Well, this is what happens when I am left to my own devices. After a week of work, more work and all kinds of non-work-work. I know — it’s confusing, but so is my mental state as I type this. It’s late and I didn’t sleep enough this weekend.
Anyhow, I decided to give you folks a treat – a hand drawn episode of the world’s finest comic, if you don’t count fan base, or copies sold, or page views. But those are “mainstream” metrics.
I tried drawing on paper again and to be honest it was fun, if slower than I had hoped. And you get used to the tools the computer gives you that you can’t do on paper. Like correct spelling mistakes, of which there are several.
So don’t bust my jewels about the spelling mistakes. This means you, Dan. And all my other literate, persnickety friends and family. Cut me some slack. Entertaining you people is a challenge.
Oh, and the topic this week is from two weeks ago, when the so called Rapture kept us rapt, but was a dud, and then rescheduled by that religious figure in California. Then again, given the horrific weather, the E-coli outbreak in Germany and general discontent in the Middle East, who knows? I certainly don’t.
Oh, this comic will return to its electronically drafted format in the next installment when I return to the “truth in food” theme. So much material there.
Be well, my dear readers. I am about to apply my face to my pillow and see what short discussion will arise.
Wow, I am tired. What a long weekend here in Canada. In addition to it being my soon-to-retire mother’s birthday, we in the Great White North take an extra day off to eat, drink, be merry, and plant stuff in our yards under the guise of celebrating Queen Victoria’s birthday. I could make some horrendous comment about a dead monarch with a tight corset and probably some kind of sexual repression issues, but I ate so damn much good food that I am swollen, dizzy and generally dopey.
So let me say this – this comic is an old idea I had literally a year or two ago, but couldn’t get around to doing. Now I have done it, and later on, there will be a few more on this topic, but give me some time. Actually, I was aching to do a post on the not-really-a-rapture, and I have the dialog and the sketch, but I figured, I’d get this one out of the way and then do a hand-drawn rapture comic. And to be honest, I spent the day of the rapture mowing my lawn, trimming hedges, and ripping out weeds, so maybe that was my diving punishment. Then again, since we live right next to a well-attended church, I figured if there was some kind of rapture thingy that we’d get rapture rub-off and we’d get sucked up too. By dint of proximity to the house of worship, I guessed that heaven’s GPS might take us along with the church. No such luck, I still have to make mortgage payments.
Well, it’s time for bed and possibly a sugary, mass-produced confectionery masquerading as a cookie, but is really a product of petroleum, recycled synthetic motor oil and Silly Putty®.
Keep the faith and keep hoping I regain self-control so I can lose some weight and fit into my shorts.
What a month it has been since I last posted a tour de force in comic format. The last one seemed to have struck a chord with those of you following current events or with a fondness for Burt Reynolds, circa ’78. You know who you are.
Well, this particular commentary wasn’t really planned. But with Osama getting a unintended dose of rapid-fire hot lead from SEALs that aren’t all that interested in fish really made the news. And of course, every nutbar and his conspiracy theory brother came out of the word work, and some never left. Like Mr. Trump, for example. Although many wish he would, but sadly he has supporters and a lot of money. Where is a benevolent god of any kind to smite someone who really deserves to be ‘smoten’, I ask you?
But this skillfully crafted and drawn oracle containing all things commentary-worthy will return to its regularly scheduled mania, mayhem, moronic madness and other words that start with ‘m’ – once I find a better letter for alliterations. Until such time, I may take a bike ride to try and trim the 10 pounds of belly fat I have accumulated over the past 4 weeks or so, through a deft combination of no exercise, high-fat foods, foods with sugar in formats that could only have been created by Monsanto in a secret lab in the desert, and hot dogs. I feel shame.
By the way, for those of you don’t know and who probably don’t care, I am now writing for the main car blog site, known as The Car Connection. So go there, look for my wry blogs on all things advertising in the car world. Impress your friends.
Better yet, read this comic and forward it to your friends, enemies and make it one your favorites. Or just lie to me and tell me you did. Same thing.
Well, it has been a long, long, long time since I last posted anything apart from two story updates that a) were written when adrenaline had kicked in after a severe lack of sleep and way too much caffeine needed to keep me semi- functional at work and b) displayed an uncanny literary and poetic quality that some of the most respected minds in the academic community have described in numerous journals and conferences as” a pile of steaming crap.” Yes, I took umbrage at those remarks but I was so busy blogging for the car ads, I couldn’t supply a witty rejoinder or a wry retort.
So after a long hiatus (I hear they have pills for that now), I am posting a comic that should have been posted well over a month ago when this whole Middle East thing went viral. Dictators were falling left, right, and center, and sure there was some bloodshed, but it made for gripping TV. Please recall the events of pre-Japan and then read this comic and laugh. O yell, Or take your hand gun and hold up a convenience store. Whatever and wherever the mood takes you. Just be sure I won’t accept responsibility.
