Category Archives: humor

Hope Comes From Science

Of late I have been rather obsessed with the coming darkness. Death. Ragnarok. Mass extinction of all life on Earth. My own situation as a pessimist quickly approaching the end of my own personal life has probably colored my obsession to a very large degree. And I should point out, my own prognosis is not going to change for the better. I do not have the financial power to prevent the problems I already have using modern effective healthcare. I am personally doomed. But even though the whole world seems easily as doomed by climate change, that doesn’t mean everyone shares my sad fate. There are potential solutions to the problem that only require the people who do have the financial power to fix it to decide that life on Earth has more value than their personal wealth and privilege. (Uh-oh… there’s a dependence on goodness where it seems like none actually exists.)

I often turn to science and books by very smart people to give me ideas that comfort me and give me hope. I recently did some binging on YouTube’s Answers With Joe. He does an excellent job of providing answers to things that worry me underpinned with scientific facts.

Thomas Malthus (from Wikipedia)

I have been worried about the environment from the times in high school science class when we learned about Paul Ehrlich and his book The Population Bomb.

Then we were learning about how the overpopulation of the Earth and its attendant need to produce food for all those people threatened massive famine, resource scarcity, and eventual extinction for humans. It was pointed out that, at the time in the 1970s, we were using chemical fertilizers and pesticides on the fields in Iowa to increase yields that would not only pollute the water and air in Iowa, but would eventually make its way through the watershed system into the oceans where it would overstimulate the algae and create an ocean environment throughout the world devoid of oxygen, fish, and all other lifeforms. I could see the threat and the validity of the science that Ehrlich had done.

Paul Ehrlich

I learned, over time, that population stresses do not necessarily cause extinction events in a matter of decades. The 1980s came and went and we were not extinct, despite eight years of Ronny Ray-gun, the jelly-bean president, and massive success in increasing food production. As Joe does an excellent job of explaining in the video above which you didn’t watch, population problems proved at least partially self-correcting. Families generally slowed their growth rate as health and wealth improved and made them more productive, more intelligent, and better able to support the heavy layer of living people that now covered the Earth.

Recently I became obsessively and pessimistically concerned with the dire predictions of environmental scientist Guy McPherson. I do recognize that his work reflects the extremist point of view among climate scientists, but ;there are a number of facts that he presents that are irrefutable in the same way as the arguments of… Paul Ehrlich.

In the second video above that you also didn’t watch, Joe explains how the problem of greenhouse gasses can be undone by renewable energy, carbon capture and air-scrubbers, and the search for viable products made from CO2, helping to reverse greenhouse gasses. He also explains how chemical cooling of the atmosphere and actual planetary weather control are possible. Technology already exists to solve the climate problem. The only drawback is that somebody has to pay for it. And the people in control of that kind of financial power are all entitled low-down greedy bastards that would rather build massive survival bunkers in the Ozarks than pay for the rest of us to survive. So, there is hope, which comes not with a grain of salt, but with a giant’s saltshaker filled with rock salt. Still, it isn’t time for all of you to give up. Just me. I am the one most completely doomed.

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Filed under battling depression, commentary, farming, feeling sorry for myself, humor, insight, Liberal ideas, pessimism, sharing from YouTube, strange and wonderful ideas about life

When the Captain Came Calling… Canto 9

Canto Nine – What a Witch Wants

The house was called the Gingerbread House by all Norwall kids because back in the days of the original Pirates, the old German Lady, Grandma Gretel had lived there.  She had been a survivor of Bergen Belsen concentration camp during World War II, and was so full of life as a result that she baked endless piles of gingerbread to feed to the local kids.  She had treated them like her own grandchildren, the grandchildren that she would never have otherwise, thanks to the dragons of the Third Reich in Nazi Germany.

Mazie Haire had bought the Gingerbread House in an estate sale after the old German Lady had passed away with no heirs.  Not only did the mysterious Ms. Haire move in, but she totally changed the fundamental nature of the place.  It still looked like a gingerbread house on the outside, except for the horrible face on the door knocker, but the inside was like a Gothic horror novel.   The walls were now bare gray brick, like the inside of a medieval dungeon.  The wall that once separated the living room from the kitchen had been knocked out, leaving only a support pillar in the center of the big room.  The fireplace had been expanded into a considerable hearth, all of gray stone.  In the center of the hearth was a massive black cauldron where she apparently did all her cooking.  In fact, Val knew that she would only use specific kinds of wood under that cauldron because Daddy Kyle had made the mistake of offering to sell her wood for her fireplace a couple of years ago.  She had made him search all over Iowa for the amount of dogwood she needed and for sweetbriar that turned out not even to be from a tree.  She wanted the apple-scented flowering plants with hooked thorns to burn in her fireplace, but the ones she planted in the yard of the Gingerbread House wouldn’t be ready to harvest for two years.  After he finished that difficult job for her, he never volunteered to do such a thing again… even though she always seemed to have plenty of money and offered to make it worth his while.

