Comic Strip Writing 101: It's Not All Pabst and Vicodin

Quite recently I came across the following comment posted on a Web forum:

"Let's face it--All cartoonists are insane."

It's a commonly held untruth, one I fear I have validated only further with my entries on this blog. So to correct both past mistakes and false assumptions, I present you with my quotidian work schedule so that you may see just how normal, how downright pedestrian, a typical cartoonist's day can be.

Lesson Nine: Same Old, Same Old

6:30--Wake up. Feed cats Boris and Natasha. Make coffee.

7:30--Have breakfast with Carol. Watch morning news or last night's The Daily Show on RePlay.

8:00--See Carol off to work. Go to computer and check emails. Find courtesy of forwarded links that my Unitarian Jihad name would be "Sibling Gatling Gun of Enlightenment," my porn star name would be "Tawny Tail" and my Sopranos mob name would be "Francesco Marciuliano."

8:30--Commence work on comic strip copy.

8:45--Go to Largehearted Boy to score Radiohead concert mp3s.

9:15--Return to work on comic strip copy.

9:30--Lose hour wondering why no one ever puts lettuce on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

10:30--Return to work on comic strip copy. Scan Internet for possible humor ideas. Ascertain with great horror how many sites feature people pleasuring clydesdales, many with videos that take forever to download.

11:00--Commence daily heated argument with dog in backyard across from co-op. Use to be close friends until he suggested betting fortune on University of Phoenix Online to sweep NCAA basketball tournament. Relationship now chilly at best.

12:00--Lunch time! Discover nothing in fridge, cabinets or pants pockets. Briefly ponder just how many Mentos would be required to rid mouth of cat food breath. Return to work instead.

12:30--Realize have yet to bathe. Also apparently spent half of day wearing nothing but a single black sock, fortunately on foot.

1:00--Awake in bathroom in mid-urine stream. Not certain what happened but thank God for pinpoint accuracy.

1:30--Still dismayed to learn I have yet to shower, don additional articles of clothing or get something to eat. Wonder if a Wet Nap can attend to all three needs concurrently.

2:00--Boris has somehow absconded with my black sock, making walk downstairs to get mail even more humiliating than initially feared.

2:30--Starving. Try to dispel thoughts of food by inventing new dance, "The Ces." Very much like "The Twist" only you do it on a coffee table for 45 minutes to no music.

3:15--Stupid dog doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. Climb on to fire escape to engage in further dialogue. Fellow co-op residents become alarmed by prolonged screams and rub-on "Cracker Jacks" ass tattoo.

4:00--Growing faint from lack of food. Become convinced "Little Caesar's" corporate mascot and I would be best of buddies, given similar ethnic backgrounds and annoying habit of repeating ourselves.

4:30: Can't stop crying. Recount past failures and future blunders.

5:00--Write insulting remarks all over naked body with Sharpie. Begin to parse each insult for subject, verb and predicate.

5:30--Jump back on to fire escape, underlining body insults with marker while yelling at dog, "Nothing you can say that I haven't already told myself! You hear me?!? So who's the big dog now, huh?!? WHO'S THE FUCKIN' BIG DOG NOW?!?"

6:00--The sobbing is relentless. Open every door in apartment but soon learn New York City closets are far too small to provide adequate passage to Narnia. There is no escape from fears or self. Oh God...

7:00--I REQUIRE MORE CELLOPHANE WRAPPING! I REQUIRE MORE OF THAT SWEET CLEAR COVERAGE! MUST HIDE SHAME! MUST PRESERVE ESSENCE! MUST FIND SOMETHING TO CLING TO!!!

7:30--TO HELL WITH YOU, DOG! TO HELL WITH YOU, LITTLE CAESAR'S! TO HELL WITH YOU EASILY STARTLED CON EDISON METER READER! WHEN I BURST FORTH FROM MY SARAN WRAP COCOON I SHALL BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY TO EVER ALIGHT ON A ROSE PETAL IN SPRING!!!

8:00--Carol comes home to find me laughing hysterically, naked, covered in Saran Wrap and doing "The Ces." She is unfazed.

8:30--Carol finishes removing wrap from body, inadvertently tearing off both treasured chest hair and rub-on tattoo in process. She then requests I acquire T-shirt and shorts.

9:00--We order Indian. I eat both meals. Upon hearing of my lack of food Carol inquires as to why I did not simply order in lunch. I sheepishly point to marker insult on right shoulder blade that reads "Ces Not Worthy of Delivery." She calmly suggests I bathe with a loufer.

9:30--We discuss our day. She tells me how she completed three massive assignments as large publication Art Director. I explain the secret to "The Ces" is commitment and a slippery surface.

10:30--We watch TV. We laugh. We read. We are happy.

11:30--Realize have yet to submit crucial daily comic strip script. Discover half-completed version on desktop. Write feverishly with little attention to plot or characters' names.

1:00--Reread copy. See I misspelled "onanism." Replace word with "budget." Email comic strip script. Sleep the sleep of utter contentment.

Repeat.

Radio Blah Blah

The creator of the comic strip "Prickly City" has a weekly podcast.

Upon learning of such, we immediately came up with three reasons why we had to hear it:

1. Cheap laughs. Sure, such a reaction on our part is immature, inexcusable and insensitive, but we can't help but imagine that from the moment we hit "play" on the podcast to the moment creator Scott Stantis mispronounces "G7" we'd be on the floor, laughing (and covering ourselves in the cat hair we really should vacuum on a more regular basis).

2. Sincere interest. We really want to learn how Stantis came to adopt his political ideology. Furthermore, we want to know if he can truly support his conclusions with actual data, not just emotion, fear and Ann Coulter.

3. Another chance. We want to give Stantis one more crack at explaining himself. After all, maybe what comes across in his comic strip like the desultory mumblings of David Duke drifting off to sleep just requires a little more information, another medium more conducive to linear, lucid narrative.

And so we tuned in, only to find...Well, remember when you rented "Plan 9 from Outer Space" thinking you were going to laugh your ass off only to realize there's a fine line between dumb fun and watching a character scratch his nose with a loaded revolver for 20 minutes? Sadly, our podcast experience was not unsimilar. We quickly grew bored. Then weary. Then eventually we forgot to breathe out of listlessness.

You see, Stantis spends the first few minutes of his podcast not simply promoting his strip but lionizing it, rhapsodizing about his characters so passionately that you actually begin to fear for Carmen's safety. It's the verbal equivalent of fellating oneself. He then reads a couple of letters--one from a supporter and another from a detractor, whom Stantis gleefully mocks with Noel Coward-esque wit...excuse me, Moe Howard-esque wit. Apparently getting insulted by Stantis is the equivalent of having a four-year-old call you "boobyface" before he runs off to get his own head caught between the monkey bars. You can't get angry. You can only smile warmly and then take away his safety scissors.

