Tag Archives: artwork

August 16, 2015 · 2:04 pm

Homely Art – Amos Sewell

Still being under the weather and filled with sinus head-pain, I decided to go back to a subject I love so much that the post will simply write itself. You know I love Norman Rockwell and his art, and I fervently believe that kind of mass media oil-painting does not put him in a lesser category than Rembrandt or Michelangelo or Raphael or any other painter with a ninja turtle namesake. He is a genius, and though he is not a realist in so many ways, his work is more truthful than practically any other kind of painting. If you are taken by surprise and didn’t know I had this passionate obsession, maybe you should go back and look at this post; Norman Rockwell

Now that I got that out of my system, here is another Saturday Evening Post artist that is often confused with Rockwell. His name is Amos Sewell.

Sewell was an amateur tennis player who was talented enough to win tournaments. He was an employee of Wells Fargo who was headed towards anything but an art career until he decided to make a leap of faith in 1930. He started as an illustrator for Street and Smith pulp fiction, and soon caught the notice of the big-time magazine markets for his art. He published art for Saturday Evening Post, Country Gentlemen Magazine, and Women’s Day.

Like Rockwell, he was able to find the funny in everyday scenes, like the dance party to the right. That young man at center stage is trying so hard not to step on the feet of the red-headed girl, that you want to laugh, but can’t because it’s obvious how embarrassed he would be, and the charm of the picture leads you to shun the thought of interrupting. The scene is so real the boy would hear you laughing as you looked at the Post cover.

More expert on this kind of art than I am is the Facebook site that I first got turned on to Sewell by. Children in Art History

They can also be found on WordPress. Children in Art History (WordPress)

There is no doubt that Amos Sewell belongs in the same pantheon of artists as Norman Rockwell, Thomas Kinkade, or Paul Detlafsen. They are all artists who achieve in their work exactly what I have always striven for. I want to be able to hold the mirror up to our world the way they did. I want to capture both the fantasy and the reality in the subject of everyday family life. I also want to share this work with you because I cannot stand the idea that such artistic ambrosia could one day be forgotten in archives where no one ever looks at it and feels the message in their heart.

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Tagged as Amos Sewell, art criticism, artwork, homely art, humor, Norman Rockwell style, philosophy, Saturday Evening Post

August 11, 2015 · 2:42 pm

R.D.G.

I have discovered treasure on Netflix.

It should come as no surprise to you that I am as enamored of Japanese Anime as any cartoonist nerd-boy has ever been.

I told you already about Astroboy and the old movie The Magic Boy (1959). Now witness my newest Anime/Manga love.

If you watched the opening in that video, you will see right away the first, best reason I have to fall in love with this moving painting, this gloriously subtle Japanese art print set to motion and music. If you like that opening sequence, you have to see the first season ending sequence as well. Izumiko slowly and elegantly walks as spine-tinglingly exquisite melancholy music plays and gallery-quality scenery behind her is interspersed with unfurling fans. You have to see it to understand what I mean. I’m sorry I did not find a YouTube version to post. But you can find it at the end of every episode you watch. Wait a minute! What do you mean you didn’t watch that opening YouTube video? Don’t make such a mistake! Go back and watch it right now! Oh, you did watch it? Okay. But go back and watch it again. Believe me, it is that good.

My sister Mary, the archery coach, may guffaw at the way Miyuki draws his bow, but, hey! That’s actually the way the Japanese teach it. Everything in this cartoon show is stunningly realistic. And everything is subtly building up to a story that is wholly surreal and unbelievably touching. Look at how it combines with popular music in this YouTube highlight reel;

It is filled with wizards and warlocks, spirit creatures and Japanese nature goddesses, and a conviction that love and goodness will find a way to win out.

The story is about a young girl, Izumiko Suzuhara, who has been raised in mountainside isolation at Tamakura Shrine, an otherworldly place in a beautiful forested landscape. She has an unusual problem. She short-circuits electronic devices, burning out the school computers and breaking every new cell phone her family gives her.

A family friend visits as she is trying to make the decision whether to go to the mountain village high school or go to the Tokyo school her absent father and mysterious mother have recommended to her. The friend leaves his son, Miyuki Sagara to be her protector, though she doesn’t understand why she needs a protector, or why they have chosen a boy she has always believed hated her. He has been a bully to her in the past. But Miyuki has studied to be a yamabushi, a mountain monk, since a very young age. It turns out that Izumiko is chosen to be the vessel of a Kami, a good spirit who protects and empowers the world.

