Bradford Pear Trees and Despair

So I'm unemployed. Again. I suppose it doesn't really matter that much and all the people I worked with are convinced that I'm going to be re-hired in the fall and that I'll see all of them again. I also suppose that vibes of such good caliber are encouraging. But then you go home and have to deal with yourself in the interminable interim (wherein your life is a fucking shambles found in the nether regions of a "hoarder's" storage shed) and look in the fucking mirror and see that face floating there and all those awful questions arise like so much hot and stinging bile in your rapidly closing throat and you just have to try to take it and internalize it and NOT drink a shit-ton of wine and get into an argument with your wife about the transcendent love of Christ and the Church's teachings and patriarchy and the myriad apparatus of thinking and the novelty of "better" methods of dissecting/correcting the abuses of the human mind.

Might have failed a bit on that last one.

And I suppose all that's okay too, but fuck if it all isn't a thing that requires constant attention and effort to not find yourself flying down the suburban roads you inhabit and picking out the telephone pole into which you will pilot your vehicle, unseatbelted and at a very rapid speed, when you finally get sick of all of it. 

In Which a Reticence is Shattered

The inherent capitalist in all of us.

My boy turned seven this past May and it's been an insanely stupid and timorous emotional ride as I've watched him through his larval stage. He's at the point where the descriptor 'boy' seems fitting and I see him running about and going on his mind's adventures and kicking soccer balls and hefting sticks and finding out the true nature of his physical form and it all just fills me up with the most intense longing and pride and joy and despair. He's free in a way that I'll never be again and was too puerile to recognize when it was I who was at that critical juncture of my life. It makes a body sad to comprehend the nature of your life and the long, slow slide into senescence. 

I've taken up running again, as is my custom in the summer when the vanity of the beach calls one to parade sans shirt. In the mornings, I haul myself from the rack and stumble, sleep-eyed through the house's dawn gloaming and spill myself out into the new day's chill. It sucks. I'm stiff. I'm tired. My lungs aren't open and my hamstrings scream as I reach down toward my toes, only reaching them after some effort and I realize with ever sharpening clarity that I'm shackled to a body that's dying.

It's a hell of a thing.

Lifestyle Changes?

When the only option is suicide, how is it that we get shows like "My 600 Pound Life"? Fuck it, here's a picture.

It's an alligator, motherfuckers. All 200 million years of him.

I recently had to go to the doctor to talk to him about possible problems with my poop making machinery. He ordered some tests that should put to rest any burgeoning fears of my immediate (5 years and less) demise. 

Then, I made the colossal mistake of viewing the Wikipedia page related to colorectal cancer. Now, I am a raft of hopelessness in a sea of uncaring and brutal organismic life.

Fuck it, bros, bring on the vino. 

Ben and George Discuss Censorship

Here's two of our national treasures that we haven't seen in a while. Let's have a look at what's chapping the mythical asses of our founding fathers today.

3/2: Electric Bugaloo

You just know that armorer is going to be a dick and make them clean their rifles like, a bajillion times.

That little chaplain's assistant chick is pretty bangin' though. 

 Damn, dude, that's harsh.

There were some concerns that it could have been.

It only takes the merest of encouragement to get me to crank out more of these things. If you enjoy it, I'm glad. If not, well, that's just like, your opinion, man.

Oh Go and Fuck Yourself

Here are some comics that I made that show our fellow Devil Dogs in the 3/2 urinating on the corpses of Taliban fighters. These may make people angry, but that is okay. If you're angry it's the first step to engagement, so there's that. Personally, I have no feeling one way or the other about the 'incident' and have full faith and confidence in the Big Green Weenie's fidelity and ability to bone the everloving shit out of these Leathernecks. Oh well, such is life.

 You and all your fancy goddamn words and learnin' and lookin' down on your bros.

 No one wants to be the guy that falls out and gets picked up by the Humvee in the rear and given the silver bullet.

I never can pass up a good pun.

Fuck All of This

Here is a comic that I made. It features our old favorite, UBL, a character I have not done in a while and so he was feeling neglected and I heard him weeping not so silently in his folder on my C drive. I couldn't help but be moved. 

Anyway, Christmas time is upon us and I must now turn my fevered attention to the construction of the yearly Toche Christmas letter. 

Okay, I Got Lazy Like A Sumbitch

Anyone else here divine the terrible omen that our future is just a mid-season rehash of the pilot "Homo sapiens, That's Not What My Wife Would Say."

Here's the rest of the shit that no one else is looking at so I can be done with it. Pilot episode here. 

Not Shit All To Do For The Next Five Days

I'm looking at a T-give (yeah, I'll resurrect that shit from the Ghost of Bloggings Past) with a high temperature of 70 plus and I'll take this opp (I'm calling opportunities opps from now on [Laid off from your career of 10 years? There's an opp for that. Kaboom.]) The only shitty thing (possible opp) to come from this is that the dogs still accrue ticks like a whore does chancres.

Comics, you say? Providing-eth. Arc-eth begotten here.

WANTCHU TO MAKE ME FEEL

So, yeah. Or should I say, "YEARGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH". Still haven't gotten over that Howard Dean moment. Here is the continuation of the Duke and Rusty saga. 'Bout to post mad grabbage on this here blog, son. 

Apparently some peeps from Russia or Burkina Faso like to check this out. 

Cool Story Co. starts here. 

Pretty Sure This Is A Solid Macro Plan

#OTPL

It's a DOUBLE DIP

The Lord is always looking out for his hos. 

Someone should get this guy some therapy, like, post haste.

Here are some new comics and if I'm not lazy enough, I will post up the continuation of Duke and Rusty later, but now I's gots to write!