In the hands of a pre-teen boy, everything becomes a weapon. I had a toy Saturn 5 rocket that had a little spring-loaded crew capsule on the end. I launched Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong on many a dangerous mission to one of my brothers’ heads.
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I had never heard the old “our boss treats us like mushroom” joke. (They keep us in the dark and cover us with s#!t, in case you haven’t heard it.) The coworker who told it to me just said that our managers treated us like mushrooms, laughed hard at his own wit, then refused to elaborate. It was like he didn’t understand that a joke has two parts. Instead of trying to explain the joke to me when I didn’t get it, he thought he could make me get it by repeating what he’d already said only louder and slower. It gave me insight into what it must be like to speak a foreign language and have to communicate with an American tourist.
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We don’t hear much about Zuckerberg killing his own meat anymore. Maybe because one or more of Facebooks publicists got him to understand that when you publicly proclaim that you kill your own meat, many people will find it disturbing, and a sizable percentage of those who don’t will still laugh because they perceive it as a masturbation joke.
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In the foreword to one of my books I referred to Ric as having a defeatist attitude. Ric was offended, and immediately called me to defend himself. He said, “I’m not defeatist! I’m just profoundly negative.”
Anyway, this comic is all true. He said every one of these things to me. If memory serves, the story that involved panel three almost ended in a fist fight.
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I stand by this comic, and every word printed in it. If you’re a man with a comb-over reading this, please take it in the spirit it’s intended, not as an insult but as brutal honesty. If you have a comb-over, you’re not fooling anybody but yourself. Like ripping off a Band-Aid or jumping in a cold swimming pool, just shaving it and facing life as a bald man will be difficult at first, but far easier in the long run than any of the alternatives.
Now, as for the president, there’s some reason to believe that his—let’s be honest—ridiculous farce of a comb-over isn’t just hiding a bald spot. It might be hiding the scar from a procedure called a scalp reduction surgery.
If true, in my opinion, this speaks not only to his vanity, and his belief that the rest of us are easily fooled, but also to his complete lack of foresight, because the only way a procedure such as this can possibly be effective in reversing hair loss for any period of time longer than a few months is if the patient lost a bunch of hair, but can expect to not lose any more, ever, for the rest of their life.
That is not how male-pattern-baldness works.
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Here’s an interesting data point. Missy and I have lived in Seattle, Orlando, and Phoenix. Between us, during our marriage, Missy and I have had five vehichles totaled in non-at-fault auto accidents and one vehicle stolen. Here’s the most interesting part: all of the accidents and thefts took place in Seattle. All of them! Not Florida, not Arizona; Washington. And four of the five were when we lived on Queen Anne Hill, a really nice neighborhood.
It suggests that either we’re all being unfair to Florida and Arizona, or Seattle has been getting off easy.
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It occurs to me that Rocket Hat never starts the trouble. These encounters always begin with the Emperor of the Moon arresting and threatening Rocket Hat. And no matter how badly it works out for the emperor, he always tries again. He is both proactive and tenacious. It would be really inspiring, if it weren’t so pitiful.
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I once read an article somewhere about movies aimed at teenagers. It seems the prevailing theory in Hollywood is that pre-teens and tweens will go to movies aimed at teenagers, but teenagers will not be caught dead going to a movie for pre-teens and tweens. Also, it’s believed that teenage girls will go to movies aimed at teenage boys, but teenage boys will refuse to go to any movie aimed at teenage girls. Therefore, the soundest business strategy is to mostly make movies aimed at teenage boys.
It’s interesting that teenage boys act the way they do out of a wish to appear strong and mature, but the entire industry has been warped by their crippling insecurity.
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Growing up, I had several strategies for winning at Monopoly. None of them could counteract my brothers’ and friends’ counter strategy: refusing to play.
My younger brother had an especially diabolical variant of this gambit. He would agree to play if I would set up the board, then, when I was finally done counting out all of the bills, he’d say “I don’t wanna play,” and walk away laughing.
Monopoly is truly a cruel, cruel game.
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