Joyous Reunions

Well, the good news is that Muffin is back. He showed up at my door this morning with an oddly small Mickey Mouse hat glued on his head and looking sheepish. Though, in hindsight, he may have just eaten a sheep. I don’t know. He is now back in his pen and surely dreaming lovely snake dreams of gallivanting around Disneyland and being allowed to bypass the crowds and get on all the rides first.

Seriously, if you were manning The Pirates of the Caribbean ride and a fifteen foot King Cobra showed up wearing a little Mickey Mouse hat, you’d let him go first, wouldn’t you?

In other news, an Anonymous commenter asked if the comic was ever coming back. And my answer was drum roll please yes.

I currently have an artist toiling away in a secret location in Germany. She’s in Germany because that’s where she lives and it’s a secret because I have no idea what her address is. Or her real name. Or any important details, really. Which might explain why she insists on drawing Lily as a dwarf. And Iri looks suspiciously like Orlando Bloom.

I’ll send her a coded message about that.

However, the bad news is that it will still be awhile before anything goes live (like end of the year-ish, fingers crossed). I would like to not repeat the mistakes of the past and pull the trigger on this before we’re good and ready. I will probably make a whole new set of mistakes, so there’s that. Stay tuned, as they say, for more info as it becomes available.

In other news, I have a few more projects in the works that I can’t talk about yet. These involve artists in other places. So, again, stay tuned.

And does anyone know how to get a hat off a hat that’s been glued to a snake, ‘cause I’m all out of ideas?

Cheers,

-Jason

Not Lost Per Se

I can’t find my cobra.

Now, I haven’t lost it, as I am perfectly aware of where it’s not. It’s not in the trap, under my bed, curled up in the dryer, or sunning by the window. In fact, I’m positive it isn’t in my apartment at all. So, I do know where it is: it’s not here.

That being said, I hope Muffin is okay.

Yes, I named my King Cobra ‘Muffin’ after a dog we used to have. The original Muffin was a ten-pound mongrel who enjoyed chasing cars. This was all well and good until he chased one driven by my dad. From the front. So, we lost Muffin and I decided to name my cobra after him because he likes to chase things too.

NOTE: My father was hard on our dog population. It was either because he was a bad driver or we had a habit of getting really dumb dogs. Or maybe both, I dunno.

I was considering putting up reward notices, but the guy at Kinko’s (yes, it’s now Fed-Ex, but I worked there for five years when it was Kinko’s and I’m too old to change) thought it would be a bad idea to put:

LOST

15’ King Cobra

Answers to Muffin

Reward $20 and

Free Anti-Venom

On a flyer, so I acquiesced.

Instead, I’ve taken to wandering the neighborhood and shouting ‘Here Muffin!’ very loudly. Surprisingly, I’ve met a lot of women this way. Unfortunately, the conversation usually goes like this:

Me: Muffin! Here boy!

Attractive Woman: Oh, you lost your dog! I’ll help you look!

Me: Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I’ve lost my pet, yes.

Attractive Woman: What? What do you mean?

Me: Muffin isn’t actually a dog.

Attractive Woman: Oh, Muffin’s a cat?

Me: No, he’s a 15 foot King Cobra.

Sound of attractive woman running away.

Me: But he’s really cute!

So, as mentioned, Muffin is about 15 feet long and around 15 pounds. He’s trained to attack ninjas, so if you happen across a King Cobra, throw a ninja at it and see if it bites. That is, if the snake bites the ninja. Though, if you found a ninja that bites snakes that’s pretty cool too.

And I should say in case anyone takes me seriously: I do not have a King Cobra nor have I lost a King Cobra. I saw one once at a zoo when I was five, but that was about it. I did cry, but that’s only because my parents left me at the gorilla exhibit.

In all fairness, they thought I was supposed to be there.

Cheers,

-Jason

Mid-Life Crisis(es)

I’ve decided to start planning a mid-life crisis. Now, I know they’re supposed to happen spontaneously, but I live in a dark place with no other people, so if I don’t plan it, no one will know I’m having one.

So, as far as I can tell, having a mid-life crisis involves acting much younger than you actually are in a desperate attempt to recapture the glory of youth. My problem with that is that I still watch cartoons, eat Captain Crunch, drink soda, and wear t-shirts and jeans exclusively. If I act any younger, I’ll have to wander around town in a diaper.

To combat this, I plan on buying a pair of sensible slacks and eating boring cereal with lots of fiber. Then, when I’m feeling adult-ish, I’ll try and have a crisis where I act somewhat older than I normally do. So, technically, I’ll try and act my age so that I can not act my age.

Or something.

Anyway, once I reach the point of actually having the mid-life crisis, I will refer to the handy guide that I’ve outlined below:

Step 1: Get a convertible, preferably red. 

