Well, it happened again. The circumstances of my life have conspired to leave me without something substantial enough to warrant a full article. Fortunately, I’ve set expectations pretty low for the articles marked with doodles, so I can just sweep some odds and ends into a pile and call it a post. Enjoy!
The Don of Australia
A favorite fact of comics everywhere is that Australia started as a penal colony. Well, technically it started as a puddle of molten rock slowly cooling during the precambrian eon. What I mean to say is that the Australians we think of when we think of Australians, so the story goes, are all descended from thieves, murderers, and other folks so heinous they got deported to a place they didn’t come from. Now whether or not that is true, and maybe one of our two Aussie readers can set me straight, it does raise an interesting question. Why isn’t the Australian Mafia the global byword on organized crime? Around here, in the great state of New Jersey, the Mafia means Italians. Oh sure, the Irish and Russian mob make a strong showing from time to time, and lately the Triad from China and the Yakuza from Japan have been trendy, but it always comes back to the Italians. If modern Australia is really founded by criminals, then shouldn’t Aussie society be nothing BUT organized crime? Hell, the mob would be the government! … Though maybe it IS the government, and they are just better at keeping secrets…
For the most part the human body, either as a product of evolution or divine will, came out pretty good. I only have a handful of complaints, but chief among them is the haphazard placement of hair. The head makes sense, nature’s hat and all that, and I guess the groin deserves some just because of how awesome the groin is. But it seems like some regions that didn’t need any hair got boatloads. Seriously, did my armpits NEED a veritable thicket? They are the warmest part of my body! And yet my hands, the only parts of me that ever get cold, get barely any hair at all. It got to the point that I started… engaging in a certain unmentionable activity… simply because I was told it would give me hairy palms. Yep… That’s why I was doing it. That’s the only reason.
Popcorn Lady Returns
A while back I mentioned an amazingly self-centered lady who always carries a bag of popcorn and rides the same subway as me. Well, she still does, and just as I was beginning to think I had misjudged her, she managed to illustrate her legendary lack of decency. She stood to get ready for her stop, which was in a few minutes. There was another woman with her back to the door that popcorn lady wanted to use. Rather than asking her to move, choosing a different door, or any of a thousand things a human being would do, she had something else in mind. She stood as close to the other woman as she possibly could, then inched a little closer every few seconds. Eventually, this exchange happened:
Normal Lady: Excuse me, but you are right on top of me.
Popcorn Lady: YOU are on top of ME!
NL: And you keep getting closer!
PL: No, YOU do.
NL: You’re an asshole!
PL: No, YOU’RE an asshole!
NL: You’re the asshole!
PL: Takes one to know one!
NL: You know what? I don’t need this. (Walks away.)
This event is notable first because you just don’t hear women call each other assholes that often, and second because it illustrates the fact that the rhetorical tactics of a six year old still work for a sixty year old.
That’s about enough, I think. The good news is that situations where I have something resembling a social life are rare, so I should have a proper set of updates for you good people in the future. And for those who like this, I’m sure it isn’t the last time I’ll have to resort to nibbling on my own mental scraps. See you next time!