There is no way to adequately explain why this Japanese cartoon is so good and so necessary to be viewed by anybody and everybody I can put the word in with… It is one of those, “you-know-it-when-you-see-it” things.

Timeline – Finale

So how do I end this little trilogy of timeline terror? I have to fit in the remaining novel projects that are related or at least partially done. And the unrelated ones too. I have way more in the Mickian bag of tricks than I will ever have the magic-using years to actually use. The thing about wizards is that, by the time they have accumulated all the knowledge, wisdom, and arcana that it takes to do the wizardry, they are already old and near to death. How much time is left for the actual magic? I have been living this weekend in fear of imminent stroke. But I believe the random brain pain has actually turned out to be sinus problems. So here are the projects that finish the timeline and are the projects least likely to get written and published.

Connected to Catch a Falling Star is its sequel, Stardusters and Space Lizards. This is a novel I have most recently been trying to finish. I am in the home stretch at 40,000 words. It is the story of the failed Earth invaders continuing their journey to another planet, an even worse place than Earth. Galtorr Prime is the planet of the humanoid lizard people. Their world is on the very brink of extinction by global warming, toxic politics, and war. The remnants of the Telleron aliens who tried to invade Earth and their Earther-human friends not only have to make a colony for themselves here, but have to save the planet itself as well. It is a cautionary-type science fiction tale in the same comedy-young-adult-novel genre as Catch a Falling Star. It also happens in the early 1990’s (intended to mean the time on Earth which is not relevant in any case).

The next novel is Monstro, a ghost story in which the Norwall Pirates have to take on the Lonely Ones, the spirit-echoes of the crazy people of the past in a haunted farm house that awakens to feed on the living. The story is more than half written, but is looking at a near total rewrite to make it conform better with comedy young adult fiction. It is set in the mid 1990’s, around 1995.

None of my Hometown Novels will go beyond the 20th Century. Monstro is ostensibly the last of the novels.

I am a science fiction writer as well, though. The first book I ever published, Aeroquest, is set more than three thousand years in the future, at a time when the Orion Spur of the Sagittarius Spiral Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy (where Earth has its street address) is largely colonized and thoroughly inhabited. As the novel now stands (a sorry mishmash that no decent publisher would’ve ever printed) it is in need of a total re-write and make-over. It is a novel that I humorously say is about teachers in space… though I do realize that “humorously” has to be qualified as a big bald-faced lie.

So this is run-down in time order of all the stuff I want to do as an author. How much gets done in reality is anyone’s best guess. Who knows? I may live another twenty years and finish at least one novel every year.

Humor Without Insults

I am not one who can stand to watch Republican debates. I know the clown car is full to busting, but I can’s stand the idea that one of those narrow-minded, fact-free, duplicitous Bozos could end up being the next president. (Or fascist dictator, when you consider what “fascist” actually means, and what former President Carter has said about the U.S. not being a democracy any more.) If one of those clowns wins it, the true power will once again reside with the unseen ring master, like it was with the rodeo-clown George W. Bush and his secret puppet-master, Dick Cheney. And I pay enough attention to know that Donald Trump was so insulting to women during the debate, that Democrats can pick Beelzebub to run as their candidate and women still won’t vote Republican.

I watched the final Jon Stewart Daily Show instead. Stewart is more liberal than I am and uses a lot more bad words than I ever could, but his humor and politics are far gentler and kinder than anything coming out of the mouths of name-calling conservatives. They uniformly say terrible and untrue things about President Obama and Hilary Clinton. They don’t hold back from calling even their own Senate leader a liar (a la Senator “Slappy Happy” Ted Cruz.and Senator Mitch McConnell). The Donald is a master of the crude and inappropriate slam. Look at the unfounded claims he made against Mexicans and the cowardly way he impugned the honor of Senator John McCain. Jon Stewart mocks them by taking their own actual statements and putting them beside the verifiable facts to show the absurdity of their political beliefs and goals without casting insults. Yes, I love his turtle voice for aping Mitch McConnell, but there is a gentleness to his wit that shows affection for his subjects rather than laying waste to their psyches with crude insults and unfounded accusations.

