that the pleasures of a properly uttered series of insulting words is necessary for the human being to psychologically cope with the mass of genetic stupidity that is the human race (at least when there are no firearms present)? Could it be that there is a primordial need to feel better about ourselves by denigrating others with hurtful descriptors? Or have we reached an age in societal development that now forces us to resort to name calling so as to deal with the tsunami of horrible news that floods our airwaves and media? Or are we just all idiots?

Frankly, you’re all a bunch of half-wit morons for reading this swill.

Lovingly short of sleep and full of sinus issues,

Bugac Druker

I call people nasty names because...

Dummies For Books


This episode of the comic that spawned the NSA’s covert domestic spying division is truly an indication of society’s ills. Not really, I just said that to get your attention.

It’s hard to imagine, but summertime is already here and the fish are jumping and the cotton is high. Is the living really easy? Well, it has been for a little while, and was indeed contemplative and full of grilling and sugary treats until last week when I had my annual checkup.

Like all men, you hit a certain age and the doctor has to have a look in places that are best left to dirty jokes at the happy hour for the annual gathering of colo-rectal surgeons. You can see where this is going. Partially because I was walking funny for a few days after the examination took place.

Although he did buy me dinner and flowers afterward, so I can’t say that it was a total loss.

But believe it or not, that poop-chute prostate prostrate taught me several things about life and its many mysteries:

  • I wouldn’t do well in a men’s prison (I’m not that good a dancer or boxer either)
  • After one of those events, who the hell needs coffee in the morning to wake up??!!
  • Why did human biology evolve to put such an important piece of anatomy in such a difficult to reach place? Probably because mother nature has a nasty sense of humor.
  • The manufacturing sector is obviously missing out an important resource for crushing rocks into pebbles, because in what seemed like the three or four hours it took to perform that exam, I tensed up and bit down on my teeth with enough force to shatter granite, diamonds, adamantium all encased in Roman cement.
  • Lastly, and most importantly, it’s what’s on the inside (and  to some degree outside if that person showers regularly) that counts.

OK, that last one may seem odd, but indeed it’s true. So much of what’s important to our physiognomy and psychology is hidden from view. How often have you seen someone and wondered what they were really like. I do that all the time, but that’s because I’m on vacation and have too much free time. But seriously, if the doctor doesn’t look at what’s under the hood once in a while, greater and more expensive maintenance is usually in the offing. So the innards count too.

And that applies to our psychological and personality traits too. Some may seem nice on the outside but aren’t, or the opposite, some may be gruff and angry (like dad when we serve him orange juice without pulp or a bagel that’s slightly too well toasted for his liking), but are sweet and generous if a little too loose with racial epithets. It’s the ones who are nice on the outside and inside that are true rarities, and sadly, the ones who are rotten both on the inside and outside (this last category of people doesn’t read my comic) really need to be sent to live on the moon, but technology hasn’t gotten us that far yet to make it affordable to do it against their will.

So look for important parts and goodness both inside and out, see what really counts, such as treating your family, friends and even your colleagues well, having good health, the ability to laugh, or not take your job too seriously. And if you can’t do any of that, I’ll reserve a place for you on the moon where you may wake up one day with an ether hangover.

Blood-bloodcurdlingly  honest and lovingly yours,

Jonathan Livingston Spiegel


The Stupid Police

If you haven’t yet given up on this comic, also known in academic circles as the “meandering minstrel of the moronic” and you are still tuning in from your prison cell or Electro-Convulsive Therapy chair, then I owe you an apology. It has been over a month since the last episode I posted, and I blame the fun I am having at work. (True story, I swear.)

And fun comes in so many different guises and faces, and the latest one actually involved a cull of sorts. That of my wardrobe, and specifically of my pants, shirts, t-shirts, underwear with holes, etc., that were just occupying space and cluttering creativity and orderliness.

Which is an odd but appropriate segue to the subject of this particular installment of the skillfully crafted, deftly drawn, partially poetic chronicle known in the Oxford Literary Companion to the Bearded and Sexually Deviant Academics Association simply as Stanko & Tibor: Fodder for Folly and Asinine Alliteration.

You see, I was reading a book called You Are What You Speak that happened to coincide with an event of supreme idiocy that has become known globally as “Pastagate.” If you’re not aware, check out any of the reports on NPR, SoundCloud, Huffington Post or Facebook. The short version: Xenophobic Quebec government language zealots runs amok with my tax dollars when they could be funding hospitals, schools, the poor or just shutting the hell up.