Stantis also proves to be one of those self-satisfied individuals who uses the word "liberal" as the basis for their entire argument against liberals, a not uncommon technique among reactionary talking heads. In fact, we would not be surprised to discover that he started his podcasts to help him score a punditry gig on Fox News or some other neo-conservative media outlet. It's a cushy job and one we're sure he can handle since all it takes to be a pundit--liberal or conservative--is no ears and a great big mouth. But really, does the world need yet another person decrying about the supposed lurid qualities of the entertainment industry while continuing to give the wholly destructive and insidious cabal of executives that made up Enron a moral free pass?

All that said, I'm certain it is rather difficult to do a podcast each and every week (and, as Stantis proves, even harder to do it well). So I'm going to put my foot where my mouth is and try my own podcast sometime in the near future. Alas, it will not be about "Sally Forth," since that is a property of my syndicate and the one thing you never, ever, ever do is discuss your employer on a blog. So instead I'll talk about my other comic strip, "Medium Large." Please join me in the next month or so when for the first time in audio I share such pearls of wisdom as "I...I draw Muppets a lot because...because I like Muppets...Cookie Monster makes me laugh."

Drink at Work.com Regrets the Error

In a recent post we described--some may even say unwittingly dismissed--the site Welcome to the Blog as "an aggregation of blog links." Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, Welcome to the Blog is...well...why don't I let the author of the site describe it:

I'm not trying to pick a fight with a nationally syndicated comic strip writer but take another look at his comments. "An aggregation of blog links"? That doesn't adequately explain Welcome to Blog's content, now does it? No, sir! This blog is...well, damn. I'm not quite sure either. Is it a blog about Portland, Oregon? Maybe. Is it a pop culture blog? Kinda. Whatever it is, it's not an aggregation of blog links, thank you very much...At least not yet, anyway."

It's also makes for a very enjoyable read.

By the way, if one were to pick a fight, shouldn't it be with a nationally syndicated cartoonist? After all, we're not exactly known for our upper body strength and familiarity with bare-knuckle boxing techniques, Cathy Guisewite being the obvious exception.

Conversations with Dad 2

Wherein My Dad Grapples with the Twin Specters of Death and Family in a New Jersey Diner

The following is a transcript of an actual conversation I had awhile back with my father, Frank Marciuliano, award-winning graphic designer, one-time pornography T-shirt illustrator and self-described Renaissance Man. The transcript is part of a series of such dialogues documented in the hope that it will help the two of us both highlight and ultimately address the ideological differences that remain between us. Needless to say, the series continues to this day.

We begin in a diner off the New Jersey Turnpike, during a visit with Grandma.

Grandma: Do you ever tell your friends what a beautiful and intelligent Grandma you have, Ces?

Ces: Sorry?

Dad: Just tell her yes, Ces.

Ces: I...uh, I try to work it into conversation as much as possible, Grandma.

Dad: Don't be a wiseass.

Ces: Sorry.

Grandma: I'll be back. Have to go to the bathroom.

Grandma leaves table.

Dad: Hey, Ces, does Grandma look out of it to you?

Ces: Kinda, I guess. But she's not bad for 90.

Dad: What do you mean?

Ces: Well, she is getting old.

Dad: So? Marciulianos live much longer than average folks! Look at your Grandpa! He would still be alive today if he hadn't died in that hospital.

Ces: What?

Dad: Y'know, from that spill he took...when he had to go to the hospital. I bet if he didn't fall he would still be around today.

Ces: At age 102?

Dad: See? That's what I'm talking about. Marciulianos live a long time. That's another thing you got from my side of the family. Age. Smarts. Looks. The only thing you got from your mother's side was height.

Ces: Nice to throw her a bone, Dad.

Dad: They grow like weeds on that side. Way too gangly.

Ces: Wait, how old was Grandma's dad when he died?

Dad: Umm...72.

Ces: Oh...but he did have cancer...

Dad: Christ, that's just four years older than me.

Ces: Dad...

Dad: I thought I had another forty years. Christ, I hate being middle-aged.

Ces: Okay. That's it. New subject. It was really nice of you to take Grandma out to eat, Dad.

Dad: Hey, I'm a nice guy. By the way, do you have money to pay the bill? All I brought was my Sunoco card.

Ces: You didn't bring any money at all? How were you expecting to pay for the toll on the New Jersey Turnpike?

Dad: That reminds me--I need some money for that, too.

Ces: Wha..what if I didn't have enough cash on me, Dad?

Dad: Why? Because you keep wasting it all?

Grandma returns from the bathroom.

Grandma: I got toilet paper!

Ces: Oh, shit.

Dad: What the hell are you doing, Ma?!

Ces: You stole toilet paper, Grandma?

Dad: Can I have a roll?

Grandma: Sure. I think there's one or two rolls left in the men's room.

Ces: You stole toilet paper from both restrooms?!

Dad: Are you nuts, Ma?

Ces: Please ask her to return them, Dad.

Dad: Well, that'll actually only draw more attention. Besides, I could use a roll for sneezing in the car.

Grandma: You can take one from the men's room. I think there's one or two left.

Dad: I can't have one fucking toilet paper roll?!

Ces: Dad, will you lower your voice?

Dad: Who the fuck is listening?!

Waitress: Is everything okay?

Grandma: My soda's too warm.

Dad: That's because you ordered it without ice, Ma.

Ces: Maybe we should get her some ice.

Dad: She doesn't like ice. It makes her teeth hurt.

Grandma: I don't like my soda warm, either.

Dad (To waitress): I'm sorry, Miss. Maybe she got confused when ordering. English isn't her first language. She's originally from Italy.

Waitress: That's okay. I have one just like her at home. I'll get her another glass of soda and make sure it's cold.

Dad: Thanks.

Waitress walks away with soda.

Dad: What the hell did she mean she has "one just like her at home"? Is she trying to be insulting?

Ces: I think she meant she has a mother born in another country.

Dad: No, she was making a wiseass remark. Screw her, I'm not leaving a tip.

Ces: You weren't going to leave her anything! You don't have any money, remember?

Grandma: I'm sorry Janice couldn't come.

Ces: Hmm? Oh, well, Dad and Aunt Janice are having some sort of argument, I guess.

Dad: I'm not arguing. Janice is arguing. I'm just not listening.

Grandma: At least you could visit, Ces.

Ces: No problem.

Dad: Of course he could. Ces is a really sweet kid. He'd do anything for anybody.

Ces: Uh...gee, thanks, Dad. Really.

Grandma: I just don't know why Frank and Janice have to fight. Siblings never fight.