I had to learn the kind of humor I’m extolling here as a classroom teacher. You cannot believe how fragile the little animals can be when you resort to calling them names. A growing, developing, vulnerable psyche cannot take the random bash and cruel cut the way an adult can (though even an adult shouldn’t have to). You have to learn to be funny by the surprising imagery you use, the comparisons with funny things, and the flat out absurd. And self-deprecating humor is the only kind of insult you can actually get away with. (I even learned that when a student grows to love and respect you too much, even insulting yourself to make a point is out the window.)

Humor definitely has its uses in the classroom. This classroom poster was used both to teach students how to write a quatrain of twin couplets, and also to teach them that classroom discipline was a matter of teaching them how not to be like cockroaches. I am not directly calling them cockroaches. Instead I am telling them that if they choose to use the thoughtless and rather dumb behaviors that are against classroom procedure, they are choosing to be like roaches. Of course, there is always the classroom clown like Steve-O Whoopsadoodle (not his real name, but a name he called himself) who glories in being like cockroaches. You also have to learn to laugh at them politely and give them their few minutes of fools’ fame.

So, to sum it all up, humor is a very useful thing in running the world and teaching things to others. It is why I always go for the joke in my writing. The place I am at doesn’t always have to be the happiest place on Earth, but it is a lot funnier and happier without the cruel and biting insult. (Sorry about earlier, George, you old rodeo clown). And if we can just be a little nicer to each other when we make fun, it might turn out to actually be fun. (You are welcome to find all the gaffs and mistakes I made in the old drawing above. I was still learning my craft in 1980. But please don’t call me names over it. I have had all the blue I can handle for one week. I used up the last of it in this last Paffooney.)

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, writing humor

Tagged as artwork, humor, insults and humor, old drawings, Paffoonies, teaching, writing humor

July 28, 2015 · 2:51 pm

Astroboy and His Better World

Here is the finished Astroboy Paffooney.

When I was a boy in Iowa, growing up in the 1960’s, I remember being seriously infected by the notion that true heroes were like Astroboy. I watched the show on a black and white Motorola TV every day at four after we got home from school. Astro could fly. He was super-strong. He could battle the evil monsters and machine men from my worst nightmares and always come out the winner. And though he was a robot, he was a boy like me. I thought a lot about Astroboy and I played Astroboy games with my friend Lester in our back yard. The theme song played over and over in my head.

The Astroboy March
Music by Tatsuo Takei; Lyrics by Don Rockwell

There you go, Astroboy, on your flight into space.
Rocket hi—-gh, through the sk—-y
For adventures soon you will face.
Astroboy bombs away,
On your mission today,
Here’s the count—-down,
And the blast—-off,
Everything is go, Astroboy!
Astroboy, as you fly,
Strange new worlds you will spy,
Atom ce—-lled, jet pro—-pel—-led
Fighting monsters high in the sky,
Astroboy, there you go, will you find friend or for,
Cosmic ran—-ger, laugh at dan—-ger, everything is go, Astroboy!
Crowds will cheer you, you’re a he—-ro, as you go, go, go, Astroboy!

What can I say? I was a stupid child with an imagination easily manipulated by television. My world consisted of Astroboy every afternoon, Red Skelton on Wednesday nights, and Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday evenings. I cried for the Astroboy characters who sometimes suffered and died during the adventure. I cringed when Astrogirl stumbled into danger. But I knew in my stupid heart that everything would be all right in the end.

When President Kennedy was murdered, or when the Apollo Astronauts burned, I didn’t really feel those events. I still thought a happy ending would come to save the day. I believed that I had the power to make things right the way Astroboy did. I was doomed to learn the hard way.

I had heard from my friends about weird things that a fifteen-year-old neighbor would do sometimes. I understood that he liked to “do things” to younger boys. I should have been scared to death of him. But, the cosmic ranger laughs at danger. I was ten when he caught me near his yard. He forced me down into a hidden place behind a pile of old truck tires. He got my pants and underpants down and forced me to stop fighting. I remember it as pain and shame and horror. It was a monster I never dreamed of, and no one came to my rescue.

We used to believe that the future held undiscovered treasures and wonder. We believed that when a hero was needed, one would always step forward. I wanted to be that hero. I would go forward, however, wondering if it all led to an unhappy ending. “Crowds will cheer you, you’re a hero, as you go, go, go, Mickeyboy!

