Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Do Your Duty: Part 2

The plan is a simple one: To get out of Jury Duty, you’d just need to pay a fee of say . . . $200. Not too much, but not inconsequential. You would then be free to go back to your regular life, trying to run over squirrels with a monster truck.

“But wait!” some of you are shouting, scaring the people next to you. “Though I love your blog and am secretly stalking you, hoping to bear your children, what about the poor people? They can’t afford to pay $200 to get out of Jury Duty! Your plan is discriminatory! And please shift the copy of the ‘Making Money’ by Terry Pratchett on the third shelf of the bookshelf in your bedroom. It’s blocking my video feed.”

Good point, but I thought of that. Use the $200 fee to pay the jurors who DO show up! Look at it this way. Most people will pay the fee. Let’s say that 1000 people are called and 900 decide to pay the fee instead. That’s . . . crap, math . . . ummmm . . . carry the two . . . divide by pie . . . lemur something . . . about 50 bucks.

Wait, let me get a calculator. That’s actually $180,000 dollars. You could easily pay $200 bucks a day to the jurors that showed up and still have money left over. And considering you need jurors every month that would be $180,000 per month for $2,160,000 bucks a year. Bigger cities would probably make even more.

Frankly, poor people would WANT to get jury duty. People would volunteer for long cases, simply because they’d make 2k a month while doing it.

Of all the phenomenal ideas I’ve ever had, this is easily the best one. Even better than the ‘Trout Gun.’

Anyone know how to get a bill into the State Legislator?


Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Do Your Duty: Part 1

I got my mail the other day. I try not to do that too often, as there’s a high percentage chance that there will be something unpleasant there, like a bill or a really upset King Cobra. Quick word of advice: if your mailbox is actively hissing, open it away from your body.

Well, I received neither a bill nor a snake, but something arguably more dire: a summons to Jury Duty.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against doing Jury Duty. I’ve done it before and it’s an important part of our judiciary system. It’s just that its, well, getting there is a pain in the butt. The court is in Seattle, so I have to get up early and drive across the bridge, find parking, avoid the urban gorillas (Seattle’s rife with ‘em), and make it to the courthouse on time. And then, do all that backwards to get home at the end of the day.

NOTE: Seattle traffic sucks. I mean ‘commit murder’ sucks.

Now, like I said, I don’t mind the actual ‘jury’ part of jury duty. It’s actually kind of interesting. I don’t even mind waiting around to get called. I get to read and practice talking to myself (‘No! I said no muffin! Don’t you-! Get away from there! I said no muffin! And put down the ostrich!’). I’m just really dreading the drive over.

So, whilst contemplating this, I said to myself “Rutherford (which is how I address myself), there really ought to be a legally acceptable way to get out of jury duty.”

And then it hit me: what if you could pay to get out of jury duty?

Tomorrow: Part 2

Thursday, September 24, 2009

My Body Hates Me

Last night, I didn't have insomnia.


I was out like a light. I was makin’ ‘Zs.’ I was (probably) snoring like a lactose intolerant were-boar who’d just eaten an entire pizza.

I would like to say it was marvelous, but I don’t recall any of it.

So, of course, my body decided that just wouldn’t do, so I awoke at 5:17 am with a full body cramp.

Literally, my entire body went ‘crap!’ and just knotted it up. Needless to say, I woke up. I actually had to get up and walk around for a bit until things loosened up. This, of course, woke me up even more, so I didn’t really fall back asleep before getting up at 7:15 to work out.

This has led me to one conclusion: my body hates me.

I don’t know why or how, but there you go. Maybe I mistreated it in the past. Maybe I forgot to buy it flowers on our anniversary. I dunno. All I do know is that it’s bound and determined to never let me actually get a full night’s sleep.

I guess I shouldn’t complain too much. Most of the blogs come from me staring at the ceiling at 3 am thinking about things like 'Mordor’s Idol,' which would be a talent show where orcs sang. Other orcs would vote by throwing things at them, like axes and severed heads.

Needless to say, I’m going to be early tonight.

Anyway, look for a new chunk of Art the Wanderer next Sunday and the usual silliness the rest of the week. And please vote! Often! With extreme prejudice!


