Oh, dear.
I suppose this means that The Reaping is fiction, too.
The Eiger Sanction
Jonathan Hemlock is a government assassin — with a taste for murder.
I’m sorry, that didn’t actually mean anything. Let me start again.
Jonathan Hemlock is a government assassin. He’s retired, but wouldn’t you know it, his super-secret agency needs him for one last job. He tells them, on no uncertain terms, that he’s out of the game, but his Pure Albino boss Dragon (How do we know he’s a “Pure Albino?” why, he obligingly tells us so when we meet him — “Dr. Hemlock, did you know I’m a Pure Albino?” he says, coiled up in his dark, climate-controlled lair, licking his lips from the sheer perversity of it all, looking for all the world like Jabba the Hutt’s sickly little brother) —
I’m sorry, where was I? Oh yes, Dragon lures Hemlock (these names, I swear, and we haven’t even gotten to Pope, Jemima or Miss Cerberus yet) —
Anyway, Dragon pressures Hemlock into pulling one last — no, wait — two last jobs for the agency. (Christ, this is turning into the “Spanish Inquisition” sketch.) Which agency? Oh, you know, the super-secret US spy agency that crops up all over the place in 1970s spy thrillers — Three Days of the Condor, Marathon Man, etc., the super-secret spy agency that was known only by its members and all Hollywood screenwriters.
cartoonist of the day
Nicholas Gurewitch’s Perry Bible Fellowship is one of the funniest, most bizarre and original weekly strips out there. If you are unfamiliar with it, here is your chance to have your mind blown.
Weekend news
They hijacked his country. They destroyed his civil rights. They killed thousands of his citizens in a war based on lies.
They forgot one thing —
He has a blog.
To Matthew Dowd: Good for you. And let me add: asshole. You want praise for quitting Bush’s team after helping get him installed in the White House? Twice? Fuck you. Next time, try clubbing baby seals for eight years before suddenly looking up and saying “Hey! This isn’t fair to the baby seals!” you’ll get more sympathy from me. Werner Von Braun is a better example than you.
To Chocolate Jesus Guy: shame on the people who cancelled your show. I get it: a chocolate Jesus on display during Easter. Makes total sense. Good for you. Not even a new idea: Tom Waits did it a long time ago. As have others. In any case, good job standing up to the flamboyantly anti-Christian Christian bully. It is my most devout wish that people in his organization would take a look at the precepts of their faith and kick his ass out to the street.
To John McCain: you’ve lost. You’ve already lost. You’re not going to get to be president. Just go home. Thank you for the service to your country. You’re done: retire. Walking around Baghdad with an armored vest, 100 men and five helicopters looks worse than Dukakis in the tank. Anything you do from now on is farce. Forget about it. Walk away. (Oh, and apparently six more soldiers were killed minutes after you left. Were any of them in your honor guard? Did you endanger their lives by going to Iraq?)
To Alberto Gonzales: Guess what? You are America’s Premier Law-Enforcement Officer. It might be a good idea to not show utter contempt for the law. It kind of sets a bad precedent. Not that you would care: you’re a stupid, evil little man.
To George W. Bush: good idea not showing up to throw out the first pitch today. In fact, it might be a good idea to not go out in public at all for the next couple of years. Or, as far as I’m concerned, for the rest of you sorry, stinking life. You suck.
Oh, and thanks for getting rid of that whole terrorism thing. That was a big help.
Birdfight!
Cardinal trounces a gang of goldfinches, from the slowly-being-completed graphic novel Feeder Birds.
This is the very short version: the fight currently goes on for 18 panels.
What a bear does in the woods
The New Yorker is the holy grail for panel gags. Extremely talented cartoonists slave for years to get their gags into the New Yorker. They have the highest standards in the cartooning world.
And then sometimes they run mysterious items such as this:
Okay, I get that it’s the woods. It’s a grove of maple trees, with their syrup taps. I get that there is a bear in the woods. I get that the bear is holding a plate of pancakes. I get that the bear is removing some of the syrup from one of the trees for his pancakes. I understand that there is humor, somewhere, in this situation.
What I don’t get is the look on the bear’s face. The bear is glancing to his back, as though he is expecting trouble, as though he expects the tree’s owner to jump out and arrest him for stealing syrup.
I’m sorry, that’s just one angle too many. A bear with a plate of pancakes? Funny. A bear getting syrup out of a tree for his pancakes? Funny. A bear anxious about getting syrup out of a tree for his pancakes? You lost me. Why should the bear care if someone is going to catch him stealing syrup? He’s a bear. He’s even a tough bear, you can tell by the way he’s squinting, as if to say “yeah, you just try and stop me, sucka.” Maybe it’s the squinty eyes that ruins it for me. If he was looking around guiltily, I can kind of see how that would be funny. But this? I’m sorry.
Why couldn’t it just be a bear going about his business, getting syrup for his pancakes like you or I would get it out of the refridgerator? That’s pretty funny. But the element of criminal activity makes no sense. It doesn’t add to the joke, it muddies it.
MEANWHILE,
click for larger view
this cartoon would have made a good illustration for my Bourne v Long Kiss piece.
Dale Goodson
Dale is an old friend of mine from NYC, one of the most talented performance artists I ever worked with. His work is weird, oblique and original (the video above has to rank as one of his most direct, straightforward pieces. He now has a website, which I urge you to investigate.
The Lurita Kiss Good Night
When it comes to amnesia, Geena Davis has nothing on Lurita Doan. She can’t remember anything.
Amnesiac Assassin: The Long Kiss Good Night v. The Bourne Identity
Two amnesiac assassins. One pose. Only one can win.
There is a little-known, dimly-lit recess in the bowels of the CIA where they train super-powered, tougher-than-nails assassins to be ruthless, heartless, inventive, brutally efficient and impervious to pain. There’s only one problem: if you drop one in cold water, he or she will invariably get amnesia.
That is the premise of both The Long Kiss Goodnight and The Bourne Identity. One of these movies is a taut, thrilling masterpiece of its genre and the other is a silly, flip, extravagant eruption of action-movie weirdness. I’ll let you figure out which is which.
The left and right hand of comedy
Dennis Miller on The Daily Show.
Because I’m a creaky, gray-bearded old-timer, I can still remember when Dennis Miller was funny. Once his beloved Republicans took over in 2000, he cast off his comic chains and became an angry, mean, bitter, paranoid, delusional crank.
So I was a little relieved to see him at least try to be funny again whilst sitting next to Jon Stewart. The clip tells you everything you need to know about the left and right hands of American comedy. Stewart attacks the right (well, everyone really) on issues and Miller attacks the left on physical appearance. Al Gore is fat and won’t shut up, Nancy Pelosi is ugly and uses Botox, Robert Byrd is old and acts funny. Ha ha ha — gee, how can I possibly take any of those people seriously when one is overweight, one is a woman and one is old? You really nailed those losers, Dennis!
No mention whatsoever of the issues; they must not have been mentioned in the “talking points” fax he got that morning. Miller has an extensive vocabulary but apparently he hasn’t gotten to “shame” yet.