(I should confess that this is an old post written in 2007. It was at a time when I was finally ready and able to talk about what happened to me 40 years before. My attacker has since died of a heart attack, and though he was never held accountable for his actions, I have forgiven him. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? Strong like Astroboy.)

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Tagged as artwork, autobiography, dark humor, Paffoonies

July 24, 2015 · 1:36 pm

How to Be a Farm Boy Without Really Trying (or Wanting To)

Farmgirl is adapted from a picture borrowed from the Belmond Area Arts Council.

I was born in Mason City, Iowa (the original River City of Meredith Wilson’s Broadway musical, the Music Man). But my parents didn’t hold with no big-city Ioway sort of life, so we eventually moved to my mother’s home town, Rowan, Iowa. It was roughly about 275 people (if you count the squirrels… which a lot of the townsfolk were… qualified squirrels). My two maternal uncles and my grand parents were busy maintaining the family farm there, and though I lived in town because Dad was an accountant for a seed corn company instead of the farmer he grew up as… I got more than my fair share of farming-type opportunity. You know the stuff… shoveling pig poo… cow poo too… I got to help feed the chickens (and get chased by roosters, and get pecked by hens when we checked their nests for eggs, and watch the rooster rodeos as revenge for all the chasings… because roosters don’t lay eggs and the only thing they are really good for in an egg farming setting is lopping their heads off, and watching them flop around like rodeo bulls with no heads for fifteen minutes until they finally figured out they were dead, then plucking ’em and watching Grandma Aldrich cook ’em). I got to drive a tractor, although they didn’t trust me to do more than the simplest of tractor-driving jobs like pulling the hay rake. I got to shovel chicken poo out of the hen house and out of the brooder house. (Notice how a lot of the world of the lowly farm boy centers somehow on poo?) It was a rustic rural life reminiscent of Norman Rockwell… although he depicted mostly town life and not as much of the fields and animal pens (and poo) that are central to Iowegian farm culture.

Brent Clarke is a me character in my stories… but also one of my farm boy friends.

Growing up a farm boy has a few advantages to go along with the many drawbacks. First off, you learn young where babies come from. Piglets and calves and puppies and kittens are not born in secret. And it doesn’t take much spying out on farm life to learn how those baby animals are made either. There is ample opportunity to learn what you are not supposed to learn at a young age from farm girls too… but we were gentlemen… and extremely embarrassed by the fact that baby people are made in the same grisly, awful way that baby animals are out in the barn.

You also learn to be somewhat self-sufficient. I learned how to tend a garden. I learned how to fix a flat. I learned how to repair a roof and build a rabbit pen. Hammer, pliers, screwdriver, saw… I learned to use them all and make stuff. Crude stuff, sure… smashed-finger-with-hammer-stuff too. I made a bookshelf in shop class that had a bit of Michael blood built into it. But I learned things that boys should know, and really don’t any more.

So, I guess I am claiming that because I am an Iowa boy… a farm boy… and despite my many short-comings and short-changings my life has been good and worthwhile… being a farm boy is good. And one of the greatest shames of the modern world is this… there just aren’t many farm boys any more.

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Tagged as artwork, autobiography, colored pencil, farm boy, humor, Iowa, Music Man, Paffoonies, Rowan

July 23, 2015 · 10:29 pm

Coloring Part 3 (Mickey Watches TV and Colors)

So, here is what it looks like now after watching The West Wing. I love that show. They do such a wonderful job of weaving story, theme, and relevant political issues together into a compelling series. It is like the very best and most poetic of the novel series. I have read two books of John Galsworthy’s Forsythe Saga, and I think the TV show is better. Of course, I realize the novels are quite old and fusty in temperment.

I now have all three main characters colored in. Dr. Elefun on the left in his pinstripe shirt, Astro in the middle, and Mr. Pompous on the right in the back seat. I have most of the cockpit of the flying car done, and must start pondering how to make it fly in this drawing. I put a piece of cardboard under the drawing and that gives it a funky ribbed effect with the colored pencil rubbed over large areas. I am enjoying this homemade coloring-book art project. I have also added 173 words.

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July 22, 2015 · 3:20 pm

Coloring

This post is about Mickey and his crayons. Little Mickey always loved to color. He always had a cigar box full of Crayola crayons that he treasured and kept where he could always reach them whenever the art urge struck. (Well, except for that one time on the drive home from Mason City, Iowa when he left them in the back window of the 1960 Ford Fairlane and the sunshine melted the entire box… tears there for about a week.)