Ces: That's not true, Grandma. Marcello and I used to fight all the time.

Dad: That's because you and Cello are two miserable little fucks who couldn't give a shit about anyone.

Pause.

Ces: Wait, what the fuck just happened here?

Dad: Don't curse in front of your grandmother.

Ces: I'm...I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Grandma. But what the hell just happened?

Dad: When?

Ces: "When?" Two minutes ago you were nominating me for Son of the Century. Now you're acting like I should get the chair.

Dad: What, you and Cello never fought?

Ces: Of course we fought! But that doesn't have anything to do with it!

Dad: Sure it did! You think I liked dealing with that? None of the other parents' kids fought!

Ces: Of course they did!

Dad: Well I didn't have to deal with them.

Waitress returns with new glass of soda and a plate of bruschetta for Grandma.

Grandma: I didn't order this.

Waitress: The chef found out you were from Italy so he made you a plate on the house.

Grandma:I'm not paying for this.

Ces: Funny, neither is Dad.

Dad: Ma, they're giving it to you for free.

Grandma: Did you order this?

Dad: For free, Ma! They made it for you for free!

Grandma: But I didn't order this.

Dad: It's free! Free! They're being nice! Eat it! (To waitress) Thank you very much. That was very thoughtful of you.

Waitress: You're welcome.

Waitress walks away.

Ces: Now can I leave her a tip, Dad?

Dad: Ma, can I have one of those?

Grandma: They made them for me.

Dad: But you didn't even want them.

Ces: We should probably get going soon.

Dad: Just a bite. One lousy bite!

Grandma: There's only three.

Dad: Why can't I have one fucking piece of bruschetta?!

Ces: How does a 40% tip sound?

Dad: Wha...why are you wrapping the other two up?

Grandma: I'm not hungry anymore. I'll eat them later.

Ces: Where did you park the car, Dad? I think I'll wait in there.

Dad: If you're not hungry now why can't I have one?!

Grandma: And what am I supposed to eat for later?

Dad: THE OTHER ONE!

Ces: I'm leaving.

Three get up from table and start to head out. Ces turns to get his umbrella only to see Grandma taking tip from table.

Ces: Wha...what are you doing, Grandma?

Grandma: You accidentally left some money on the table.

Ces: It's the tip, Grandma.

Grandma: Someone could have taken it.

Ces: Yes, Grandma. The waitress.

Grandma: But you already gave her the money for the bill.

Ces: And that was the money for her.

Grandma: What is she going to do with all that money? I didn't want you to lose any more.

Ces: Then why were you putting my money in your purse?

Grandma: Would you like a bruschetta, Ces?

Dad: WHAT?!?

Grandma: I've got two left and I can't eat that many.

Ces: I just want to leave a tip!

Dad: (Whispering): Don't worry, Ces. I'll get the money out of her purse when she's not looking.

Ces: Um...uh...thanks, Dad.

Dad: That way we can pay the tolls...and I can have some bruschetta.

Travel Suggestions?

This Friday the Drink at Work.com staff will be winging its way to SoCal for the Coachella concert (in case some of you may also be in attendance, we'll be the ones 9,382 people from the left and 7,846 people from the back). We're most excited to once again see Bauhaus and of course Gang of Four, a band that, like half the new bands out there today, was heavily inspired by Gang of Four.

After that we'll be taking a leisurely drive up the California coast to attend a wedding in San Francisco. If any of you have any suggestions about interesting stops between Indio and the Bay Area, we would greatly appreciate it. Otherwise our trip risks devolving into a "Sideways" affair, only with Everclear instead of Pinot and a more pronounced, albeit somewhat premature, midlife crisis.

Thank you in advance!

Comic Strip Writing 101: Going for Broke (Emphasizing "Broke")

Before we begin, allow me to share the following actual email response to a previous blog post questioning the difference between a "serial killer" and a "spree killer":

The difference between serial killers and spree killers is a fairly simple but important distinction. The FBI Behavioral Science unit defines a serial killer as someone who kills three or more people in three or more locations with an emotional cooling-off period between, with the idea being that a spree killer, lacking the cooling-off, just does his killing at once and burns himself out. So stick to it, man!

So there you have it, people. Proof positive that the Internet is an incredible resource for, well, meeting some potentially frightening individuals.

And now let's begin class...

Lesson Eight: Taking Risks, Making Your Own Socks out of Discarded Mittens

Over the past few weeks I've received emails from people who have grown weary with their jobs and wish to quit so that they may dedicate themselves fully to cartooning. For example, take this query from a reader in Teaneck, New Jersey:

I have grown weary with my job and wish to quit so that I may dedicate myself fully to cartooning. Does that sound like a reasonable course of action?

Well, for starters you don't have to be such a damn show-off and brag how you have a job when others--mainly myself--haven't vacuumed their couch in eight months for fear that they may accidentally suck up any loose change that could go to rent or Pez.

The real question, though, is would you rather face the unknown or face another day doing the same old thing? It's a poser we've all had to contend with at least once in our lives. Take me, for example. For the past three months I've had nothing to eat for lunch but canned tuna I bought from a 99 cent store with the expiration date either blacked out with a Sharpie or simply torn off the label. Now to be quite honest, at this point I would prefer the sweet release of death rather than try to choke down one more grayish-purple morsel with the apple juice I make by leaving a granny smith sitting in a glass of water overnight.

But I'm hesitant to make a change. Why? Well, first off I'm scared to death to find out what the food from the 89 cent store tastes like. But mostly, like many people, I find comfort in a routine. What bores me has also come to define my day. The acrid odor when I first open the can. The clenching of the stomach muscles when I swallow that first forkful. The violent spinning of the room. The waking up in a pool of sweat three blocks away to find myself getting savagely poked at with sticks by passing elementary school children. Together these things will always say "noon to 6 p.m." to me.

And I'm sure it would be the same for you. Like me--shortly after I left office life--you would soon come to miss the same old conversations in the pantry. Like me you would soon miss staring at the same potted plant across from your cubicle hour after hour. And like me you would soon miss taking down the overhead fluorescent bulb and playing Jedi Knight in lieu of attending your own year-end performance review. Sure, you may think otherwise now. But trust me, the day you leave your job (or, like me, are summarily removed when the company learns you do not, in fact, have a kid shortly after you've sold $23,000 in Hershey bars to coworkers for the expressed purpose of sending your child's junior high school band to DisneyWorld) is the very day you'll realize what a big mistake you've made. Especially when it's four years later and the only thing you have to look forward to each morning is stumbling back home that evening with several cuts from pointy branches.

Please Stand By

Well, thanks to you, Drink at Work.com achieved something we thought we never would without auctioning off a healthy baby: 1,000,000 hits in a single week.

