Tag Archives: love

Love and Ugliness

Stanko & Tibor - Love and Ugliness

Love and Ugliness

People* often** ask me why I don’t like to take pictures of myself when confronted with the opportunity to take a “selfie.” I won’t go into the narcissistic, socially-destructive, morally corrupt value of the “selfie” here, as this isn’t what this post or comic is about. There are more practical reasons why I don’t “love” myself enough to take a photo of, uh, myself.

Having recently been nominated in the Oscars category of “Most likely to repulse a member of the opposite or same sex if seen naked,  partially clothed, or even with a bathing suit on”, I decided that I’d be kind to the greater bulk of non-visually impaired humanity and not take any photos of myself that could have potentially caused retinal damage if they were to be spread across the Internet for others to witness.

Ugliness – Physical and Other Kinds, Too

We put too much focus on the physical ugliness of human features, such as faces, hands, feet, bellies, and other kinds of appendages, and not enough on the metaphysical kind. (Note to reader: I don’t really understand the meaning of the word “metaphysical, even when it was explained to me with puppets, but I’ll use it here anyway.)

There is ugliness that transcends the physical and makes its way to the less tangible parts, like the spleen and the soul of a person. It bubbles its way to the surface in the form of either name-calling, bullying or electing people with inferiority complexes who feel they have to have a comb-over that requires a team of NASA engineers and enough hair product to fill an oil tanker. Sort of like that odious bag of genetic pus, Donald Jerk Trump.

He’s not the only metaphysically ugly person on the planet by a long shot. Putin comes a close second, followed in third place by Wayne LaPierre, but I won’t get into a Top 10 list just now as I recently had a strong coffee with breakfast and I can feel the caffeine stirrings in the lower-intestinal region. Safe to say, people who are ugly on the inside are out there en masse.

Love Thy Self – Just Don’t Overdo It

If there was a way to turn all that ugliness into love, maybe the world would be a better place. Or maybe it would help reduce global warming. Let’s look at this scientifically for a moment.

It takes approximately 461 kilojoules (approximately 437 BTUs) of physical and mental energy to come up with a nasty insult that demeans another person’s religion, race or choice of hair styles. (Less if it’s an indiscriminate insult like calling someone “jerk face” because he just cut you off in traffic while texting and driving.) Multiply that by the number of insults and inflammatory comments, alternative fact-based observations hurled on websites, on TV and in print, and you come out to approximately 14 quadrillion BTUs if you’re only considering the American media. Add in the Chinese, Russian, German, French, Mongolian, Indian, and Luxembourger media outlets, and you’re at close 15 quadrillion BTUs. That’s a lot of heat.

Now let’s look at the energy required for love. One love-making energy unit, scientifically known “a soiree of sweaty debauchery”,  between two (or more) mutually consenting people, usually under the influence of alcohol or other psychotropic substances, requires approximately 208 kilojoules, (197 BTUs) and is usually over after 6 or 7 minutes of heated squealing, including foreplay. That’s less than half the energy needed for spouting ugliness.

Now if people across the world spent much more time committing acts of love than hurling ugliness everywhere, we’d see numerous benefits such as a) people spending less time in front of screens, thus using less of earth’s precious natural resources, b) much more napping due to the aforementioned energy expenditure, and when you’re napping you’re pretty much carbon neutral, and c) an increase in chocolate danish consumption (as a means to replace the love energy you burnt off).


Scientifically and doctrinally yours,

Professor Yengeny Schmutz

* = people in this case are confined to my parole office, my court-mandated psychologist, psychiatrist, shock therapist and the civil servant who sentenced me to 30 years of hard labor in the form of marriage

** often in this case refers to the regularly court-designated sessions with the aforementioned people in order to keep me in check

Shopping for Truth

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.

The Boys of Stanko & Tibor

I wanted you all to have a look at the bios of the characters I cobbled together. It’s here:


It’s a patchwork of facts I discovered about the characters as I was doing my research on them. And at times, it was dirty and unpleasant research that involved private detectives, microphones placed in showers and toilets (bad move), and hidden web cameras in places you’d never dream of (think underwear, BIG mistake).

You find out some strange things about the people you work with, and this cast of characters is really something special. And not necessarily in the good way, either. Frankly they all disgust me in one way or another, yet I had to do the interviews one-on-one to get at the truth about each of these guys.

I promise to dig up more about their troubled past and certainly more troubled future as the episodes roll by. But all I can say is watch this pace for more dirt to be dished on the cast of characters that make up this harsh, inhospitable comic.

Stay tuned.

The Birthday Gift – Sort Of

How does one pay homage to a parent? Is it through hugs and kisses? Is it by lionizing their great achievements and holding them up as an example for others to follow? Could it even be just making them a nice supper once a week and saying “thanks for being there when I scraped my knee as a kid”.

Sure, any of those simplistic answers would do, but I prefer to use the power of art and imagery, and possibly some backhanded humor. It’s way more complicated but I can use it at dinners with the family and friends to point out mom’s particular habits. Like being obsessed with never lea ing out chicken on a counter for more than 8 or 9 milliseconds, heaven forbid we all die of salmonella or some such food-borne illness.

And I guess that is what a good parent does – he or she prevents us from injury, illness or death where possible some can contribute to society later on. In this case it is most certainly my mom playing the role of the protector, because my dad would let me play with a plugged in hair dryer while standing in a metal bucket of water, as the sword of Damocles, probably rusted, swung over my head.

This particular episode of the illustrated comic gem cryptically called Stanko & Tibor, once deemed by The Society for the Protection of Cruelty to Animals as being a visual assault on all living creatures on this planet, aims to pay back some of that protective love and nurturing of my maternal unit, that led to the publishing (and printing and framing) of this humorous piece of my life. Sure, I could have the money for a proper gift, or even put it towards the heated storage unit I’ll put her in one day, but that would prove that she did too good a job of parenting. Can’t let it get to her head.

Keep reading, keep thinking, and keep fermenting and never let your boss tell you what to do. Unless he or she signs your pay checks. Then grovel politely.

Mucho love from Monsieur Jean de Exupéry