“Hold that ice pack on the lump, girl,” Mazie said when Valerie accidentally let it slide a little to one side.

“Thanks for helping us,” mumbled Danny, “but if Val is better, shouldn’t we be going?  I mean… err… you are going to let us go, right?”

Danny glanced nervously at the silent black cauldron on the hearth.

“Afraid I’m gonna cook ya and eat ya, are ya?”  Mazie cackled softly.

“No, um… “

“Don’t you worry none, Danny Murphy,” Mazie said.  “I don’t need your pushy old mommy meddling in my business any more than she already does, so I believe I won’t eat you and give her reason to fret.  I have baby-sat for your little sisters and brothers.  I didn’t eat them, did I?  Cooking don’t make Murphy’s taste any better than they do uncooked.  I’m likely to get food poisoning.”

“You don’t really eat people do you?” asked Valerie, nervously.

“I might eat you, sweet girl.  Especially if you go around committing sins like spying through people’s windows.”

“You’re one to talk!” growled Danny, “with that telescope of yours in the attic room.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes, child.  Get yourself up to the attic and see for yourself.”

Mazie pulled the folding ladder down from the ceiling.  She forced both kids to go up, at the same time forcing Val to press the cold pack against the aching lump on the side of her head.  She followed them up.

The telescope itself was fairly large.  It sat on its tripod in the middle of the single upstairs room.  It was pointed out of the dormer window.  It was pointed up at the sky.

“That is not a spy telescope.  It’s a stargazer.”

Valerie looked all around her at the many pictures on the walls.  Most of them were fanciful drawings of constellations done in colored marker, and using both five and six-pointed stars.

“Well, you could point it at windows in people’s houses, couldn’t you?”

“Sure I could.  Try it young Murphy.  Find a window to point it at.”

Danny took hold of the telescope and pointed it more towards the buildings that faced the Gingerbread House on that side.  There was the back side of the Fire Station.  There was also the back side of the Post Office, Kingman’s Grocery, the old Brenton Bank, Victor Martin’s Bar and Grille, and Stewart’s Hardware store.  He could also see the ground under the water tower and the front corner of old Cecily Dettbarn’s front porch.

“Not much to see, huh?”

“Well…  If the windows were open…”

“How many windows do you count, boy?”

“Not counting the windows on the Dettbarns’ porch?” asked Danny.

“Not counting them…”

“Two.”

“One is the window in the back room of the fire station, and the other is on the back side of the Hardware Store.  And, as you can plainly see, that one got broken a few years back and is covered from the inside with wood and cardboard.”

“Yeah, um…”

“There’s no x-ray vision knob on there anywhere, is there?”

“No, ma’am.”

“There most certainly is not.  I do not use that thing for spying on people.”

“But my dad says you are always up here watching everything with this during the day.”

“I don’t generally watch people.  Here, look at these.”  Mazie opened a drawer in the sideboard and pulled out a sketchbook.  It was filled with pictures of dogs and cats.  Mostly different pictures of one dog and one cat… one very ugly cat.

“That’s Billy Martin’s dog,” said Danny.  “That’s Barky Bill.  I don’t know the cat, though.  It’s a really ugly cat!”

“The cat’s true name is Scraggles,” said Mazie.

“True name?” Valerie asked, “what’s a true name?”

“It is said, mostly by me, that if you know a cat’s true name, the name he calls himself, then you can divine that cat’s thoughts and personality.  Scraggles is what you might call a devil cat.  He is somewhat evil and works to further the causes of Chaos.”

Danny looked knowingly at Val as she continued to hold the ice against the throbbing half of her head.  “A witch, right?” he whispered.

“You may call me a witch,” Mazie said as if she heard Danny clearly in spite of the whisper, “but people who have the knowing are important to the community.  They can steer you down the road where your destiny lies.”