Wednesday, September 23, 2009


I tried yoga the other day. It was difficult in a way that was completely foreign to me. I mean, I didn’t really feel like I was doing anything, but I was still sweating like a pig staring at a ham.

B y-the-by, this was not live yoga with other people. It was a DVD yoga lesson, so I got to pause and rewind as needed. I did this liberally, mainly because the two girls in the video had magnificent butts.

Anyway, I spent a good portion of the time watching other people pull themselves into weird postures and then trying it myself. I managed to do several that I was pretty sure I couldn’t. There were a handful that I completely couldn’t do and one that I just looked at and went ‘nah.’

Now, I didn’t say ‘nah’ just because the position looked humanly impossible, but because I was alone and if I seriously hurt myself, I’d end up starving to death on my living room floor with my spine jutting out at weird angles. Granted, it wouldn’t be all bad, as I would be able to watch the girl’s bums a lot, but there’s that whole ‘death’ thing.

So, the guy on the video spent a lot of time explaining the different postures and basically doing them effortlessly and I did my best to watch as I slowly twisted my body into a variety of anatomically incorrect positions. It occurred to me though, as I watched the TV through my legs while trying to touch my left hand to my right big toe and simultaneously put my right hand on blue (a little Twister joke there), that if they wanted to market yoga to nerds, they would need a totally different approach.

And I had yet another staggeringly good idea. Yoda Yoga. This would be a series of Yoga videos where you’re being taught by Yoda while a bevy of hot Twi-lek girls (the blue or green ones with the head tendrils) do the moves.

“Assume Downward Dog you must,” Yoda would say, as the Twi-lek’s stretched on screen. “Think not on the girls. On yourself you must concentrate.”

Other characters could make cameos. Luke could demonstrate Jedi Pose. Han could do the Smuggler Stretch. Chewbacca could . . . bellow, I guess.

Anyway, now all I need to do is get George Lucas’ phone number. This could spawn a whole new world of Star Wars Workouts, like Padme's Pilates or Leia's Legs and Butt or Ewok Bashing or something.


Tuesday, September 22, 2009


I’m assuming you’re familiar with Rock-Paper-Scissors (aka Jan-Ken-Pon or Rochambeau). If you’re not, it’s a simple game where you acquire two of each object (a rock, a piece of paper, and a scissors), give one set to each person, and then when the whistle blows, you attempt to kill your opponent with one of the objects. Scissors scores one point, as it’s the easiest to kill with. Rock scores two points, and Paper scores ten points, as it’s really hard to kill someone with a single sheet of paper. No one really knows why they bother keeping score, I suppose it’s because very few people would otherwise pick Paper.

Note: Obviously, the preceding paragraph is completely false. Strangely enough, most of what I write is completely false. This paragraph itself is also likely false. It’s like a Zen koan of stupidity.

However, why Rock, Paper, and Scissors? Why those three objects? Rock and Scissors are kinda dangerous, so okay. Why Paper though? Obviously, it’s because Scissors can cut Paper, but Scissors can cut lots of thing. It could have been Rock, String, Scissors’ or ‘Rock, Pants, Scissors’ or ‘Rock, Hairball, Scissors.’

And yes, I’ve cut a hairball with scissors.

I’m just curious as to why those three things were picked. They just seem so random.

It was like some guy thought ‘Hey, I need three things that are diametrically opposed’ and glancing around his room, picked out three things completely at random. It could have been ‘Spitoon, Blunderbuss, Panties.’

Personally, I would have gone for ‘Nose, Finger, Booger.’ Obviously, Finger picks Nose, Nose blows out Booger, and Booger sticks to Finger.

It has a certain symmetry.


Thursday, September 17, 2009

Another One Bites the Dust

Well, it's Friday, meaning yet one more week has slipped into oblivion. It managed to be both a fast week and a long one, as the hours went quickly, but the days felt long.

I realize that doesn't make any sense.

We're staying busy over here at Wayfarer's Moon, working tirelessly to bring you the quality comic you've come to love or at least, adore. Like, maybe?

Anyhow, please remember to vote and be sure to tune in next Monday for the latest installment of Art the Wanderer!


Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Cthulhu Brie Fhtagn!

Okay, this one is going to take a bit of explanation.

