Cartoonist Super Powers

I call myself a cartoonist because I draw stuff and use it for crap that makes a point about stuff or makes people laugh at other stuff… and maybe qualifies as a super power.

I really am not always sure about the super power stuff… but my dog and I got into an argument yesterday about doggy duties.  I was insisting that a dog should earn her keep.  Work for her food and the obedience of all the humans in the house when it comes to following her commands about taking her for walks, picking up her poop in the park, and allowing her to chew up my car keys without punishing her because they smell like me, and make her think about me, and so she has to chew the electronic automatic un-locker-thingy until it is in plastic shards because… well, she loves me so much.  I wasn’t asking for much.  I just ask that she help the security in the household by eating any burglars that come in to steal our precious stuff (precious in the sense of sentimental value only… unless thieves have developed a market for VHS tapes and television sets fifteen years out-of-date.)  So she was sulking.

When the burglar came in… burglars always come in when they have something going for them like the dog sulking… the dog didn’t eat him.  So he came upstairs to the room where I was working on cartoons.

“Gee, you have a lot a worthless crap,” the burglar said.

Startled by the fact that the burglar thought all my worthless crap was nothing more than worthless crap, I turned to my drawing table and quickly drew a gun.

“Okay, you have the drop on me,” said the burglar, using an old TV cliche.  When he raised his hands over his head, I could clearly see that he had boobs.  He was a she!

“You are a woman!” I said, displaying my quick and wily wit… rather slowly.

“Don’t shoot!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t shoot a woman.  It ain’t the honorable thing to do.  Now take off all your clothes.  We will make a little whoopee and then I will let you go.”

“But I’m not a woman!  I am a guy burglar who likes to wear dresses and fake boobs.  Besides, this is open-carry Texas where every house has an NRA member with semi-automatic weapons and a law that allows you to shoot anyone of any age if they step on your property… but they generally don’t shoot women.”

I didn’t believe her… so I took the eraser end of my pencil and erased her clothes.  She was, in fact, a man!

“I don’t believe this,” I said.  “Do you get away with this trick often?”

“I never seem to get away with it,” he said sadly.  “In fact, there was a house full of Bubbas that I tried to rob unsuccessfully two months ago… and now the pregnancy test kit says I’m pregnant.”

I gave him all the money I had (about $0.37), some spare clothes I had meant to give to Goodwill, and sent him on his way.

The dog bit him on the way out.