“Erm, sorry, Miss Haire,” muttered Danny.  “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Yep,” said Mazie, almost to herself, “If there is one admirable quality about that Mary Murphy with her great big personality and loud ways, it’s that she is good at teaching her children to be sorry about the wicked things they do.  Now, if only she could do the same for that vile old grandpa of yours.”

Danny frowned at that.  Val almost laughed at the change in emotion on his face… flustered embarrassment to confusion to indignation to almost speaking out, and back to flustered again.

“So you don’t spy on people with the telescope,” said Valerie.  “How is it that you seem to know so much about the people in this town, then?”

“It’s the knowing.  You are a clever young girl and could have it too if you just paid more attention to what you are seeing.  Try it.  Use it to solve the mystery of Billy Martin.  He needs you two, you know… just not in the way you believe now because of what you thought you saw.”

“How do I use it?” asked Valerie, wrinkling her nose in disgust.  “I don’t know how it works.  I don’t even know what it is, or what you mean when you say it.”

“Try it on the cat.  On the way home.  Look old Scraggles in the two mismatched eyes.  Try to figure out what he’s trying to tell you.  If you can do that, you can begin to use the knowing as a force for good in the world.”

Val nodded as if she were agreeing, though, in reality, she was merely anxious to get away from this strange old lady.  She didn’t even care anymore if she ever found out the answer to what a witch wants.                                                                               

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Plumbing the Darkness

There is a dark future hanging over us all. No, I am not simply trying to bring you down with the idea that we all will face death sooner or later. I am going to bring you down with an all-encompassing dread. Because, of course, that’s what humorists do. We try to introduce uncomfortable truths into your lives with a suddenly-revealed truth that takes you by surprise and leaves you with nothing you can do about it but laugh… laugh insanely.

Here’s a bummer. The government of the United States is dissolving into chaos because corrupt people have taken over all the political power due to the fact that they are legally allowed to spend whatever amount of money they want to change the laws and the people who make them.

And this did not begin with President Pumpkinhead. It has been a while since a Mr. Smith could go to Washington and actually make a dent in the armored juggernaut of evil. Why do you think nobody in the President’s party is working to remove him in spite of the clear evidence of corruption in how he incompetently goes about not doing the job he was elected to do?

I often turn to Answers with Joe on YouTube to make myself feel infinitely worse about these things. This video does a good job of explaining how stupid people like me are doing it wrong, not learning to field a meteor shower of informational fly balls that burn holes through your figurative baseball glove and the hand inside it if you actually catch one. And because we don’t know how to fact-check what we’re seeing inside our Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram bubbles that are built out of malevolent algorithm-directed soap, we have all failed to learn how to learn and protect ourselves from infectiously poopy facts. We have all become stupid people and are the ones Goofy Dave makes fun of in the cartoon above. And if you think that makes you feel bad, remember that I was once a teacher. What you haven’t learned is, at least in part,, my fault.

And it gets worse. Suppose for a moment the Mayan calendar wasn’t wrong about the world ending in 2012, but merely has a typo in it. Maybe it was supposed to say 2021. Ice in the Arctic will soon be gone from the global warming that stupid people don’t believe is established science. All of the carbon locked in the bottom of the Arctic sea and in the permafrost of the Northern Hemisphere will soon be free to enter the atmosphere as carbon dioxide and will be capable of turning our planet into Venus with thousand degree temperature days on the surface of the earth. I hate to say this, but my air-conditioner can’t handle that. Neither can yours.

But I am not like George Carlin, using humor to make you feel so low you have to look up to see the soles of your shoes and then leaving it there after the last black-humor joke-bomb has burned away your sole… er, soul. There is still hope. A massively important breakthrough in technology, or, more likely sociology, will have to be made and implemented really fast. And it will require some magnificently genius-level smart folks to do some magnificently genius-level problem-solving. But there are still very smart people on this planet. And they can’t all be corrupt, can they? And I really can’t imagine they have anything more important to do right now than save all life on the planet. But we can do our part too, you and I. We need to notice all this darkness around us, and light some danged candles!

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Filed under angry rant, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, humor, irony, Paffooney

Magic Man

My daughter, seen here in this oil painting of me and her, she’s the one trying to talk to the spirit elk in a previous lifetime, has started painting oil paintings. She started with a picture of a small cactus growing in sand. I have to admit, when she showed it to me for the first time, I thought it was a green basketball. But she has worked out the details since and it is beginning to actually look like a cactus. Now, you might think I was making fun of her in this post, calling her an oil painter who makes cactuses into green basketballs, and using my oil painting of a nude and overly-white Native American girl to illustrate her, but actually, this post is praising her abilities. She is already a much better watercolorist than I will ever be. And she is learning to paint green basketballs… er, cactuses, in oil paint at a much faster rate than I ever did. This semi-competent oil painting of mine took many practice paintings and many years to achieve. Far slower than her mastery of the medium coming into focus before her eighteenth birthday. And besides, she is leading the sacred spirit elk into the safety of the lake and away from the stormy darkness of the background, while I, as my Native American self, can stand hamming it up and looking at the artist as I have my vanity-project portrait done in oil paint.

