Tag Archives: jeans

Environmental Jeans

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Environmental Jeans and Such

It took very little time for me to realize that 2023 will be just as big an environmental nightmare as 2022 was. As I peaked outside the window and saw the thick layer of freezing rain that had accumulated on my car and the stairs leading out of my place, I knew Mother Nature was giving me (and most likely the rest of the globe) the metaphorical finger for having peed in too may rivers and eaten too many petroleum-based foods. She’s not wrong.

So to liberate the vehicle from its ice tomb, I got out of my nightshirt (don’t judge me), donned t-shirt and sweatshirt and then slipped on my comfy jeans only to realize that there were many small tears and holes. It miffed me that these jeans I had purchased not more than 2 years ago were failing apart, likely due to either poor quality materials, cost-cutting and the slave labour being used to produce said garment probably hadn’t been fed in a week.

It’s no secret that the word ‘assholes’ was running through my brain when I saw the shoddy state of affairs for these comfy jeans. Was I incensed that it was most likely made in a sweat shop, or that the environmental degradation used to dye and ship these jeans was no doubt prolific? Of course not. I’m still feeling bad about the 2 boxes of Pop Tarts I ate last month knowing they took a good 6 months off my life span. I can only handle so much guilt.

Driven to Distraction

After working up quite the sweat removing the ice and shovelling the frozen snow surrounding my vehicle, I came back in the house and checked my phone for interesting emails and news (I know, ma. I’m addicted to my phone. You don’t have to remind me) before running some errands in my now warmed up, carbon-spewing car. It has heated seats. Why do I mention that? I believe the heat passed through my ‘hole-y’ jeans to my hairy buttocks unimpeded by thick, high quality jeans material. Maybe I will keep these jeans a while longer…

After driving about, toasted buns and all, I got home, had a chocolate danish of insanely gooey quality that I earned from shovelling and de-icing, and proceeded to draw the comic you hopefully read and most likely sneered at given its amateurish quality.

I rapidly forgot about the environmental issues previously mentioned, and focused more on the mental ones, like why the heck are humans devoting time, effort, resources and actual money to creating virtual human beings to sell to other people? For the metaverse? Are we so stupid as a society that we are expending brain matter on crap like this? That is mental.

[Note to readers: I am pretty sure I have offended many by using the term ‘mental’. Let me assure you, I meant as much harm as possible to any and every group. It’s my New Year’s resolution since 2022’s resolution to eat fewer Pop Tarts and pass wind less failed miserably. I’m focusing on more attainable goals.]

Misspent and Misdirected Energy

I think I now understand the purpose of this so called metaverse. It will be the only place left where I’ll be able to see a tree or a green field after we have destroyed the environment. They’ll probably charge me real money to touch a virtual leaf. Bastards.

Speaking of virtual stuff, I’m constantly amazed at the amount of useless crap and electronic gadgets humans misspend on developing these toys. Just look at CES this year. Before you castigate me for being a hypocrite, I am the first to admit that I’d burn down an orphanage if you took away my phone or iPad or computer.

That having been said, couldn’t we probably cure cancer and fix the environment if we spent even half our energies and money on those two issues instead of inventing the first hands-free connected home urine lab? You mean the other ones weren’t hands-free? Gross.

But I digress.

For 2023, let’s resolve to be better people, buy less crap, maybe take more walks and refrain from calling each other names, unless it’s well deserved.

Sincerely hairy,
L’il Jon Druker, Napper Extraordinaire

In 2023, I resolve to...

Unbelievability and Aging

Aging & Bin Laden Diaries

Aging Eyes, Aging Mind

As I went up the escalator on my way to work, and choosing not to take the crowded stairs full of desk drones like me on their way to an office job to be humiliated by having to work off debts incurred by shopping too frequently online and at Costco, I noticed the derriere of the person in front of me.

It was a woman, she couldn’t have been more than 20 or so, who had managed somehow to insert herself into a pair of jeans, so tight and form-fitting that spandex would have looked loose and flowing by comparison. I know what you’re thinking. He’s about to launch into some depraved diatribe about lascivious thoughts and reminiscing about his misspent youth. You’d only be partially correct.

You see, aging very clumsily and ungracefully as I am, my capacity for unholy thoughts has eroded over time, not unlike the Grand Canyon. It was once, millions of years ago, a vast plain, grassy, verdant, lush, rife with life. In the intervening eons, it has become a dry, barren place with many canyons, little water running through it and many stones. Come to think of it, that’s a great metaphor for my kidneys and the attached kidney stones (another quirk of aging and poor genetics).

But I digress.

Diminished But Not Defeated

Aging has made me think differently, largely due to diminished mental and physical capacities, and multiple frayed telomeres — due to refined sugar abuse — on the genes that control my sanity and body hair (they are interlinked and march in lockstep it would seem).

Back to the astoundingly tight jeans. This woman obviously felt the need to wear something that would make her feel good and perhaps even attractive in the minds of many men. Ok, fine. But my next thoughts were around her physical health. Encumbered breathing and a lack of circulation must have ensued three minutes after she zipped up those jeans. then I thought, maybe it isn’t fashion, maybe she has a medical condition like those post-op patients who have to wear those circulation stockings to keep the blood from descending to her feet thus preventing swollen ankles. Could be.

However, the father in me then took over the runaway freight train of thought and it led me to think I would kill my daughters if they ever dressed like that! It’s not that I would prevent them, I’d merely freak out and shout and holler. Paradoxically, it’s unbelievable and unfathomable that a person with my dark track record and multiple damaged, recessive genes could have such protective thoughts of my daughters and concern for others as opposed to my once default mode of launching into some pornographically themed tour de force. Parenting messes you up and alters your universal truths you held so dear.

Truth, Shmuth

What does this have to do with the theme of this installment of the comic once labelled as “the purest form of libel and a pretext for annexation anytime I feel like it” by President Vladimir Putin while skinny dipping in the Volga with his concubine? Like the subject of alleged (and highly fictional) secret diaries of Osama Bin Laden I make reference to, who knows what is truth anymore? It’s whatever we want it to be if we ignore fact-based science and don’t watch Cosmos.

What would have been considered once to be an absolute truth (e.g. I’m a pure deviant) may only partially be true now that children have crushed my will to engage in acts that could have led to procreation for fear of the results (more debt). What was once utterly unbelievable (butter isn’t so bad for you after all, mom) is now maybe sheer truth. Or not.

Then again, I am doing a comic about fake Bin Laden diaries because I couldn’t think of anything better to amuse you with so what do I know.

May peace, or at least stalemate, be yours and mine,

Henry Druker-Kissinger