Naturally, there was much rejoicing. But sadly, our servers did not take the news quite as well. Instead, they became about as stable as Squeaky Fromme on a Red Bull bender.

So we apologize that for the next few days our site may experience temporary difficulties. Fortunately, we were able to upload all new content today. However, last week's "Medium Large" comic strip archive is currently only available on the main page (as well as on the "Medium Large Blog"). Similarly, last week's Drink at Work.com article is available on the main "Eyeopener" site but for now not on previous article pages.

We thank you again for your tremendous support. And we thank you for your patience during this brief period of transition. Until we are fully operational, please enjoy "Overheard on the Camp-Out Line for Revenge of the Sith"

Comic Strip Writing 101: In the Meantime, Full-Time

First, allow me to address the following copy from Welcome to the Blog, an aggregation of blog links that very kindly highlighted this site among others:

"This link leads to a blog co-written by the bitter, drunken author and illustrator of 'Sally Forth.'"

First, I'm not bitter. I'm narrowly reflective. Second, while I do write "Sally Forth," I do not illustrate it. And third, I'm not drunk. Well, not now. Not yet, anyway.

Having said that, let's begin...

Lesson Seven: Working While Working on Your Work.

During the course of penning "Comic Strip Writing 101" I have received numerous emails from inquisitive readers, featuring such questions as:

What's the difference between a "serial killer" and a "spree killer"? I want to make sure I have a clearly defined career objective.

Is it feed a cold and starve a fever? Or vice versa? Or should I just forget my sick brat all together and take that Jitney bus to the Hamptons like I had planned for the weekend?

I want to be my own boss. How do I best assume her identity? Please note that I am open to all suggestions, including facial graft.

Do you remember me? I'm the one who chased you to your apartment building a few minutes back and am now sitting outside your bedroom window, emailing you by Wi-Fi.

How tall should the statue of Our Glorious Leader George Walker Bush be? 1,000 feet? 10,000 feet? Or so tall that it pokes out the very eye of God?

But perhaps the question I receive most is:

How do I earn a living while trying to earn money from my comic strip?

Of course, what these people really mean to ask is: "Goddamn it, do I really have to go into an office every day until I hit it big in cartooning?" And, of course, the answer is a resounding and most assuredly none-too-cheery "Yes."

You see, everyone has to pay their dues. I myself toiled in Corporate America for many, many years, eventually fooling and bribing enough people to score the gig of "Copy Supervisor" at this publication. (By the way, anyone who is interested in blogs would do well to read the May 2 issue cover story.) In fact, I still write copy for them to this very day on a freelance basis, which shows that until you start making the "BC" bucks, you'll probably always have to handle several revenue streams at once.

Which is by no means a bad thing. But as you may know, many people who wish to pursue a career in the arts often neglect to refine their corporate business skills, if only because they assume that they will never have to work for "The Man" (or "The Men," should the CEO have been recently deposed and the company is now under the aegis of a phalanx of board directors, attorneys and outside auditors). Alas, such is almost never the case. Rarely is success instantaneous and even the curriculum vitae of some of the most accomplished cartoonists, writers, artists, musicians and actors in the world prominently feature such words as "administrative assistant," "copywriter" and "paper shredder."

But for all those who have yet to make it big in their craft but have yet to take that necessary first step into office life, fear not. For below I have provided a list of all the items I found to be "must-haves" when working 8 to 8 ("9 to 5" is only a movie title now, people, not an actual business timetable). Hopefully they will make your stint in the corporate world--blessedly brief as you no doubt wish it to be--as easy and enjoyable as possible:

1. Pens: While my contemporaries tout the wonders of the "paperless office," I still believe nothing can beat an old-fashioned writing implement, whether it's for doodling nonsense on pads during meetings, scrawling my name over and over again on my desk to ensure ownership, drawing skulls on my arm so I can look tough at bars or simply dragging against the wall while walking around the office so I could always find my way back to my cubicle, even while riding the elevator or leaving the building for lunch.

2. Surge Protectors: Not only do they prevent electrical mishaps from wiping your hard drive clean but they also allowed me to simultaneously operate a space heater, hot plate, motorized tie rack, Aurora racetrack, popcorn popper, rock tumbler, 33rpm record player, Lite Brite, hair crimper and Yamaha electronic keyboard (permanently set to "rumba" beat) safely and securely under my desk.

3. Racing Stripes: Nothing made it seem like I was the fastest worker in the department than racing stripes along the sides of my cubicle. And for those times when I wanted to look extra speedy, I attached an ambulance siren on top of my computer monitor and constantly yelled, "Out of my way!" After all, to be a success in business you have to look like a success.

4. A Gross of Staplers: How many times did a coworker shout, "Stapler fight!" only for me to discover I had absolutely nothing to throw at anyone? Well, with 144 staplers at the ready not only was I well prepared for such an eventuality but I even had enough left over to randomly hurl out the window during project lulls.

5. One Chatty Cathy Doll: Because by my third week of employment people usually stopped visiting my cubicle or inviting me out to lunch, so I needed the company.

Monday: Comic Strip Writing 101--Dealing with the Business of Business before You Can Finally Get Down to Business

Jowdy!

If you know what that means, you know this was inevitable. Introducing the Official Jowdy! T-Shirt in all styles and sizes.

All earnings from "Jowdy!" shirts will support future productions by Rule of 3, a New York-based theater group founded by Hartsell, Jowdy and Marciuliano. Thanks for your support!

Comic Strip Writing 101: Coping Poorly with Rejection

Before we begin with today's lesson, I would be extremely remiss if I did not thank the truly excellent people of ItsYourTurn.com for hosting not only this blog but the entire Drink at Work.com Web site. At ItsYourTurn.com you can compete with countless online opponents in chess, backgammon, Go, Othello, checkers and many, many other games that don't involve you forfeiting an article of clothing each time you lose (unlike that game of "Pictionary" I thought I was playing last night only to realize it was just a crazed graffiti artist who wanted my pants). Check out the site today!

Lesson Number Six: It's All Over Now, Baby Blue

Life can be funny. Not necessarily South Park funny but often demoralizing, shockingly appalling Arliss funny. The kind of funny that leaves you scratching your head in confusion until either your scalp bleeds or you can finally afford one of those fancy, brand-name dandruff-controlling shampoos and not have to make your own out of crushed Sweettarts and White Rock seltzer like yours truly. To wit--sometimes you can invest your youth, your heart and your 401(k) account into an artistic submission only to be greeted with the following response:

Dear (Your Name):

Thank you for your submission to (Company Name). Unfortunately, each year we receive (Integer Followed by Several Hundred Zeros) submissions and can only handle a select few. However, we wish you the best of luck in your endeavors and encourage you to send your work to (Other Companies That We Have Full Confidence Will Have the Same Reaction as Ours).