Okay, so this is not a perfect essay, and it is not 500 words. But painting in oils and trying to be a real artist is hard enough without you criticizing. Be kind in the comments, or I might cry.

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Filed under daughters, humor, irony, nudes, oil painting, Paffooney, self portrait

Hidden Kingdom (Chapter 2 adding page 15)

If you would like to see the complete Chapter One again, here is the link; https://catchafallingstarbook.net/2018/11/24/hidden-kingdom-chapter-1-complete/

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When the Captain Came Calling… Canto 8

Canto Eight – Strange Sounds from the Martin House

The Martin house on Elizabeth Avenue was a very square and Republican sort of Victorian-style house.  It was Methodist plain and practical.  Yet, there was a very unfortunate aura of trouble hanging over it now.  It had been super respectable in the old days as the Campbell house, but now it seemed more like the brooding sort of place where murderers might live.  Val and Danny watched it from the safety of the hollyhock stand in the neighbors’ yard.

“Do ya think anybody is in there?” Valerie whispered.

“Yeah.  The car is out back by the shed, and it’s too early in the day for the bar to be doing much business.  The old Vicar ain’t there.  But Billy’s dad and aunt will both be there.”  The Vicar was what everybody at the bar called Victor Martin.  A vicar was a British preacher or something, and everybody told their troubles to Victor Martin at the bar… that explained the name as far as Valerie knew.  And the names sounded almost the same.  Iowans weren’t really that clever about nicknames.

“And Billy?”

“Yeah, he would be there.  I don’t know where in the house, though.  I’m not ready to go knock on the windows anywhere.”

“Knock on the windows?  Really?”

“We aren’t going to the front door and knocking, are we?  That’s what the old witch wants.”

“Do you think you could lift me up high enough to look in the side windows on the West side?”

“Yeah, maybe.  But that would be like spying or something.”

“Well, isn’t that the kind of thing Pirates do?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

They walked over to the window on the West side of the house.  Both of them were hunched over when they walked and extremely careful about being quiet, as if walking in that silly manner somehow made them harder to see or hear as they trampled the lawn in broad daylight.

“Okay,” said Danny, “You sit on my shoulders and I’ll lift you up so you can see.”  Danny got down on all fours and Valerie put one leg on each side of his head.  He wobbled like a scarecrow in the wind as he strained to lift her up.  His hands gripped her thighs tightly, but if he had wobbled too far in one direction, then he would’ve merely succeeded in dropping her to the ground head-first.

“Careful, there, Buckaroo.  You’re gonna drop me.”

“I got you, Val.  I will never let you fall.”

After almost falling at least two more times, Val finally got a look into the first-story sitting room.   Richard Martin, in all his raggedy glory, was lying on the couch watching TV.  He had on a stained and dirty-looking T-shirt, boxer shorts, and he had an open can of beer balanced on his ample stomach.   He was a blonde man with a very ugly face, and he looked rather drowsy as he watched what seemed to be the Phil Donahue Show.

Suddenly there was a loud banging sound coming from somewhere below, possibly in the basement.

“Damn that stupid brat!” Richard cried out suddenly.  “He’s beating up the damn house again!   Kelly!  Stop that kid from breaking stuff!”

“He’s your bratty kid.  You stop him, stoopid!”

“I locked him up in the basement again to keep him outta our hair!  But maybe you gotta go down there with your old broom and swat him around a little.”

“Well, if he’s in the basement, he can’t hurt much.  Everything in the basement belongs to either Billy or Vic.”

“You have a point.  We don’t care that much about Victor’s stuff, do we?”

“I don’t.  But he’s your son.  You can do the explaining later.”

Then they all heard a power saw grinding through wood, both the residents who were supposed to be there and the Pirates who were spying.

“Good gawd, Richard.  That little creep might be gonna cut us all up and eat us some night.”

“I know he ain’t supposed to use that saw, but it belongs to Vic.  So, we’ll let him get it away from the brat.”