This morning at about 5:30 am, I was lying awake in bed, an unfortunate, but common occurrence. I’d been drifting in and out of sleep for a while, my brain bumping against a variety of subjects, many of which were stupid. Okay, most of which were stupid. I have no idea why celery man and a carrot man would need to fight.

I also recall thinking about whether Batman ever goes through a drive through in the Batmobile. I mean, it’s late, he’s been fighting crime all night and he’s probably hungry. He could call Alfred and have him prepare a snack, but Alfred’s roughly 700-years old and probably needs his sleep. Batman could just whip through Taco Bell and grab a burrito or something. I dunno, I would certainly do it.

Anyway, back to the stupidity at hand.

I was then struck by a thought. Not literally, of course, as that would be weird. The thought was, and I kid you not: The Cheese of Cthulhu.

Seriously. The Cheese of Cthulhu. Does Cthulhu even eat? Does he like cheese? Is great Cthulhu lactose intolerant? Does dairy give him gas (which would explain a few eruptions throughout history – I’m looking at you, Vesuvius)?

These thoughts were enough to more or less wake me up and I lay there, watching the sunlight slowly grow on the wall, thinking about them. The great question, of course, was what kind of cheese would Cthulhu eat? I knew immediately: brie.

I just don’t like brie. I prefer a nice cheddar or jack. Boring, I know, but that what we ate when I was a kid, so there you go. The first time I saw brie, I thought there was something wrong with it. Cheese, as far as I knew, should not ooze.

But enough about me, Cthulhu (and probably many of you) likes brie.

Wow, that was probably the most random blog I’ve ever written.


Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Dental Deficiencies

I have a small announcement. It has lately come to my attention that I am a complete failure as a human being and as a man. I am, it hurts me to say, a completely useless individual, lower than even an amoeba’s poop. I hereby apologize to my friends, siblings, parents, and ancestors and to the entire world in general for my total . . . er, I need another word for ‘failure.’

Ummm, inadequacies? Deficiency? Yes, that’s it. I hereby apologize to my friends, siblings, parents, and ancestors and to the entire world in general for my absolute and irredeemable deficiencies.

You see, my teeth aren’t perfectly white.

Oh, they’re not yellow-ochre or anything. They’re a bit dark and there are some spots from a dental procedure gone bad, but it’s not like they’re so black light can’t escape from my mouth.

NOTE: That was a weird mental image.

It’s just that all the commercials I’ve seen suggest that if your teeth aren’t perfectly white, you will never be able to get a date, buy a home, have good credit, get a promotion or raise, or even be considered for evacuation in event of a massive urban crisis.

I suppose I’m just lucky that I don’t have to carry a staff with a bell on it and shout ‘Bad Teeth!’ to any who might come near.

So, if you happen to see me at a comic convention, at the store, or y’know, anywhere, feel free to shun me like you would someone wearing half a raccoon on their head. I will totally understand.


Thursday, September 10, 2009


I happened to watch an old Jackie Chan film the other day. It’s known as either The Big Brawl or Battle Creek Brawl and basically, Jackie beats up thugs in 1930s-ish Chicago.

NOTE: The film has a rather involved plot (for a kung-fu movie), but it’s basically an excuse to watch Jackie Chan beat up people in period costumes. Arguably, plots in kung-fu movies are largely there for show, as you don’t watch them for the story or acting, but to see men and women acrobatically hurt each other with various parts of their anatomies and occasionally, swords and/or sticks.

Now it’s not just that Jackie spends his time beating up thugs, it’s that he beats up the same thugs repeatedly. He fights the same group of guys three or four times and they always lose. For plot-related reasons, they can’t just shoot him and be done with it. No, they endeavor to return the favor with fists, the occasional bat, and at one point, a Chevy.

NOTE: Might’ve been a Ford. I didn’t really notice.

They were pummeled so frequently, I actually started to feel bad for them. Here they are, your average, work-a-day thugs, trying to make ends meet with a variety of protection rackets, bootlegging, smuggling, and good ol’ fashioned mugging, and instead of making any sort of profit, they spend their time being fed into the human wood chipper that is Jackie Chan.

It got me thinking. What was going through their heads as they went up against Jackie, time and time again?

Moe: Hey, it’s that Chinese kid! Let’s go rough ‘em up!

