Goodnight, Buddy

Posted on | April 16, 2012 |

Last Monday, my wife and I had to say good-bye to our dear little buddy, Doozey (I’ve been told the name was actually Duzel, but I thought Doozey was more appropriate). He came into our lives five years ago–we believe his owner had passed away and through a series of accidents, he found himself homeless until we adopted him. It took a while for him to trust us, but when he did, I did this pastel sketch of him, sleeping on a pillow.

He was a sweet cat, never seeming to get angry like other cats do on occasion, and basically, he became one of the family. We have lots of stories about him but to write them down would probably just choke me up right now. He started showing signs of something wrong late last year. Naturally we took him to the vet, but all his vitals seemed normal. Around the start of this year, things took a turn for the worse and we seemed to have discussions with his doctor everyday. More tests, more medicines. Finally, the poor little guy was half his weight and unable to eat. He was afraid to sleep, because he feared never waking up. Eventually he did.

Cats have jobs. They decide what their job is and you have no influence on what it will be. Doozey’s was bed making inspection. Whenever we made the bed, he’d leap into the center to make sure we were doing it right. Before we’d finished. We took to closing the bedroom door so we could actually get the sheets straight.

We’re going to miss closing the door.

Unexpected time off due to family illness.

Posted on | April 1, 2012 |

BB Next week.

All you really need is heart…

Posted on | March 26, 2012 |

Two stories of note this week: the shooting of Trayvon Martin–which actually occurred a month ago today–and Dick Cheney’s new bundle of joy. I’ve always found myself to have a reluctance to draw cartoons about things that are sad. Things that make me angry on the other hand are fair game. And the shooting of Trayvon Martin makes me sad. But the reaction of the Fox News types is worth derision.

On one hand, you have Geraldo Rivera admonishing the dead kid about wearing a hoodie because it looks too “gangsta.” And then you have New Gringrich admonishing the President about noticing the kid was black. No two ways, Fox, it’s either racist or it ain’t. Add to this the “stand your ground” fans backing up shooter Zimmerman saying that he was only doing his job–self-appointed and told by the 911 operator not to pursue–and you start to wonder if their heads are in so far, will these guys ever see daylight again?

Fortunately, Melissa Harris-Perry took care of Geraldo, and the electorate looks like it will be taking care of Newt. And Paul Krugman reveals the truth about American Legislative Exchange Council, the corporate shills behind the “stand your ground” laws.

Which leaves us Dick Cheney. The sight of all the people wishing him well with prayers for a speedy recovery—including those who’ve accused him of being a war-profiteer, a war criminal, and responsible for the sinking of the US reputation to historic lows by ‘OK’ing tortures the Japanese were hanged for after WWII—warms my heart. This is the mark of a civil society. We do live by the Golden Rule: Do not do unto the previous Administration as you would not have the next Administration do unto you.

Now a churlish man would be making comments about Mr. Cheney’s heart transplant like “Where’d they find one that small?” Or, “This one is perfect, Igor, MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Or, “Wow, the old one really was made of stone–this will fetch a high price on EBAY!” But we won’t do so. Instead, we’ve decided to honor Mr. Cheney with some verses of a song:

Dick had to have heart,
Cheney really needed heart.
They kept saying that you didn’t have one.
But here’s one for a fresh start!

You never lost hope,
When they kept on saying nope,
Like with those weapons that could never be found,
Those visions were sound, your critics dopes.

Don’t you think of Halliburton,
And the profits from the war,
You will only feel some hurtin’,
And who knows what you’d outpour
to an enhanced interrogation!

So pick up the phone,
And when you hear the dial tone,
Tell your friend that you are sorry you graced
with buckshot his face,
it wasn’t smart,
Now you’ve finally got heart.

No applause please, the patient is convalescing.

Would you like Spam with your ultrasound training?

Posted on | March 19, 2012 |

I have to admit it. I love spam. Both kinds. That strange but tastelessly tasty food product and the email variety. Breakfast of eggs and spam, lightly grilled on both sides, with or without beans. Wonderful. But we’re here to talk about the email variety.

Now, in my youth (rather, my younger days on the internet), I used to rail at spam like everyone else. And when the first email spam filters arrived, I loaded them ruthlessly with rules to catch emails with subjects in all caps, with certain words, with strings of exclamation points. And then I discovered that none of these rules worked particularly well. Not only did the spam keep coming through as the spam-meisters came up with newer and newer ways to ply their trade, but all the emails that I had been eagerly expecting and expecting and expecting, could usually be found nestled in the spam folder, provided I got to it before an automatic flush.

So I turned off the spam filters and have gone back to the age-old delete button, which has the sterling advantage of never deleting anything I didn’t WANT gone. And if I accidentally do, command-Z takes care of that in an instant. And since then, I have been regaled by daily doses of Pamela being concerned about my size, or Cindy about my lasting power. Stock tips sent to “Fred” but seemingly delivered to me by mistake. How many opportunities I’ve been afforded to sneak currency out of falling dictatorships! Aid widows in securing their husband’s vast fortunes in some foreign land! The number of times paypal has needed me to log in to verify the account I’ve used for the last five years is astounding! Or my bank? Or banks I’d never even had accounts in!

There are more benign missives–like those advising me of the wonderful opportunities to be afforded by online universities. If you consider credit mills benign. And it was one of those I got last Friday. Become an ULTRASOUND TECHNICIAN! Wow, I thought, how timely! Ultrasound is truly a “coming thing.” Think of the explosion of state legislatures drooling at the thought of shoving a skinny rod into an unwilling orifice so that women can be forced into humiliated submission! Wow, there seems to be a new state every week whose legislature or governor is forcing these wands–well, not DOWN anyone’s throats, if you get the picture. Funny, all of them seem to be GOP. You know, small government keeping its nose out of your business. But not its wand up your hoohah. After all, if a woman has had the audacity to want or need to terminate a pregnancy, she deserves to have a foreign object inserted into her…the slut!

Because that is what all these legal ultrasound requirements are–a punishment for sexuality, the use of humiliation to force women to allow men to control their bodies. Violation without consent. In other words, legislated rape to enforce a code of morality that isn’t even in the Bible.

You have to wonder how these people, who so want the gummint out of their lives, are so willing to allow it into the lives of their women. And there lies the answer. THEIR women. Those uppity bitches who weren’t satisfied with voting the way their husbands told them to, they wanted to make up their own little minds. And had the audacity to work the same jobs as men and expect to be paid the same salary! That they wanted control of their own bodies and actually had it for over a generation was just too much! Time to force them back into the kitchen and the nursery. And the way to do that is to make them have that baby.

Unfortunately, much as I could use the excitement in my life, I’ll be foregoing the ultrasound training. At my age, the thought of starting yet another career leaves me flaccid. I’m much more interested in instant gratification. And after all, I won’t have to work once those surefire lottery numbers I paid for come in!

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ABOUT MEH

Cartoons and text by Greg Uchrin (aka Gregorius alexandrinus), with the able assistance of Fred and Bert Squirrel, with special appearances by George Dymme. Published once a week on Mondays.

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GregoriusU @ Deviant Art

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