Please excuse the use of a form letter.

Signed,
(Someone Who Will Not Be Working with You)

Naturally, upon receiving such a letter you might be at a loss for words. But you certainly won't be at a loss for rage. Which brings us to a very important question--What do you do when you've just been told that you can't do what you've always wanted to do? Well, having been on the losing end of many artist-corporate exchanges, I can say with great wisdom and crippling sorrow that you will almost certainly experience the following six phases of "personal rejection" before ultimate resolution:

Passive-Aggressive—In which you audibly mutter to anyone within earshot, "I never have been more angry in my entire life."

Present-Aggressive—In which you call the offending company and clearly state to anyone who picks up the phone, "I yell at you because I loathe you."

Future-Aggressive—In which you follow up on the aforementioned verbal thrashing with a threat like "I will punch you and punch you until you shall take all your meals through a straw."

Present-Progressive-Aggressive—In which you quietly tell said battered and certainly undeserving individual, "I am following you home. I am standing right behind you. I am exacting my final revenge."

Past-Perfect-Aggressive—In which you tell your lawyer, "By the time the medics had arrived, the situation had resolved itself."

Future-Perfect-Progressive-Aggressive—In which you announce with maniacal glee to all those gathered to see you get the electric chair, "By tomorrow morn, I will have been finalizing my plans for total vindication from Hell’s steamy bowels!"

Naturally, except for the part in which you wander the streets, mumbling, I would strongly dissuade you from following through on any of the other five phases. In the end, perhaps it would be best to simply return to your desk, put pen to paper and write some of the nastiest responses you never in a million years--not even on a bet--should send. You may not feel better, you may in fact only be adding to your frustration, but at least you'll be working on your craft, and that can only be good.

Tomorrow: Comic Strip Writing 101--What You Have to Do While Waiting to Do What You Want to Do (or Something Like That)

Conversations with Dad

The following is a transcript of an actual telephone conversation I had a few months back with my father, Frank Marciuliano, award-winning graphic designer, one-time pornography T-shirt illustrator and self-described Renaissance Man. The transcript is part of a series of such dialogues documented in the hope that it will help the two of us both highlight and ultimately address the ideological differences that remain between us. Needless to say, the series continues to this day.

Dad: Happy Birthday!

Ces: Thanks, Da…

Dad (singing): Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Ceeeeeeessssccoooooooooo! Happy Birthday toooooooooooooo yooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

Ces: That’s really…

Dad: Tooooooooooooooooo yooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

Ces: Thank you.

Dad: I remembered!

Ces: You did.

Dad: Your mother thought I would forget.

Ces: She said that?

Dad: Well, not outright. But I could tell. She kept reminding me about it every day for the past week.

Ces: But still you remembered.

Dad: Anyone else besides your father remember?

Ces: A lot of people. Friends. Family. Carol’s family. And of course Mom…before she handed the phone to you.

Dad: Boy, your Mom can sure talk, huh?

Ces: Oh, that reminds me! Chuck and Chris made a short film for my birthday!

Dad: What do you mean?

Ces: Well, Chuck has this high-end digital video camera and he and Chris got a bunch of people together to make a short film about zombies attacking their house while they try to call me on the phone to say "Happy Birthday." They even burned a copy of it for me on DVD!

Dad: No, I mean who are Chuck and Chris?

Ces: Carol’s brothers…my brothers-in-law…

Dad: And they bought you a movie?

Ces: They made me a movie. Isn’t that wild?!

Dad: Remember how I always wanted to make movies, Ces?

Ces: Uh…yeah…

Dad: You were supposed to write me a movie. Remember, Ces? You were going to sell it to the studios under the condition that I would star. Remember?

Ces: But what you really wanted to do was direct.

Dad: What about that great idea I gave you?

Ces: Oh yeah, that one. Fantastic!

Dad: Which one?

Ces: I…uh…I don’t know. I was trying something new.

Dad: How could you forget? It’s the one about the guy who decides to finally go back to his old childhood stomping grounds after fifty years and kill all the dirty rat fucks who used to tease him as a kid.

Ces: You…you want me to write a movie about a guy who returns home and systematically murders a bunch of seventysomethings who for some strange reason all still live in their parents’ houses?

Dad: We can call it "Payback"!

Ces: There’s already a film called "Payback."

Dad: This one’s better.

Ces: But what happens after he kills everybody?

Dad: What do you mean?

Ces: Y’know, after the…uh…serial killings…

Dad: He leaves.

Ces: Don’t the cops or the feds track him down?

Dad: Why would they be looking for him? He’s not the one who did anything wrong.

Ces: So you’re saying that this is your classic "Guy returns to hometown, Guy methodically slaughters an entire community of retirees, Guy catches the next train out."

Dad: See? "Payback"!

Ces: Well it does have three acts.

Dad: So what do you say?

Ces: Maybe something else.

Dad: Something else? Why something else? This is great!

Ces: It’s sad, Dad. It’s…it’s just really sad…

Dad: How could it be sad? He kills all of them!

Ces: Just for teasing him when they were kids?

Dad: They also threw things. Sharp stuff. Ask your grandmother.

Ces: Maybe you should write it. You probably have a better handle on the characters.

Dad: Then what about that "Four Musketeers" cartoon I came up with a while ago?

Ces: You still recall that one, huh?

Dad: Now that would have been a hit! The old rabbi was the leader, the Italian guy wore a pasta-smeared tank top and carried a shiv, the black guy was in a basketball uniform and the homosexual dueled with one hand while redecorating wherever he was with the other. Remember?

Ces: Vividly.

Dad: What’s wrong now? It doesn’t just make fun of one ethnic or racial group.

Ces: Dad, you had the other musketeers meet the black character when he tries to jack their carriage!

Dad: I also had the Italian guy brought up on racketeering charges! Plus I made the Jewish character the smart one! He even wouldn’t fight on Saturdays.

Ces: And what about the gay character, Dad?

Dad: It’s perfect timing! Look at that show on HBO! The one about the gay funeral home.

Ces: It’s not about a gay funeral home.

Dad: Sure it is. And that’s prejudice. Not like our show.

Ces: "Our show"? I…wait, are you saying the HBO program is about a gay-run funeral home or a funeral home that only admits gays?

Dad: I don’t know. You watch the show.

Ces: It’s about neither. Some of the characters are gay, some are not. That’s it.

Dad: Just like our show!

Ces: I don’t know, Dad…

Dad: Just write it for me. After all, I’ve been asking you to do this since you were in junior high school.