(Yeah, I know it happened a month ago, but we creative types like to brood and eat sugary cookies and fatty, grilled steaks all in an attempt to spike our creative juices, but sometimes that cookie thing becomes a minor addiction and distracts us from the task at hand.)

So, how do I get from the clothes culling to the language police? Well, Pastagate was yet another upsettingly ridiculous event where the language spoken and written by allegedly free people came under the scrutiny of some linguistic idiots. And the  aforementioned book cites countless examples in dozens upon dozens of countries where some people have tried to do the same thing in the name of language purity (and xenophobia and, ahem, nation building). Governments,  kingdoms and religious types the world over since 806 A.D. have been trying to regulate language and keep it “pure.” They try to cull excess “foreign” words, cut down what some academy or such deems inappropriate, and thus through edict, fiat or policy keep things orderly and safe for society at large.

We wouldn’t want to introduce dirty, foreign words that have a certain “je ne sais quoi” or even worse that have “chutzpah” that could create “angst”, now would we?

Besides it was a chance for me to gratuitously refer back to my last installment a month ago with the inflatable unicorn hat for cats. Shameless? Sure, but since when have I had shame? A conscience, maybe, but no shame.

So please keep reading, keep commenting, tweet, forward, like, whatever you want to spread the word of this injustice (about me not being recognized as a brilliant cartoonist/auteur)  and maybe the universe will reward you with a nice toasted bagel with butter or cream cheese.

Kindest and fondest regards,

Django Django Druker

Poetry In Motion

Poetry in MotionHello 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

Coffee & The Motto

It’s cool and fall-like outside, politics is rampant, my cold is rampant and I need some time to sleep. Or hibernate.

This the continuation of the absurd politics storyline (is there any other kind?) that I felt needed some additional silliness. So he’s founding the Coffee Party since the Tea Party is already taken. And tea is for sissies anyway.

What is truly odd is that there is a real coffee party, which I think some drug-addled Democrat came up with to counter the Tea Party. no one said the Dems were any smarter than the GOP. And that rally is the crux of the issue, isn’t it? We elect people who have marshmallow for brains, doesn’t matter what side of the electoral isle you’re on. Kind of like choosing between root canal and voluntary spleen removal, both without anesthetic.

Makes me also think that if I could have a benevolent dictatorship that ensured fresh bagels, Italian sausage and possibly fresh radish salad on demand, I could live without voting.

I promise to have some zippy election campaign mottoes for you to laugh or sneer at in coming episodes.

Enjoy the comic, and if you don’t get the humor, don’t worry. Neither do I.

Hugs and kisses
Emperor Cassius Drukerus

Palin Power

Well, this particular episode is many things, and first and foremost it’s really, really late in coming. The dialogue for this was ready some 3 weeks ago, and the first part of the drawing was ready a full week ago. But life got in the way and I got lazy and unhappy with the drawing and I really am not happy with how it turned out.

But sometimes in life, we have to press on no matter the circumstances because there is no point in looking back. That leads to ulcers, and angry spouses. So I decided (“I am the decider here!” – G.W. Bush) to post this poorly drawn and poorly laid out cartoon to hope that the coming ones better reflect my cartooning and writing ability.

Keep the faith.

I need a vacation.

Political Theater

PoliticsDear readers of this comic body politic,

Upon watching the vitriol that is U.S. politics and the election campaign of bitter rivals in a country so divided, I realized that truth takes a second, or third place to what political pundits call “name calling.” And there is not darker, more cynical, more hate-inspired bastion of name calling than American politics.

And it teaches something about human nature that we should all learn from. Politicians and especially their handlers (cuz lord knows they have to be handled like thin-shelled Faberge eggs) have to be creative hurlers of insults, fantastic backhanded compliment givers, and plain old liars. Because where power is concerned, there are no rules, there are no holds barred, there is only the denigration of the other. And let me tell you, it employs a whole lot of people so don’t discount that as a force for employment in this economically savaged world we live in.

So maybe it’s we eligible voters who should allow this name calling and denigration, if only because it allows so many otherwise despicable, bitter and unemployable people to be tax-paying, productive members of society. That is, until one side is elected that claimed the other side was a pack of scum-sucking bottom-feeders and the elected become blood-sucking leeches on the society that elected them. Funny how that works, eh?

In short, we have to live hypocrisy of all manner (print, radio, online and TV), even revel in it  — otherwise we’ll disengage and play with our Xbox or download “adult” content. And if this name calling is worth anything, it’s that it keeps politicos off the street every time there is an election otherwise they’d be stuck inhaling toner and the copy shop and then begging for money and insulting you while ignoring them

May you vote in peace.

Stay strong,

Recently paroled Congressman Jon