Not that I expected anyone to be keeping track, but tonight marks the second earth year of these semi-daily drawings.
Oh, and it's also #690.
And it's Halloween. So that's three things to keep track of.
I was never much of a juggler. More of a La-Z-Boy.
-bye.
And yet that's what I'll do
Mister Scarecrow said he had to go away for a while
To keep the separate lives separated
And to make more stuffing to have beat out of him
They say loose lips sink ships
Well my dentist is the captain of this ship
He dusted off his mortarboard and set sail on the USS Who Gives A Fuck
For who cares what
The map was lost
The fortune folded up inside it
And if I ever had one thing to say
It was this
Even the echoes of shadows know
I took some stepping stones to some falling glass
Don't know where we're going
But I know we haven't gotten there yet
Still we've been riding around for hours
Stop me if you've heard this one before
Ain't nothing cushy about life in a bubble
Mark N Cheese, ATTORNEY AT LAW
Episode 19: "Eat Cheese, Scum Bag Criminals"
EXT. AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE
Herman: Good job, minions. One more shipment, then we will officially be the world's most illegal crime syndicate.
Thug #1: Good job, boss.
Herman: Shut up, minion.
(HERMAN slaps THUG #1)
ENTER MARK N CHEESE
Thug #1: Holy snikies! It's Mark N Cheese! Attorney at law!
(THUG #1 explodes)
HERMAN: OMG! We're totally fucked!
DISSOLVE: THE COURTHOUSE
Judge: I hereby charge you are no longer awesome and are in fact a criminal. How do you respond?
Thug #2: I swear, I don't even know how to ride a bicycle.
(JUROR #4 falls asleep.)
I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm beating up your dad and I'm so sorry
A pocket fold
There's nothing cushy about life in a bubble
And you're acting like you're ten years old
The truth was sold
And I'm useless and cold
Lowering the standards so low
For limbo in heaven and hell
The best price as the stock rose and fell
Someone somewhere said something
To a butterfly jar
The difference was the same
So the squeaky wheel gets the grease
The memory wasn't set aside
Left out for some rainy day (It rained today)
Can I just go home now
With my cuts and scratches
Scars and bruises?
I tried to build a bridge to Ms. Pac Man
But she just ate all my pills
No one talks to my baby
She hasn't said a word yet
I said I like the taste of my own medicine
No one ever writes back to Russia
Tiny boxes behind my back in the eye lids
Same old shit on a brand new day
But I said I like the taste my own medicine
Pared down the whispers to a glistening shadow that I shaved off in the morning
And there's a card-house under the kitchen cabinet I'm off in some deserted bathroom
Tasting my own medicine
So please knock
Once if by sea
Twice if you know me
It's by design
But shredded the documents
It comes in the mail
Thank you for the garbage
I have some just like it at home
Wow that was fast
Someone was in here speaking without words
Making me pull over
Though I can't remember why
And the angels start to sing
It sounded awful
A wiseman once asked me whether fish have testicles.
I could do little other than plainly tell him no.
"What about whales?" He asked.
"No."
"Sperm whales?"
"No."
"Then where to their sperm come from?"
"London."
Dracula's Pet Peeves
The moon is laughing at me, Vol. 3
I woke up from a harsh sleep only to find my telephone ringing for the first time I remember in a long time. It was the moon. She was laughing at me again for no apparent reason other than the fact that I must amuse her by merely existing.
Well, how do you like that.
And I don't ever understand your rock music. Can I borrow your headphones?
The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. How could Professor Zombieton possibly have broken into the bank in Lord Vatrolli's private residence, much less put on those fancy pants before driving that sports car with the spotlights all over it?
Zombies by their very nature are inflexible creatures. Not spiritually or mentally; they are very open to new ideas and you could go so far as to call them "open minded," were it not for the fact that they gnaw on grey matter (another demonstration of their radical ideas on cuisine). Rather, they have very inflexible physiques. Even a pair of rust-colored sweatpants with a pull string would prove cumbersome for your run-of-the-mill mountain-zombie. No, for this reason, and this reason alone, I believe Jonathan Zombieton, PHD, was framed.
To wit, observe this mummy I have dug up from my back yard. He has the same physicality and temperament as a brown recluse zombie. Note how he is unable to touch his knee to his hand, even if he is permitted to (I'll get into how I reanimated the corpse later, though I believe you'll thank me for sparing you that dry, verbose explanation under later on) bend his knee. Did I mention zombies prefer to wear classic black and white Chuck Taylor sneakers? When I conducted a triple blind zombie taste test fashion show for the lad, who I've dubbed "Cheeky," he would always choose the Chucks, even when they weren't under the dioramas I had converted into shoe boxes.
Once, Cheeky found nothing but Checkered Vans (including a pair with leopard print checkers), and it sent him into a batshit rage, the links of which had not been seen since I originally mummified the mailman who I now call Cheeky.
You owe this world with a fine-toothed comb to live in a broken home until the day you're too rich to die. I'm not sure why.
Scan the crystal globe and you might shatter.
I'm giving in the best I can.
So please.
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