Wednesday, December 31, 2008


Somewhere, Rudyard Kipling is spinning in his grave.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008


In today's Fusco Brothers strip, we see Al Fusco blogging away. This is all well and good (and highly lucrative for Al, no doubt), but I remembered AFTER I sent it to my syndicate that it isn't Al Fusco who writes a blog, but Lance Fusco. Apparently my editor also failed to remember this in the first place. 

Of course, it's possible that Al has been quietly blogging for years and just never mentioned it in the strip. 

I'll just stick to that story.

In any case, he's blogging NOW. And I guess so is Lance. (But how would I know for sure?)

Let the blog wars begin.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008


Twas the night before Xmas, when all through my pad

Naught was rhyming with Xmas, and this made me mad;

The TV was tuned to the Home Shopping Place

In hopes that St. Nicholas would not show his face;

To celebrate Thursday all over the globe

I opened a brewski from Ye Old Latrobe;

At length I tuned in to the Playboy Channel

And put on my PJ's, the ones in red flannel;

I sat on the couch like a russet potato

"Anna Nicole Smith was sure one hot tomato!"

I poured a martini, to warm me within

Eschewing dumb eggnog in favor of gin;

Then just when my loins were beginning to stir

I heard in the sky an incredible whir;

I zipped up and ran to my highrise balcony

The place where I practice my hobby of falconry;

And what to my bloodshot eyes should appear

But a huge flying saucer with a silver veneer;

Eight tiny green creatures climbed down on a ladder

And I became so frightened I emptied my bladder;

"What is it you want, if I'm not being nosy?"

I asked as they circled me, ring-around-the-rosy;

"We'd like to examine your brain's frontal lobe

And also the classic, the old anal probe."

"But I am no leader, no Martin Van Buren;

I'm just some poor schmuck standing in his own urine!"

I could not dissuade them, or bribe them with money

I offered them beer; they just thought that was funny;

They made me lie down on the dining room table

And did things involving a fiber optic cable;

A half hour later they boarded their craft

Was it all just a dream? Was I crazy, or daft?

Then I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight

"Happy Thursday to all, and to all a good night!"


Sunday, December 21, 2008


Is it just me, or is this Nutcracker soldier guy scary looking? 

I mean scary looking the way clowns are scary looking. Or Joan Rivers. His face looks like something Lon Chaney would have come up with in his little makeup kit to try to top The Phantom Of The Opera.

Then again, I also think this ACTUAL nutcracker is kind of scary looking. 

But for different reasons.

Maybe there's something inherently scary about nutcrackers in general.

Or maybe I'm just easily frightened.

Monday, December 15, 2008


     Thomas Addison felt that it was his destiny to become a great inventor. This idea came to him as a child, simply because of his name's similarty to Thomas Edison. He did not believe in coincidences.

     Unfortunatley, unlike Edison, Addison was not very inventive. 

     Like all children who aspire to invention, he would take apart appliances he found in his family's home to see how they worked. But unlike the others, Thomas could never put them back together again, and his parents would get angry and send him to bed without dinner, dessert or pajamas.

     When he reached adulthood, Thomas embarked on a quest to invent a perpetual motion machine using only items he found in his shed. After five years of futility, a less driven (insane?) man would have given up, but Thomas simply decided he needed a new shed.

     Of course, perpetual motion machines are generally thought to be impossible.

     His wife would ridicule his dream on a regular basis.

     "Nothing runs forever, my delusional husband!"

     "Oh, yeah? What about Meet The Press?"

     One day while he was out in the back yard collecting fireflies, or lightning bugs (hoping to harness their "lightning"), he heard unmistakable inventor sounds coming from the garage next door: tapping, sawing, explosions, cursing, grinding of teeth, etc.

     He walked over and the garage door was open. Inside, a little gnome of a man was sitting at a work table with an intense look on his face, staring at a collection of useless junk. "Mmm, neat useless junk!" thought Thomas.

     "Hi, neighbor," said Thomas cheerily. 

     "Hello," said his neighbor without looking up.

     "I'm Thomas. I live next door."

     "I'm  Alexander."

     "What are you working on?"

     "Oh, nothing," said Alexander. "I just like to tinker."

     "Me too."

     "What do you tinker with?"

     "Oh, nothing. Well, gotta go. Nice meeting you."

     "Same here."

     What Thomas didn't know was that his neighbor's full name was Alexander Graham Cracker, and he was also an inventor, also insane, and he was also working on a perpetual motion machine. 

     What were the odds?

     Maybe there ARE no coincidences. 

     It almost makes you think.