Ces: Well, if ever there were material that should be put in the hands of a thirteen-year-old…

Dad: You can consider it my birthday present.

Ces: Your birthday was six months ago, Dad.

Dad: Then you can consider it my late birthday present.

Ces: But I bought you a birthday present! The DVDs? "Spartacus" and "Doctor Zhivago"?

Dad: Yeah, but your mother always makes me watch "Inspector Morse" on PBS instead.

Comic Strip Writing 101: To Be Syndicated or Not to Be Able to Eat Anything but Ramen Noodles for the Rest of Your Life

Lesson Five: Syndication or Mom's House

Tactic One: Get Syndicated
Listing "Get syndicated" as a personal choice is sort of like saying "Be born beautiful," "Win Lotto" or "Sport more than three inches" (if you know what I mean). For the most part, whether or not you get picked up by one of the major five...no, wait, four...uh, three...two...last syndicate still standing is beyond your power. It would be like planning your entire life around a requested gift from Santa that your parents keep dropping less and less subtle hints will almost certainly not materialize. That said, there are indeed things you can do to increase your chances of syndication, as unorthodox as they may first appear to be:

1. Be persistent: Initially, this may not seem like an unorthodox method at all, considering success is usually the product of hard work and even luck is best described as "talent meeting timing." But you see, when I say "persistent," I don't mean time that can be measured by the typical clock or calendar. I mean time that can only be measured by ages, like "Bronze," "Iron" and "Industrial." I mean time that spans the birth and death of all dinosaurs (or, if you believe in creationism, that three weeks God scattered all those really big cow bones around). I mean time as in "Oh shit, where the fuck did the time go?!" But that doesn't mean you should give up on your dreams. Emily Dickinson found success after she was dead. So did John Kennedy Toole. Perhaps your greatest days lie beyond you as well.

2. Take Down Names, Kick Some Ass: Most people would strongly advise against you losing your temper no matter what the professional endeavor. But those pussies aside, sometimes a person just has to take a stand...and occasionally a swing. And some people only respond to action, not cover letters. Let me give you an example from my own life that, admittedly, doesn't involve cartooning but does parallel the subject at hand. Several years ago I had this downstairs neighbor who insisted on practicing her violin whenever I was trying to sleep--2 PM, 3 PM, you name the time and she was sawing away at that thing like her elementary school GPA depended on it. So to show her who was boss, I started clog dancing. Loudly. First out of spite but then for the regionals and eventually the finals over in Bowman, North Dakota. You know the one I'm talking about. I never felt so alive in my entire life! But after awhile the co-op board kicked me out of my apartment because of all the noise from my shoes. I still wear them, though, because you never know when the opportunity to dance will strike again. You just never know. I think you see my point.

3. Assume Writing Duties of Another Strip: Otherwise known as the "Ces Tactic" by, well, Ces. And Carol. Carol, too...Anyway, recently The Wall Street Journal ran an article about "second generation" comic strip writers like me but, oddly enough, did not feature my name once throughout the entire report (that's what happens when you show up drunk at a Reuben Award ceremony, giggling and shouting things like, "Be gone, pants!"). Even I was surprised at how many comic strip writing duties have been handed over to new authors. Authors who are trying to update family strips that read as if the PBS broadcast of "An American Family" was still a good 20 years in the future. That's why in the past few months a character in "Blondie" used the word "scumbag" (seriously), Billy from "Family Circus" now plays "Good Guys vs. The Insurgents"(seriously) and Beetle Bailey contracted the avian flu while scoring some tail in a Tahitian brothel (very, very seriously). Some manage to pull off the updates with finesse. Others simply miss the mark by having a nominal grasp of contemporary society. And some attempts are like putting fresh lip gloss on a dead hooker. But unlike most people trying to score their own comic strip, these people actually get paid, and not just in canned goods like I do! So if you think you have the chops to drag "Snuffy Smith" screaming into, well, if not the 21st century at least into the era of the McCormick reaper, then by all means contact the syndicates now.

4. Redraw "Peanuts": Remember how great "Peanuts" was in its heyday? Remember how it shined above all other comic strips in the sixties? Remember how syndicates don't particular care for new ideas? I think you can reach your own conclusions.

Tactic Two: Go Your Own Way
Some people, however, long to break free from the shackles of syndication, even before they've been issued a visitor's pass to the prison. Now true, signing up with a syndicate can be a little like signing up with the Evil Empire (before I hear any guff, I was ten when the original "Star Wars"--the second best "Star Wars" movie ever--premiered, and so despite all the nonsense that followed the film still means the world to me. So when I mention "Star Wars" don't look at me like I'm some sort of dork. Look at me as if I were Bill Moyers' guest on "The Power of the Myth."...Damn, this was a long parenthetical statement. Even I'm not sure what I was originally talking about. Better start over on three, two, one...) Now true, signing up with a syndicate can be like signing up with the Evil Empire. But on the other hand, cartooning sans syndication deal can be like Luke before he stumbled upon Obi-Wan and Act Two: Living with your family in a godforsaken hut miles from a social scene, a business district or even a Waffle House. Driving the intergalactic equivalent of a '78 Dodge Pacer. Staring up at two suns because you can't afford corrective eye surgery. Wearing a cotton bathrobe 24/7. Making friends with robots. Talking to cloaked midgets. Joining religious cults. Almost doing it with your sister. Such is the seamy side of cartooning off the professional grid. But as someone who also does a comic strip without a syndication contract, I can honestly say that there are a few positive aspects of such a solitary pursuit. In fact, it's because of my years of self-employment that I can be grateful for the following things:

*"A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving," for proving what I have always said--that a perfectly acceptable holiday feast can consist of jelly beans, toast, popcorn and pretzel sticks served on a ping-pong table and catered by a dog and bird.

*Jehovah's Witnesses, because it's nice to have company stop by every so often.

*The eight pounds I lost on the Atkins Diet, on top of the 20 lost due to poor grocery budgeting.

*My new personal motto, "Never give up, never surrender" (replacing my old mantra, "Oh Christ, it's morning").

*Learning from flyer on street light that current residence is to be replaced with Super Target, meaning greater access to low, low prices.

So the choice is yours, dear readers. But no matter what happens, always keep this in mind--strips about inbreeding are apparently still a little too "edgy" for those squares at the syndicates. Believe you me.

Tomorrow: Flashback--Getting Bitch-Slapped by Actor Sam Elliot at Age Eight While My Mom Knitted Cozies for Dildos. Seriously.