The sounds of a hammer and nails came next.  Valerie looked down near Danny’s feet and noticed the grimy cellar window was open a crack.

“What’s going on?” asked Danny in a hoarse whisper.

“Billy is locked in the basement, and he is building something to take revenge on his family.”  Valerie almost didn’t believe it herself.  Billy was the kind of kid who would curl up in a ball and mew like a kitten if you just looked at him too long at a time.  Valerie never took him for an ax murderer before.  But you never knew about those quiet and meek ones.  You never knew what they were really thinking.

“I see you didn’t take my advice.”

Valerie fell on her head and briefly saw stars.  It was possible Danny had dropped her.

“Oh, no!  You made me kill the most beautiful little girl ever born in Norwall!” Danny cried.

“Pick her up and bring her with you.  Follow me.”

As Valerie shook her head to shake the cobwebs and sand out of her ears, Danny fumbled around picking her up from the ground and soon had her on her feet.

“Quickly now, before those two horrible harpies come out to see about all the ruckus in their yard.  You are both trespassing.”

To Valerie’s utter horror, Danny was following the old witch Mazie Haire, and dragging her, wobbly-legged, toward the witch’s own Gingerbread House.

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When the Captain Came Calling… Canto 7

Canto Seven – Of Witches in Little Iowa Townships

Old Missus Rubelmacher was most definitely a witch in Valerie’s estimation.  Miss Rubelmacher had been teaching Science forever at Belle City.  She taught it in both the Elementary and the Junior High.  Valerie had the extreme bad luck to have her for the one and only fifth-grade class she taught.  And single old maid teachers who taught Science were definitely witches when they made you learn the scientific names of ten butterflies and recite them by memory.  Ten Lepidoptera!  Who in their right minds was ever going to need to know that a Danaus Plexippus was a Monarch Butterfly?  She ought to get an F on purpose just to let the old witch know how stupid that was.   Homework on a holiday weekend on top of it all.

But Valerie always made A’s in Science.  That wasn’t about to change.

Still, after hating the old witch all the way home on Milo’s bus, she rode on into town with Danny Murphy.  Milo, the crotchety old bus driver, never seemed to mind carrying her on into town when he stopped at the end of her family’s lane… as long as she told him she was going with Danny.  Milo probably thought she was Danny’s girlfriend, the way he always smirked when she told him about going into town.  But that was no never-mind…  She had no interest in Danny as a boy.  Only as a friend.  Only as the one person in the world that she could really tell secrets to because she had seen him naked and could embarrass him royally if he ever told anyone else.

“Why are you coming into town today, Val?” Danny asked.  They were sharing a seat in the middle of the bus, as they often did.  Val waited until they were both off the bus to answer.  They walked past the Post Office together.

“Well, I’m a Norwall Pirate, now.  I have responsibilities.  We are going to try to get Billy Martin into the gang, right?”

“Yeah.  Billy needs some friends.  He has a sorta tough life.”

Valerie nodded.  Church ladies were always tutting their tongues about the horrible, sinful Martin family.  Victor Martin, the head of the family, owned the bar that was once the Uptown Café in the middle of Norwall’s Main Street.    Sinful things happened there.  There was drinking beer, playing pool, a lot of bad language, drinking beer, women who couldn’t be trusted around other peoples’ husbands, and did drinking beer come up already?  In the middle of it all was a long-haired, mostly unwashed boy who was made of spindly sticks and always looked like a lost puppy that someone had recently kicked.  Billy was the son of Richard Martin, the extra-lazy brother of Victor.  The sister of the two Martin brothers, Kelly Martin, was the closest thing that Billy had to a mother in the house, though Valerie was pretty sure that she was not the boy’s real mother.

“We need to do some research about Billy,” Val said like an expert.  “We need to find out more about him.  He doesn’t talk to you much, does he?”

“I don’t think he talks much to anybody.”

“How do we ask him to be a Pirate, then?” Valerie asked.

“You go right up to him, introduce yourself politely, and just ask,” said a grating voice from behind Valerie.  The girl immediately turned to catch the amused glint in the glittering eyes of the dreaded Mazie Haire.

“You were listening to our conversation?” Valerie asked as a sort of justified accusation.

“Of course I was,” said the gray-haired, gimlet-eyed hag.  Truth be told, Valerie was deathly afraid of the old Haire woman.  She was as scary as Dracula’s coffin on Halloween.    Of course, everyone had her pegged as a real witch… a thing that Mazie Haire took no trouble to deny.