But Mickey has grown up and graduated to colored pencils. Radical change, huh? The need to color stuff is still there. So, what do I do about it now that Mickey is a rational, responsible adult? Well, you know there is a surge in the publishing industry of adult coloring books. I think that means that Mickey is not alone in the fevered fetish to put crayons… er… colored pencils… er, some kind of color to black and white pictures with plenty of white space to fill in. This is something I do while watching television. Other adults do it during meetings, at school functions… during sex… It is something that occupies your hands and a tiny portion of your brain and fills in all the blank spaces with color. And Mickey has the added advantage of not having to buy adult coloring books because he can make his own black and white pictures to color.

So, the crayons are out… er, the colored pencils, anyway. Mickey has this new picture he drew that honors his childhood cartoon hero, Astroboy. He is going to fill it in with colors and patterns and two-or-three color blends and have a whee of a time while watching Supernatural or The West Wing or Dr. Who on Netflix. It is a hoot.

And you may be wondering why the narrator of this silly Paffooney post always refers to himself in the third person as Mickey when talking about his art? Well, no one actually calls me Mickey in real life. Mickey is the cartoon character who lives within me and controls the part of my brain and personality that paffoonies out all kinds of art. It is not complicated. Mickey is definitely me. But not everything I am is Mickey. Mickey will always be that little boy with the cigar box of crayons coloring an original picture of lions eating that bully in third grade who called him a sissy for liking coloring books.

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Tagged as artwork, coloring', humor, Mickey, paffooney, pen and ink

July 21, 2015 · 3:15 pm

The Unique Joy of Having Redneck Friends

Yes, I live in Texas… And yes, I know a redneck or two… or 600. But it is a unique joy that almost has to be shared to be believed. They do not think like I do. To them, I am just a commie, liberal, tree-huggin’ atheist with very bad hippie-hair. But not all of them are automatically unkind to me for who I am… in fact, some of them are my friends.

Now, I have to say that, being a Texan is not an advantage for making friends with rednecks. The home-grown brand of Texas Mexican-hating, gun-loving redneck are suspicious of me because I was a gol’ dang Texas edjumacator for so many years. You gotta be suspicious of anybody who teaches, cuz they want to make our children smarter than us. That’s a gol’ dang liberal trick from way-back-when. Who knows what kind of communist liberal ideas a communist liberal college edjumacated idiot wants to plant in the heads of our kids? Oh, and people who are smarter than us are all idiots, because they have all them new-fangled ideas and facts and some-such, but we got common sense. That makes us better’n them no matter how gol’ dang smart they are… gol’ dang ’em! (I can’t even write these words without hearing that South-Texas Winchuk-family-from-the-Brush-Country accent in my head.) Texas rednecks are hard to warm up to unless they’ve already reached the stage of wanting to grill your ass on the Winchuk family barbecue pit. Then it is entirely the wrong part of you that gets warmed up because they don’t accept that the word “ass” is the Biblical word for donkey.

The majority of my redneck friends are actually from Iowa. They are the people that I grew up with who knew me as a boy. They know I am intelligent all the way to insane levels of intelligence. And while they also believe their common sense trumps my intelligence, they have a soft spot in their hearts for the old egghead Superchicken they used to know in high school. They mistakenly believe I am still a Republican by nature and probably support Ted Cruz for President, because he seems like a good Christian conservative fellow. They argue with me about why they have a right to keep their guns and refuse all background checks or gun registration or licensing of guns because, sure you have to have a license to drive a car and get married because those are seriously important and potentially dangerous things, but we are talking about guns here. They argue about why I should not be offended by their Confederate flags and why I really ought to listen to Fox News because they don’t lie to you like the rest of the liberal media. And how did they get to be so sunburned on their backs of their necks and all over their political ideologies? There was a time I voted for Charles Grassley. But Republican Iowa… the Iowa of Republican Governor Robert Ray in the 70’s and President Eisenhower supporters in the 50’s… has changed right along with the entire Republican party. They are now goose-stepping along to the conservative beat of drums worthy of Hitler and Goebbels politically. But they don’t identify with fascism. They believe conservative means good and liberal means bad… so Hitler was a liberal, right? They vote in a way that allows racist-fascists like Iowa Congressman Steve King to goosestep all around the country saying ignorant and destructive things, and think that General Eisenhower wouldn’t shoot King as if the Iowa Congressman were one of the enemy were he to hear some of King’s rants in favor of the military industrial complex that Ike himself warned us against. You can’t convince them that they’re wrong. They are louder than you, and that makes them right. But I love them. I grew up with them. And I know they are too Iowa-stubborn to ever change their Iowegian minds in a direction that might actually make their lives better. So bless them and take care of them for me, Lord, because they have common sense… which makes them better than me.