It's Official

A new pope has been chosen.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You

Please allow me this opportunity to give a great big shout-out to Eric Burns of Websnark.com for his kind, thoughtful, glorious overestimation of my personality. In particular, I want to thank him for a passage that will not only serve as the pull-quote for this site but will also be my new official author's bio, my epitaph and my response whenever a job interviewer says, "Tell me about yourself in the third person":

"The man (currently) behind the smirky goddess herself has a comic strip where he blasts her very smirky nature and discusses the soul crushing nature of cartooning -- while also publicly calling Johnny Hart insane...This is like finding out the writer of Barney and Friends is a chain smoking, Harley Driving leather warrior who patrols the lawless west, and learning that the dinosaur suit itself is worn by a gorgeous hardbodied supermodel ninja who seeks to pluck out the still beating heart of Daniel Day Lewis. The cartoonist of Sally Forth has no right to be this fucking cool."

"A gorgeous hardbodied supermodel." Finally, someone has given me due respect for my great cleavage and hot ass. Oh, and by the way, Carol, should we ever choose to renew our wedding vows, I think Eric just wrote yours.

Man, if I thought my best chance of being mistaken for cool was to never be seen, I would have attended high school by phone.

I also want to thank Michael Fry, syndicated cartoonist of both the terrific "Over the Hedge" and "Committed", for his incredible support over the past few months. And I wish him all the luck with the 2006 DreamWorks CGI movie of "Over the Hedge," featuring the voices of Bruce Willis and Gary Shandling. How remarkable is that?! All you people already waiting on line for "Revenge of the Sith," this is the flick for which you should be camping out.

Also, a very big "thank you" to Dave Coverly, syndicated cartoonist of "Speed Bump", for his support and great words--"Francesco, that is some funny shit." If I didn't already have an epitaph, that would be it. Make sure to purchase his new collection, "Speed Bump: Cartoons for Idea People," over at Amazon.com.

Furthermore, I want to thank a few online cartoonists for their very kind reviews. They all do terrific work and should be read regularly (I apologize if I leave someone off this list. I will continue to update it):
Lamtoon
Nothing Nice
Hugh & Bot

And, of course, thank you all very much for actually reading this stuff, most of which I'm sure is the equivalent of listening to a four-year-old talk about the brown dog they just saw for a good three-and-a-half hours.

Oh, and to the Vatican conclave, thanks once again for passing me over for Pope. Seriously, what does a lapsed "three-quarter Catholic, quarter Jew" have to do to sport the mitre and pallium? Weren't the recomendations letters from my parole officer enough to earn me the robe? Clearly it's all about who you know.

Coming Today: "Comic Strip Writing 101" Lesson Five--Syndication or Mom's House

Because Capitalism Needs You!

Bless that Josh of The Comics Curmudgeon. First he posts a sample strip of Medium Large and winds up increasing traffic to our comic site by a good tenfold. Then he mentions this blog and once again our audience soars. Now he inspires us to plead shamelessly by introducing our brand new "Official Drink at Work.com T-Shirt":

Made from 100% cotton and 200% chutzpah, the "Official Drink at Work.com T-Shirt" is the perfect way to tell everyone, "Yes, it may be Monday morning. And yes, I may be dressed wildly inappropriately for our department meeting. And yes, I may very well be advertising the fact that I am quite the social drinker. But the font is easy to read, the drawing is charming and just check out this quality stitching."

Of course, we now also offer a wide selection of new Medium Large T-shirts just in time for summer. Hit the beach, the park, the barbecue or your court hearing in clothes that both cover your shame and make you walk with just a hint of pride. All these and more can easily be purchased through The Drink at Work.com Store.

Sigh...making and shilling tees reminds me of my youth. Back in the 70's my dad--an accomplished graphic designer--also illustrated and sold a line of soft-core pornographic T-shirts. Every Saturday afternoon during the summer an eight-year-old Ces would go down to our garage and help my Dad break numerous child labor laws and decency acts by helping him screen-ink such shirts as "Cockamania," "Up Yours" and his best-seller, the award-winning and oft-copied "Original Orgy Shirt." I currently do not have a picture of said shirt to post but suffice it to say it was a very charming black-and-while line illustration of 85 naked people and two dogs.

The "Original Orgy Shirt" proved so popular during the "Me Decade" that it served as the official shirt of Paul Newman's Racing Team and was requested by both Malcom Forbes and Mel Blanc (who sent me an autographed photo and my dad a letter that read in part--and in all honesty--"The shirts look great but the X-Large is loose around Bugs Bunny's crotch.") Eventually the "Orgy Shirt" resulted in a 1978 Penthouse photo shoot in the Marciuliano dining room (and on the room's most prominent piece of furniture--the large glass table) as well as a family trip to the 1975 Daytona Adult Entertainment Expo, in which I accumulated far more Playboy cocktail shakers and copies of "Oui" magazine than is perhaps seemly for a third-grader. I also received a harsh admonishment from actor Sam Elliot involving mood rings, but that's another story.

Ah, the innocence of childhood.

UPDATE
The Original Orgy Shirt. (Not safe for work, for kids, for the elderly, for so many, many people.)

From the Mouths of Babes

Francesco Marciuliano

Click for more

Your Friday Night in a Nutshell

The National's absolutely incredible third album, "Alligator," came out April 12. By now you should own 14 copies. Buy several and listen to all of them this weekend. (Picture from The National's CD release party this past Tuesday at Supreme Trading, courtesy of Mindy)

For a dead-on review of "Alligator", click here.

Also, if you happen to be in the NYC area tonight, please join us as we take in our good buddy Paul's band, Lolita Bras at Downstairs at Dekk at 11 pm.

And should you be in the market for a laugh after a long, long week of seeing DeLay's ugly mug on the TV, then check out Fearsome's brand spankin' new comedy show at The P.I.T., tonight or next Friday at 9:30 pm.

Oh, just one more word: Wholpin!

Have a great weekend!

Ted Finally Straps on a Pair

During my time writing "Sally Forth" I have been regularly accused of making Sally's husband, Ted, about as masculine as Paul Lynde in a Vera Wang gown. There are a couple possible reasons for this:

1. Some readers believe that Ted should be front and center, despite the fact that the strip is called "Sally Forth."

2. Some readers can't help but notice that Ted bears a striking resemblance to Sally's coworker, Marcie.

3. Some readers still recall the story arc in which Ted was bitch-slapped by a Girl Scout and then spent the next three weeks hiding in his basement, too afraid to step outside.

So in the hopes of correcting this misconception, I decided to play up Ted's longheld dislike for Sally's erstwhile boss Ralph and show him to be a man capable of something other than a blank stare or sly smirk. Hence the following strip, published just yesterday, April 14th:



The end result? Readers are now saying Ted is nothing but a "cold-hearted bastard" and a "big-mouth asshole."

So tune in next week when Ted cries copiously during a Hallmark commercial.