I own a pickup truck that is older than many of the people I work with. It has a hole in the roof that I normally shove a plastic bag into to keep the rain out. Since I cannot afford a sports-car, I will assume that this technically makes my truck a convertible. I don’t want to paint my truck red, however it often has flames coming out of it and flames are cool, so I think that’s okay.

Yes, I really should get that looked at, but the trail of smoke make it easy to find in the parking lot.

Step 2: Get a hairpiece.

I already have plenty of hair, so I think I’ve got this one covered as well. Granted, the vast majority of the hair is not on my head, but I consider that a minor inconvenience.

Step 3: Get an earring

I had an earring in college, mainly because my dad wouldn’t let me get one when I was in high school.  I didn’t really pay much attention to it and kind of forgot about it for a couple years. Eventually the back thingie fell off and I tossed it into a drawer. I suppose I could find it and shove it back in, but that would probably hurt. However, having had an earring, I think I can just check it off the list.

Step 4: Date a much younger woman

This is the tricky one, as I have trouble getting dates with women my own age, much less one who is younger. I mean, I have a truck with a hole in it that belches flame, hair in inappropriate places, and an earring in a drawer. These are not three things conducive to romance, so unless there’s a highly specialized online dating site for old hairy guys with old trucks and closed up holes in their ears who want to meet younger women, I may be out of luck.

Step 5: Don’t bother

Yeah, that’s probably the safe solution. I mean, I want a woman to love me because of who I am, not because I (hypothetically) have a nice car, hair, and facial adornments. Granted, who I am is not much of a catch, so yeah, back to the dark place with no other people.

Unless there’s a dating site for that, which would be cool.

Cheers,

-Jason

I Lied

The next part of the Clown War saga is not yet ready, so I lied. Those of you who were waiting for more thrilling adventures of me, the Dame, and a largely un-credited cast of ninjas, mimes, and clowns will, unfortunately, have to wait a bit longer.

In other news, it’s stupidly hot. It was over 90 degrees today and small animals were spontaneously combusting with frightening regularity. I saw a whole tree full of squirrels go up at once and it was not pretty, though I did get a free lunch. Now, in many parts of the country, 90 degrees is not that hot, but in central Oregon where AC is rare, it’s frickin’ miserable. I have five fans set up around the house and all they really do is help maintain the illusion that it’s not as hot as I think it is (which is a lie).

I’m pretty much hot and sticky all day and this is not something the public at large should be exposed to. I mean, I vaguely nauseate me, so I can’t imagine what it’s like for normal people. There is a reason I work in computer games and not as a male exotic dancer/mathematician. Hint: it’s not just because I suck at math.

Actually, a male exotic dancer/mathematician who solved crimes using his perfect pecs and stunning statistics could be a great TV show. I could call it: Trig & Abs or T & A for short. 

Okay, fine. It’s not perfect, but I’ve seen worse.

In other news, there really is no other news. World’s still spinning. The new royal baby already makes more than I do. I need a haircut. Life goes on.

Y’know, I should market T&A to the Sci-Fi Channel. Or is it Si-Fi? Anyway, they put Sharknado on the air, T&A is comparatively rather sane.

Cheers,

-Jason

Time Flies

Tempus fugit, as the Romans would say. Though, in all honesty, I have no idea if they even said that. They might have said something like ‘time crawls twixt the nether regions of Zeus.’ They were Romans. It’s possible.

So, it’s been a little while since I blogged. You see, I lost a quarter at the park and have been looking for it ever since. Night after night you could find me in the park, wearing camouflaged lederhosen and waving a piece of traffic kill I found over my head on a stick. This, as all the experts will attest, is how one finds a quarter. At night. In a roughly 12 square mile park.

Y’know, now that I’ve typed it out, it does seem a little strange. Man, I really do miss that quarter though.

NOTE: I don’t know what it was that I had on the end of my stick. As far as I can tell, it had no less than three legs, though no more than six, when it was alive.

I also talked to an attorney. This may not surprise those of you who’ve read the previous paragraphs. Or any of my other blogs. Or talked to me. Ever. Yet, in actuality, he was a trademark attorney who was advising me on trademarkery for one of my schemes. Said scheme will ideally arrive next year in book form, assuming I can get about a 100 grand and I can find a left-handed Asian Elvis impersonator. No, I can’t tell you why.

In other news, I have a grey hair on my chest. Not terribly surprising, I know, but it was kind of a shock when I saw it. There I was, doing my pre-shower sanding whilst whistling a jaunty sea tune and I happened to notice a rather long gray hair in the exact middle of my chest next to the bullet hole. I immediately yanked it out as a warning to the others, but alas, more have cropped up. I may have to threaten them with a bottle of Nair or something.

Anyway, look to a new blog next week. I’m planning on continuing the Clown War saga, so weirdness will abound.

Cheers,

-Jason