Jimmy the Amusing Nickname: What, you mean that guy? Ain’t he the guy that beat us up yesterday? And twice on Tuesday?

Moe: Yeah, we got’s to get our revenge!

Jimmy the Amusing Nickname: But ain’t he just gonna beat beat us up again? I mean, I’m all for a vicious beatin’, but that kid ain’t human!

Moe: What’re you, scared?

Jimmy the Amusing Nickname: Nah, but, we jumped him with seven guys yesterday and he took us all. Little Nicky needs a machine to help him pee now.

Moe: So? See this? We got an edge – heh.

Jimmy the Amusing Nickname: But he beat us up with an old sock stuffed with dryer lint and three marbles! No knife is gonna even them odds!

Moe: But today’s Thursday! We got +2 to morale!

Jimmy the Amusing Nickname: Oh, well why didn’t ya say so!

A merciless beating (theirs) commences.


Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Poop(ed) The Second

Sorry, but I had a really long day at work and the mere thought of being at a computer makes my hands cramp, which is why I'm typing this with my nose.


I will post something funny tomorrow, promise!

Hint: It will either be about Jackie Chan movies or online dating.


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

A ‘Situation’

For some reason, I seem to get into what I call ‘situations.’ A ‘situation’ is defined as something that is amazingly improbable, but happens regardless. Needless to say, situations seem to happen to me all the time.

For example: I was walking across my family’s deck when I was sixteen or so and my shoelace caught on a protruding nail, causing me to fall almost, but not quite, on my face. The reason I didn’t completely fall on my face is because I managed to mostly stop myself with my left arm. The reason I didn’t use both arms is that I had a load of 2x4s on my right shoulder and was trying to keep them from collapsing on me as I fell.

Needless to say, my dad, who was ten feet in front of me, thought this was hilarious.

NOTE: Physical pain was the source for much amusement at my house.

After picking myself up, I noticed the nail that my shoelace caught on and looked around. It was the sole, solitary nail that was sticking up. Seriously. Out of the many hundreds of nails in a 500’ square deck (yes, it was huge and I helped build it. The up and downside of having a contractor for a father), I managed to trip on the ONLY one that was sticking up.

I did get my revenge, as I pulled the offending nail and replaced it with a screw. I’m sure that taught it a lesson.

Anyway, why I am blathering on about this? Well, this morning, after showering, I was pulling on a hooded sweatshirt when my glasses somehow caught on the inside of the sweater, right as I was pulling it over my head, leaving me in an awkward position where I couldn’t see and with my arms jutted out at odd angles.

“So,” I can hear you thinking. “Just disentangle yourself!”

But it’s not that simple. You see, I had just finished a fantastic bicep workout that morning and my arms were literally exhausted. I was therefore stuck with them over my head, almost powerless to move them, with my sweater pulling my eyeglasses down across my nose in a rather awkward way.

I actually stood there for a few seconds, as I processed why I could neither see nor move my arms. “Well, shit.” I finally said, before beginning the slow, weirdly painful process of pulling the sweater off without inadvertently smashing my glasses.

The culprit? The screw holding the right eyeglass arm had come loose and (you guessed it), got caught in the seam of the sweatshirt. I found my eyeglasses kit and tightened the screw and then successfully managed to finish dressing myself.

So there you go. I managed to entrap myself in my own sweater, all because I worked out and a screw came loose. I guess that’ll teach me to try to stay fit and correct my vision.


Thursday, September 3, 2009


Well, we've made it back down to #48 on Top Web comics. Thank you all very much for voting. Now we just need to continue slowly going down until we reach #1 and world domination . . .

On the bright side, it will be Labor Day weekend! I have zero plans, besides my usual game-playing, comic-writing, ninja-fighting ones. I am considering getting the ninjas into WoW. It will give them something to do when I'm not home and will distract them sufficiently for some satisfying ambushing.

In other news . . . well, there really isn't that much other news. We're busy as usual. We've already applied to next year's Emerald City and San Diego Comic-Cons, so make your plans / reservations now.

Anyway, have a fun and safe Labor Day weekend and please remember to vote!