How to Cope with Artistic Failure: A "Comic Strip Writing 101" Interim Lesson

Before we begin, allow me to send a mighty big "thank you" to both Josh and Sue for mentioning this blog without resorting to such phrases as "a man his age really shouldn't seek that much constant attention" or "that poor, poor bastard." Josh, as previously noted, is the sage pundit of The Comics Curmudgeon and proud owner of a snazzy goatee while Sue is co-founder of the San Francisco-based 125 Records, a music label that features an amazingly eclectic roster of artists and was started with money won, believe it or not, on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire."

Now to our interim lesson (we'll return to our regularly scheduled curriculum on Monday)...

How to Cope with Artistic Failure
Over the years, people—blunt, thoughtless people—have come up to me and asked, "How does it feel to dedicate your entire life in the pursuit of your own comic strip syndication deal and not have a single one of your pitches accepted by anyone? How does it feel to have absolutely nothing to show for your tireless efforts after all these years? Nothing. Nada. Niente. Rien. How does that make you feel? Huh? Do you feel sad? Angry? Worthless? Well? What? What?!"

To which I can only reply by staring into the distance…thinking about how I’m almost 30…8…38-years-old…38-frickin'-years-old...Christ, that means 39 is just around the corner...

Okay, according to the clock on my Mac I zoned out for a good 45 minutes. And unless my upstairs neighbor's bathroom is leaking, I apparently spent most of that time sobbing uncontrollably. Anyway, after years of facing such pointed questions it eventually dawned on me that there better god damn well be other people in my exact same predicament. Individuals who have invested years—decades even—in the hopes of one day achieving a full-time career in comics, in writing, in acting, in music, in painting only to now be staring down 40 from the bad side of a Wendy’s counter. And so to every creative person who ever said, "I can do it!" only to have the fates laugh so hard you could practically hear them choking, I give you the following three rules for coping with artistic failure:

Rule One: Avoid Successful People
Nothing breeds contempt like another person’s good fortune. Especially when your comic strip submission was just recently passed over in favor of a family feature titled "With Three You Get Triplets." You see, I used to keep company with countless successful doctors, lawyers and entrepreneurs. Prosperous, triumphant people who get to tool around in cars with four good tires while I have a $200 credit limit and had to give up carbs for financial reasons. Do you know how that made me feel? Do you know what it’s like to be the only black sheep in a pasture where everyone else shits gold?! Do you know what it’s like to attend your own college reunion dinner as the cater-waiter?!? I don’t care what my dad says, that wasn’t fucking funny!

But rather than allow myself to be swallowed whole by bitterness and jealousy, I now make sure to hang out exclusively with people who are far, far worse off than I could ever fear to be. People who make me look like Sam Walton by comparison. People who can’t tell you their life story without using the words "insolvent" or "incontinent." People who burst into tears of joy whenever they stumble upon a nickel on the sidewalk. People who base all their career decisions on Bazooka Joe fortunes with predictable results. People who consider underwear "church clothes." People who refer to restrooms as "indoor outhouses." People who join religious cults for the networking opportunities. People who lose a tooth when they bite into soup. People who when told that I managed to cheat my way into a senior discount at the movies because of my prematurely ravaged looks treat me with the respect I not only always craved but also richly deserve.

Rule Two: Set Short-Term, Attainable Goals
What better way to dismiss the discouraging absence of artistic success than by having a few, smaller accomplishments to celebrate? Instead of focusing solely on the ultimate objective of landing a comic strip deal, a music contract or an acting gig, concentrate on a series of more manageable, less heartbreaking tasks. Like getting out of bed before dusk. Remembering to eat, if not meals than at least mints. Closing your bathrobe before you run errands. Stopping before you enter your fifth straight hour of video poker. Watching the news rather than watching that cobweb get progressively bigger from the vantage point of your kitchen floor. Channeling your frustration into yoga instead of yelling non-stop at your neighbor’s dog through the apartment wall. Taking a walk that doesn’t turn into a mad dash and then eventually a swan dive off an overpass. Selling something other than your hair or platelets on eBay. With just a few little achievements each month, you’ll not only stay motivated during your artistic endeavors but unlike me you’ll also avoid spending your day seeing how fast you can shave off all your body hair, and then six months later trying to break that record.

Rule Three: Know When to Call It Quits
Eventually no matter how much you truly believe in your talent and goals, mounting bills may unfortunately force you to pack it in and seek employment elsewhere. Some may wind up writing copy in marketing departments. Others may end up as the new sommelier of an over-reaching Denny’s. But most of you will find a home in the exciting world of public school teaching. Why teaching? Because today’s schools are so desperate for people willing to toil for a disgustingly low $16,000 a year that they’re more than happy to overlook the fact that you think "Marbury v. Madison" was a title bout. In fact, a few years back I myself taught a third-grade class and it was without a doubt one of the most fulfilling times in my life. We played games. We watched videos. We bet Danny Larkin couldn’t eat all the paste in his jar but then he did but then he couldn’t open his mouth so he got real scared but then it was lunch time and I had two big helpings of tater tots and a Hydrox cookie. Yes, we did it all. Except for any actual studying. But the kids didn’t seem to mind one bit. They would spend the day on the swing set or the slide or any of the other numerous outdoor activities at the McDonalds across the street while the gym teacher and I would take turns seeing who could hit the other the softest (only for it to always end with him laying a roundhouse into my jaw and shouting, "You win!"). All was going so well until the close of the school year when every single one of my students failed the state exam so spectacularly that they were not only denied moving up to the fourth grade but immediately placed in sweatshops, factories and loading docks. I still run into some of them at a local bar from time to time. We laugh and recall the old days but then the lunch hour ends and they have to drag their weary, 11-year-old bodies back to the pork rendering plant. Wow, 11-years-old and already fully employed. So you see, there’s hope for us all.

America: Club Remix

Well, that didn't take long. The net's answer to Lee Greenwood--not to mention the most patriotic "Star Trek" stunt coordinator you're ever likely to meet--has had his video redubbed with the song "America, Fuck Yeah!" from Team America: World Police. The result is, well, a vast improvement. Enjoy!

Once again, courtesy of the fine folk at Screenhead.

Take That, Drabble!

Shocked! Shocked I am to find that The Washington Post's resident (or at least self-appointed) humor expert Gene Weingarten chose the above "Sally Forth" as his "Comic Pick of the Week"! This almost makes up for the three years in which he more or less equated the strip with an unsuccessful bowel movement.

In the words of Peter Griffin, "Freakin' sweet!"

For more daily sharp insight on--and informative commentary about--comic strips, make sure to check out The Comics Curmudgeon. Just please, try to gloss over the five times he tears "Sally Forth" a new hole.