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, politics

Tagged as artwork, colored marker, friends, humor, paffooney, politics, rednecks, Republicans

June 11, 2015 · 2:38 pm

Where-in Lies the Funny?

The author without his make-up and after imbibing extra caffeine.

I am attempting to be a humor writer. There’s a statement that calls for more than a little rationalization. Why would anyone want to be funny? Especially why would a manic-depressive sick-old former school teacher want to be funny and write books for young people that tackle subjects like suicide, lying, nudity, sex, trans-genderism, death, suffering, religion, alien invasions, and getting old? (Well, okay, getting old is inherently funny… especially the noises you unintentionally make from orifices and joints whenever you try to sit, move, lift, eat, or breathe.) I ask myself this question only because I need to get to 500 words and stretch out the hoopti-doo to cover up the fact that I already know the answer and it is short and simple. Joking about the things that tear your life apart is the only way to handle things and not become a serial killer. (Make that cereal killer, especially Kellogg’s cereal of any and every description. I am a very loving and accepting fool at heart and could never kill even one person… probably even in self-defense.) I recently took a Who-do-you-write-like test that I found on another blog at All Things Chronic. Here is the link; https://painkills2.wordpress.com/2015/05/31/who-do-you-write-like/

That silly little analyzer took a bit of my purple paisley prose and churned out a horror-writer answer, H.P. Lovecraft. The Lord of the Old Mad Gods and Moonbeasts is a particular favorite of mine, one of several writers whose novels I have read everything I can get my hands on. I still sleep with the lights on at night because of The Dunwich Horror, and The Shadow Over Innsmouth. I am mad with admiration for his allusions to gibbering sounds and unholy terrors that taint and transfix our lives with fear to the very marrow of the bones. I have to admit, I like the idea of being compared to him, in spite of the fact that he tries to inspire fear and madness, while I aim for goofiness and gaiety. It is a delicious irony to try always to be Mark-Twain funny while writing with a horror writer’s convoluted and dictionary-intensive style.

And don’t get the idea from my mention of him in this self-reflecting ramble through jumbled ideas that I really believe I am as funny as Mark Twain. I am not deluded or mentally ill… well, not deluded, anyway. I am still learning to make people laugh with words. And I don’t mean to be mean about it. I don’t do George Carlin F**k-the-world-style humor. I don’t even do Don Rickles-style insults. I am more in favor of gentle humor. I am not looking to call anybody names or trying to make certain folks look like Biblical-word-for-donkeys. (Not even Republicans named Rick in yesterday’s post). I want to show fictional people undergoing some of the dark things that filled my life with hurt, and doing it with the grace and good humor that only comes from a heart full of self-sacrificing love. (Gee, no wonder I find comedy hard… I have chosen the most difficult and elusive kind of humor for my art. I’d do a lot better with poo-poo jokes.) (Oh, wait, I do poo-poo jokes, don’t I. This one counts too.)

I wonder if I made a mistake yesterday in portraying Senator Ted Cruz as a lizard man from outer space. Was that a mean, name-calling sort of joke? Or was I painting him in broad, humorous strokes with my colored pencils? Once again, you can be the judge. Here’s the picture again. And you get to decide if anything I have ever said is funnier than it is just plain sad.

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Tagged as artwork, autobiography, colored pencil, goofiness, H. P. Lovecraft, humor, paffooney, writing humor

Tag Archives: artwork

Homely Art – Amos Sewell

R.D.G.

Timeline – Finale

Humor Without Insults

Astroboy and His Better World

How to Be a Farm Boy Without Really Trying (or Wanting To)

Coloring Part 3 (Mickey Watches TV and Colors)

Coloring

The Unique Joy of Having Redneck Friends

Where-in Lies the Funny?

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