Wednesday, September 2, 2009

The Smear Fairy

I was about 10-years old and sitting in the backseat of a car with my friend Alex Monto. His mother was driving us somewhere at night and I noticed a large, glowy thingie, possibly a sign. Indicating said glowie thingy and hoping it would turn out to be a UFO, I asked what it was. Alex turned to me and said ‘You can’t read that? Man, you need glasses!’

It was a K-Mart sign. A huge K-Mart sign.

So, I got glasses. I don’t mind them, though I did wear contacts for a number of years. I switched back to glasses when I realized the ninjas were less likely to punch me in the face whilst I was wearing them. This led to a (brief) experimentation with glasses-based clothing, but I digress.

And the point of all this (and there is one, trust me)? Where in the hell do all the smears on my glasses come from?

I mean, I don’t touch the lenses. I’m very careful about how I handle them, as I’m prone to damaging small things if I don’t pay attention. Leigh keeps trying to keep me from touching his miniatures for exactly that reason (honestly, you flick one mini over and he has a heart attack. It did actually become airborne and lodge into the wall, so I guess he has something there).

Anyway, my glasses, for no readily apparent reason, are constantly smeared with oil, grease, blood, holy water, and the occasional whole McNugget. I will wash them and an hour later, notice a huge smear across the lenses.

I’m either subconsciously taking off my glasses, licking them, and putting them back on or my eyeballs are capable of spraying a fine mist of grease on both sides of the lenses. Either way, I probably need help.

NOTE: Notice that I did not choose to blame ninjas. I have realized after many hours of soul-searching and extremely expensive psychotherapy that ninjas are not the sole reason for every calamity in my life. I have accepted the fact that blaming ninjas was merely a scapegoating tactic I used to justify my paranoia. Ninjas are not real. They are not out to destroy my life. The men who constantly ambush me are probably just innocent bystanders who happen to be wearing black. Their frequent attacks are merely a response to seeing a large, 225 pound, shaggy-haired Yeti-thing (me) bearing down on them while screaming incoherently (singing).

I honestly don’t get it. It’s like my glasses attract stray grease atoms. The only other option would be some sort of Smear Fairy, who spends her time flitting about with a wand and a can of lard, liberally applying grease to every lens she finds.

Either that or ninj-

Crap. Now I have to call Dr. Shinobi.


Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Disney and Marvel: A Team-Up!

Well, if you’re like me (ie, a nerd), you’ve already heard that Disney is buying Marvel for a hundred kajillion dollars (or something). I was sent this information by no less than seven different people, including my mother and a Viking Jarl named Hrothgar who died in the ‘800s.

Big Disney fans, those Vikings.

Anyway, there was an immediate hue and cry from the internet, with many people complaining bitterly about how Disney was going to ruin Marvel. Apparently, Mickey would teach the Hulk about anger management, Pluto was going to poop on Captain America’s head, and Wolverine would be appearing on Sesame Street to sponsor the letter ‘X.’

Note: Wolverine appearing on Sesame Street would completely rock.

Now, the internet is basically one giant, technologically advanced platform for complaining, so I’m not too surprised at the overwhelming negativity. However, what is missing is the counterpoint: Think of all the cool things that Disney and Marvel could team up on, much like the ‘Wolverine on Sesame Street’ previously mentioned.
Therefore, in the spirit of optimism, here are some cool things that could/will come from the Disney / Marvel team-up:

1. Women in super-hero costumes at Disneyland. Forget getting your picture with Mickey when you could get your picture taken with Rogue (or Storm, or the Scarlet Witch, etc).
2. The Hair-Trigger Trio! Cookie Monster, Animal from the Muppet Show, and the Hulk in their own book. Granted, they would probably end up destroying the world.
3. Daffy Duck vs. Wolverine. ‘Nuff said.
4. The Marvel characters get included in the next Kingdom Hearts game.
5. Ultimate Mouse. Mickey gets revised as a tough-as-nails hero with a penchant for strippers and a willingness to let his fists do the talking.
6. The Sorcerer Supreme’s Apprentice. Dr Strange teaches Mickey about the ways of magic, grooming him to become the next Sorcerer Supreme.
7. Goofy joins the Great Lakes Initiative.
8. A Civil War event in the Disney universe.
9. Ariel, the Little Mermaid, fights Namor for the crown of Atlantis.