I am about to repair to the bedroom for some intense TV-watching and then some eve more intense passing-out, followed closely by snoring and then maybe a mid-night jaunt to the bathroom hoping I don’t smash my toe on anything, and then probably a pee followed back crawling back to bed and snoring.
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’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.
It’s ungodly cold outside tonight, about -18ºC, or 0ºF for my American friends and family, and I am sitting in my sub-arctic basement with my wonderful wife, who miraculously hasn’t killed me for ignoring her all the while I cartoon away like a man-child possessed. Such is the luxury/curse of nearly 12 years of marriage.
This installment of the world’s most dangerous illustrated intercontinental ballistic weapon of mass humor that occasionally has a semi-sentient comment about society, human nature or just tries to make a silly fart joke comes to you from deep within the external hard drive of the Druker house. In short, I have wanted to do this story line for literally two years. It’ll start slowly, and wander aimlessly, but eventually, with enough medication, sleep and booze, it will find a coherent end. And then I can go onto my next idea, which is really absurd.
However, there will be a bit of an extended break between this episode of Stanko & Tibor and the following one (stop jumping for joy, ma) as I want to work on the website and update the store part with some new merchandise and images that you will be able to look at, and maybe even o=purchase if you can pry a few dollars/euro/pesos loose to spread the word about the finest comic this side of an insane asylum.
On a completely unrelated note, please check out what I think is the funniest and foulest commercial I have seen in a while. It’s hysterical, it’s on my automotive blog.
Oh, and to the Gordon & Eisner families, congrats on the new child. Just when you thought it was safe to go back to sleep…
Keep the faith, fight the power, and eat fried and breaded foods.
Anno 2010 has come and gone, and I say good riddance. Floods, drought, scandals, financial shocks, food fights, barbarism, nudity, dirty underwear being laundered in public. And I am just talking about my household.
But on the upside, it’s a new year, there are new challenges, new horizons, new taxes. Oh wait, that isn’t an upside unless you work for the government. But I digress.
This particular episode of the comic that helped redefine the meaning of the word “spam” and led to the literary critic at the New York Times to refer to Stanko & Tibor as “unfit to line my bird cage” was inspired partially by real events. My little child wrote a letter to Santa and actually just wished him well and didn’t ask for any gifts, she just sent him hugs and kisses and sent a hug to Rudolf too.
As for the Santa Corp angle, well, I had to make it somewhat funny and after a return to financial excess by Wall Street, hey, I couldn’t resist taking a pot shot at that. Could you? Didn’t think so.
So all the best for the New Year and keep reading and laughing and “liking” the comic on Facebook.
It has been three long, wintry and cold weeks here since I last gave you the pleasure of a new comic. A comic that makes you laugh, makes you cry, makes you cry out for an improved spam filter.
And this one really reflects the change in weather we have been experiencing here, which has fluttered between cool, cold, really cold, and snow. And now today and tonight, rain. And tomorrow, maybe freezing rain. Isn’t life grand here in high tax hell? At least the restaurants are good.
And the idea for this one came when my dad and my mom “debated” – and I use that term more loosely than an over-washed pair of prostitutes panties – about whether global warming was indeed a man-made thing and a legitimate theory. If you know my father, whose just a shade right of Don Cherry on many topics, you can guess he used the expression “it’s full of crap.”
So I decided to put the debate to the ultimate test – can it survive a lampooning at the hands of Stanko & Tibor, and me, of course. So enjoy, leave a comment and feel free to retweet this, to pass it along, to “like” it on your Facebook page. And if you are really good, I’ll make you a t-shirt, customized, and send it as a gift as long you don’t badmouth the comic. And promote it.
Oh, one last point – the photos in the comic – I am bound to give credit where credit is due. Hence the links below.
My goodness, the madness has really set in. I know the last few comics have been far more topical and satirical, but now the departure into the world of parental madness has descended upon me and the comic. These are crazy days, I tells ya!
So if you are not repulsed by this installment of the world’s most under-appreciated, yet craftily worded, skillfully drawn comic circulated in the majority of supermax prisons for the criminally insane, then you are either a member of my family, a close friend, or you just plain need some psychological help.
So for those of you with kids who read this comic, tell me that giving sage parental advice is easy. Apart from “don’t put that in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been”, I can’t think of many wise things to say to my kids. Oh, that and “kick ’em when they are down” — although my peace-loving wife seems to find this piece of advice to be counter-productive and anti-social. What does she know.
Enjoy this latest installment, and as promised, I will begin the long, arduous task of creating the bios for the characters so you can a) learn more about your favorite imaginary figures, and b) answer the quiz and win a t-shirt.