“What business is it of yours?”

The old woman bored holes in both kids’ souls with her eyes.  She was a scary and formidable woman.

“I am an old woman who doesn’t tell lies.  I have a lot of knowing.  I see things, and I don’t forget.  This boy you are talking about does indeed need your help.  But it’s not for the reasons you think.  You need to forget about these stupid little kids’ games you and these other little Pirates keep playing.  You need to actually see what you are looking at.”

Valerie was completely at a loss for what to say.  She just nodded at the old crone stupidly, like she agreed to whatever was being asked of her.

Apparently that satisfied old witch Mazie Haire.  She nodded.  Smiled a tight-lipped and thoroughly scary smile, and walked away.

“What was that about?” Valerie asked Danny.

“She’s mysterious,” Danny said.  “It is hard to know what she is really up to.  They say she spends most of her waking hours in the attic room of that gingerbread house of hers and looks out the window at us all through her little telescope.  She watches people.  She creeps me out.”

“Do you suppose she’s right about just going up to Billy and introducing ourselves… and say what we want?”

“Well… she has a good point about the direct approach… but she’s a witch, you know.  Do you really want to do what a witch wants?  Especially if she’s a wicked witch.  Do you want to do what a wicked witch wants?”

Valerie grinned at her awkward, silly-sounding friend.  “What a witch wants?   You sound silly when you say that.”

“Yeah.  I guess I do.”

“But silly or not… I think you are right.”

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Hidden Kingdom (Chapter 2 through page 13)

Here’s the next update to the old graphic novel;

If you would like to review Chapter 1, use the following link. https://catchafallingstarbook.net/2018/11/24/hidden-kingdom-chapter-1-complete/

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Whaa Diddy Doo?

Mixed messages of ironic intentions

Yesterday I had the most views in a single day for Catch a Falling Star that I have ever had. 126 different people looked at things 329 times on my blog. And that seems to be solely because of my Valentine’s Day post from a year ago in which I wrote about all the goofy, funny, and unintentionally inappropriate Valentines I remembered from my childhood in the 1960s. It didn’t get that kind of interest last year when I originally posted it. But this year, goofy and weird is apparently in vogue again.

So, that’s basically good news for me. I am a vast repository of goofy and weird.

If you don’t believe me, you could buy one of my books and prove it to yourself. In fact, if you are a member of Amazon Prime, you can get a Kindle version of a Mickey novel for free.

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Cartoonity

“My name is Michael Beyer, and I am an amateur cartoonist.”

“Hi, Michael!” says the entire group of CA group-therapy participants.

(CA stands for Cartoonists Anonymous.)

Doofy Fuddbugg

“I have to admit, I am guilty of giving in to the urge to draw cartoons. I know how it can fill lives with slapstick pain and derisive laughter, and I give in to the urge anyway.”

“So, what did you draw that you have to be ashamed of now?” asked one mad-eyed cartoonist with a pencil lodged behind each of his large ears.

“I made a very unfortunate video to post on YouTube that was supposed to be How-to-draw Cartooning. But everything went wrong. You couldn’t see my drawings in the video. It was not adequately lit. I look like a doofus (which probably can’t be cured) in the video. And instead of thinking twice or editing it, I posted it anyway.”

“Wow!” said a rather ugly cartoonist lady, “that is really bad. You have a seriously bad case of cartoonity.”

“Cartoonity?” I responded stupidly.

“The condition of needing love for your cartoons so bad that you will risk anything to make people look at them and like them,” said the wise group therapist (who looked an awful lot like Chuck Jones, though I am fairly sure Chuck Jones is now dead).

“Yes, I suppose that’s about the size of the problem,” I said. “I have been posting pages from my graphic novel, Hidden Kingdom, and I really haven’t seen more than one comment about it. Do people actually read cartoons and comics nowadays? Or is it just me that gets ignored?”

“You have to focus on how much you love drawing and doing it just for that reason, and nothing beyond that,” said the wise therapist. “Cartooning should be done for its own sake, and nothing more than that. Craving attention and approval for it can get seriously infected and become a bad case of cartoonititis. How do you think I dealt with it when I was still alive?”

At that point, my eyes popped out of my head in disbelief and my lower jaw fell all the way to the floor. Could he really be…?

And so I must end today’s blog post since it is hard to keep typing when your eyeballs are rolling around on the floor.

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Filed under artwork, autobiography, cartoons, cartoony Paffooney, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney