Monday, March 31, 2008

Victorian Erotic Enema Poem

I was going through my dissertation last night, prepping it for possible publication ("Foamy Lube: The Enema in Art, 1837-1900") and I came upon one of my favorite examples of the erotic enema in Victorian art, a poem entitled "Flood of Love" by the great but little-known Joel S. Muttoe. It's fairly bold for its time, and has a highly untraditional meter. This page was scanned several years ago from an obscure volume of Victorian poetry whose title I can't remember, but was edited by Carr, I believe.

A little about the author: He was a native of Slopshire and educated privately by his mother, who had fervently hoped to have a daughter. He toiled as a clerk for about ten years, writing unpopular lyrics in his spare time. Critics and the public alike were put off by what they considered to be self-indulgence and lack of skill. Eventually, he renounced literature and began a lucrative career as a traveling enemist, perhaps not unlike the "gregarious specialist" of this poem.

Here's some more about enemas in literature.

For more about Joel S Muttoe, click here.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Bill Clinton Urges Patience Over the Democratic Primary Process

Bill Clinton thinks that his fellow Democrats are being impatient about the race for the Democratic presidential nomination. The observation is particularly biting considering it comes from the man who has himself behaved with such patience and graciousness throughout the entire process.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

EXCLUSIVE! John McCain Plastic Surgery Nightmare!

This is a big exclusive, so hold on tight! For weeks, the political world has been so focused on the two Democratic presidential candidates, Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton (in case you've forgotten who they were) that very little attention has been paid to John McCain, who recently returned from an overseas trip sporting a "new look!" His handlers claim that the presumptive Republican presidential nominee is simply glowing because of his success at the polls, but more alarmist sources claim that McCain has had extensive- and ruinous- plastic surgery, in an attempt to appear younger to voters worried about McCain's advanced age (he's 104)! Personally, I've been reluctant to report on this, as the whole thing seems a bit far-fetched, but that was before "The King of Pop" Michael Jackson offered the Republican his coveted endorsement. I'm no conspiracy theorist, but I believe that McCain won Jacko's ordinarily hard-left heart because they share the same plastic surgeon! Looking at this fantastic photo of the two, taken during the press conference announcing MJ's support, it's easy to see why many believe they've been nipping and tucking at the same place.

Talk of McCain selecting Jacko as his running mate is premature, but I'm starting it right now so that when it happens I'll get credit for my great prognostication!

Friday, March 28, 2008

Howard Dean Wants A Democratic Candidate By July 1!

According to this article, Howard Dean wants to know who the Democratic candidate for President will be! And he wants to know by July 1st! YEAAARRGGGHHHHH!!

And if it hasn't been decided, he will decide himself!!

When you do a google image search for "Howard Dean," you get this stuff. Isn't it funny how Howard Dean is still mostly remembered for the "scream?" It's hilarious.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Nancy Reagan Endorses John McCain

Nancy Reagan's incredibly important endorsement of John McCain for President was an unexpectedly sad and hilarious treat, as evidenced by this totally authentic photojournalistic essay.

Pictures swiped from here.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

In Ohio, you may only cast a vote if you are pure of heart, and of motive.

“I’m here to vote.”

“That’s fine, sir. What is your party affiliation?”

“I’m registered as a Republican, but I would like to change that to Democrat.”

The poll worker eyed me suspiciously. “I see,” she said at length. “And why is it that you want to change your affiliation to Democrat?”

The voter was offended. “I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Oh yes you do. According to state law, poll workers have an obligation to assess the purity of voters who wish to change their affiliation on the day of the polls.”

Reluctantly, voter said, “I’d like to vote for Hillary Clinton.”

She stroked her chin, and her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to vote for Hillary Clinton?”

Voter sighed heavily. “Because I want to vote for her!”

Poll Worker leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. “But why do you want to vote for her.”

Voter said, “I like her… policies…”

“What policies of hers do you like?”

“The ones about… the government.”

“Could you be a little more vague?” Poll Worker asked, popping a piece of chewing gum in her mouth.

“Her policies on the war!” Voter said in a triumphant tone.

“Hmm,” Poll Worker said. “I don’t think so.” She handed him a Republican ballot, then folded her arms. “Maybe next time.”

My Observations on "The Final Four" Basketball Tournament

As you might already know, it’s now the time of the college basketball championship tournament called “The Final Four.” This is the time of year when the sports fan gets to finally take center stage, after many months of neglect. As a sports fan myself (some would say “fanatic,” as devoted as I am to the basketballs), I offer now some of my insights into the biggest game, that of “The Final Four.”

First of all, my Chevrolet keys to the game are the secrets that you must score the most points in the game, even more than your opponent. It helps also to try to prevent your opponent from scoring points himself. The key is that the other team is trying to do the same thing to you! So you have to be quick about keeping the other team’s basket free of balls.

The coaches know this inherently. They will tell their team to keep “their game face on,” and “take the rock to the hole.” If the team does this better than his opponent, look out! But the other team wants to do this, too, and their coach is probably telling them something similar, or perhaps they are saying something like, “Please protect your weak side.” But the weak side is no longer weak, if it is protected! That is an oxymoronic subtlety of the game.

Now I would like to put my theories into practice by giving you my picks for the big games of “The Final Four.” With these picks, you will be sure to have the best “bracket” in the “office pool”! (You won’t believe you didn’t think of these yourself!):

University of North Carolina: This is the team to beat, according to my sources. My sources are correct, but the same can be said of every team in “The Final Four,” because if you want to win, you’ve got to beat the other team! I hate to get political, but Big Tobacco will not let this team lose.

Washington State: If only they did not have to fight against North Carolina, they might have a chance. They can take solace from the fact that the Pacific Northwest is awesome, while North Carolina is in North Carolina.

Louisville: Look out for this team! The Cardinals are “flying” all over the basketball court, winning games by scoring more than their opponents in every game they’ve won. If that trend continues, look for them to keep winning.

Tennessee: I’m “volunteering” the following piece of information: If they lose their next game, they will be out of the tournament. They will be out of the tournament after their next game.

Kansas: Nothing to do in Kansas but plant corn and play the basketballs, and pull over college students who are just trying to get through your stinking state as quickly as possible and give them two speeding tickets at the same time, one for the highway, and one for the city. For this reason fans across the nation are crying out, “Eff Kansas!”

Villanova: Look for the “’Nova” team to crush the shit out of Kansas, who deserves it.

Wisconsin: This is the “Big Ten” school, and they are famous for their animal husbandry program. That doesn’t mean what you think it does. They don’t actually marry the animals. Not legally, anyway. Their defense is pretty good.

Davidson: This team has the player of the year, who is scoring all the points in the tournament! Look for him to keep up the blistering pace, until the team loses, which it will in its next game, because they will not follow the coach’s admonition to score more points than the other team.

Memphis: This is barely a team at all. Too bad it will lose everything it holds dear in the next game.

Michigan State: This is the team that personifies my advice above. Preventing the other team that you’re playing from scoring the most points, while putting up the rock into the hole. Watch out for this team! They do what I said.

: This team has all the tools necessary to win the big games. From players who score, to players who help others to score, and also other players, they are a force of playing the basketball, and my sources tell me they have a game plan.

Stanford: They do “dunks” of the basketballs. That is what they do.

UCLA: This team is in Los Angeles, so it should win all the games, by 50 billion points. They always get the goals! Los Angeles is the best!

Western Kentucky: Not to make the players on this talented team feel bad, but they all stink. They have no chance against the might of the Los Angeles team!

Xavier: They are a team that uses mind control on its opponents. Ordinary strategy is useless against them, and they are the only team that I could not formulate the perfect plan to defeat (see above).

West Virginia: After attacking their opponents with powerful histamines, they attack them with the basketballs, and score many points. Preventing their opponents from scoring, as I’ve mentioned before, is the key.

Now it's your turn to pick your choices to win the big game of "The Final Four"!

This photo of former basketballing coach Bob Knight gives my post an air of authenticity. Swiped from here.

Monday, March 24, 2008

EXCLUSIVE! Hillary Clinton Comes Clean About Many Things She "Misspoke" About

According to this article in the New York Times, Hillary Clinton admits she might have "misspoke" about the dangers of a trip to Bosnia, taken when she was First Lady. According to my comic, she admits to misspeaking about a few other things, too.

Photos swiped from here.

Kiss 4K French Hardcover collection released

Some time in the past, I believe it was in January, there was a hardcover collection of the first 4 issues of Kiss 4K published in French. Since all I did was script these issues and write the outline/story for the first 12, I of course didn't rate any free copies, so I had to get them from And with the dollar being so weak against the euro, I got hammered on it.

Anyway, it is truly a milestone in the history of translation. I only have a little bit of French, so I can't say for sure just how true they were to my original words. (Most of the French I know is from the song "Lady Marmalade," and that usually gets me into trouble.)

"L'Album" is slightly too large for me to scan in piece, and I am too lazy and unmotivated to scan in pieces and put them together in photoshop like I did with my French interview, so I just took a few photos, so you don't have to drop all those euros on it yourself. Here they are:

Sorry this cover photo is a bit blurry, but as I wrote above I am unmotivated to do any better with this.

This was always one of my favorite pages- it was page 1 of the second issue of the original series. The members of Kiss have blood drawn for what they believe is an innocent publicity stunt to sell copies of their first comic book in 1977. In fact, the evil Destroyer Cult has intercepted the blood for its own nefarious purposes. Sorry it's a little blurry, too. Looks like an eBay picture. Anyway, Mr Kev Crossley did a bang up job with this and every page he drew.

Here's another fun couple of pages, featuring the "tribute band," composed of the poor deludedly evil members of the Destroyer Cult. Here the leader of the Cult, Alick, explains his plans, for the benefit of the reader. Dan Campos drew these pages, and he also did a really fantastic job with this material.

Here She, Alick's sister, has gone to the Marvel Comics version of the Kiss characters. Right off the bat, She goes "Santa Sangre" on the Space Ace. I had a lot of fun writing these scenes in a "Bronze Age" style (I wonder how that stuff translated?), and I think the result was funny and sickening. Bob Hall drew the pages also in a Bronze Age style, and I have to say he very much ennobled them.

And here the Cat gets it, Ace and Starchild bite it. Nice stuff, also drawn by Mr Bob Hall.

Seeing these pages in French makes me realize that I could have been the next Arthur Rimbaud, except for all of the gay sex. Not that I have anything against gay sex, if that's what you're into, it's just that I'm not. I mean, I could have been a French poet or something.

Friday, March 21, 2008

EXCLUSIVE! What State Department Employees Were Looking For in Barack Obama's Passport File!

My sources tell the that the two State Department employees who were recently fired for accessing Democratic Presidential candidate Barack Obama's passport file were only looking for the hilariously awkward passport photo that he took many years ago. Everyone who's ever had their photo taken for an official government document knows that it can be extremely difficult to take a good one. Legend had it that Mr. Obama's passport photo was one of the worst in history, and the employees merely wanted to check it out for themselves! So they did. I have an alleged copy of the dubious photo in question, which I am fearlessly reproducing here, in the interest of the free exchange of awkward passport photos of public officials, which might actually become a recurring feature on this blog, come to think of it.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Poodle Bitch is Terrified of Becoming a Sweater

Pity poor paranoid Poodle Bitch. Ever since she read this story about Beth and Brian Willis, a couple in England who turned their dogs into sweaters, she has been under the bed, only sticking out her head periodically to obtain bacon-shaped snacks, and freshly-cooked pieces of chicken. (The food and treats must be left beside the edge of the bed, on the floor, and then I must leave the room and close the door, so that she can enjoy her food in solitude.)

She hasn't even come out from under the bed to "go potty," which used to be one of her favorite pastimes!

I have explained to her that she is much too tiny to be made into a sweater. Her coat would barely even provide enough material to create patches for my smoking jacket! Moreover, the dogs in the story she read were dead, and then turned into sweaters. They weren't killed for their pelts, like common minks!

Ah, but Poodle Bitch believes her coat is so beautiful that after seeing the story I won't be able to resist, I will have to have a coat as beautiful as hers! So, still she resides under the bed, until I can finally and completely reassure her that while she is a beautiful little bitch, I have no desire to wear her flesh.

How John McCain is Planning On Exploiting the Rev Jeremiah Wright Controversy

From the PCMR Newswire, by Ricky Sprague

Should Barack Obama become the Democratic nominee for president, my sources tell me that the campaign of Republican John McCain is planning on exploiting the controversial comments of Obama's former Pastor, Jeremiah Wright, by creating an ad campaign that will focus not on Obama, whom everyone loves to death, but on Wright.

My sources were able to get hold of a mock-up of a potential campaign poster and slogan that McCain's people are considering.

Note: Carrie Pugsky contributed to this story.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Using the Eliot Spitzer Scandal Story to Illustrate What Happened Between J P Morgan, Bear Stearns, and the Federal Reserve

This is a totally incomplete metaphor. I have little to no idea of what I am saying. When I started putting this comic together, I thought the Federal Reserve guy's name was Bob Bukkake.

The photos for the panels came from:

Panel 1

Panel 2

Panel 3

Panel 4

Panel 5

Panel 6

And the research comes from years of experience in these matters.

Monday, March 17, 2008

"Trilby" Has Been Accepted into the Ripple Six Art Fair!

Mine and Jeff Porterfield's cinematic masterpiece, "Trilby," has been accepted into The Ripple Six Art Fair taking place from May 23 - May 27 2008, at marsden Mechanics near Huddersfield. That is in England.

They just added it to their favorites on YouTube. They actually call them "favourites," because it's England.

Many thanks, Ripple Fest!

Sunday, March 16, 2008

The Most SHOCKING Planned Parenthood Abortion Phone Transcript of All!

The Advocate is a UCLA based "Pro Life" publication released by a group called "Live Action." They've recently made national news by publishing transcripts of tape recorded conversations with Planned Parenthood volunteers, in which they "pretended" to be racists, and claimed they wanted their donations to be used specifically to abort the fetuses of minority children. All really fantastic stuff, obviously, but they never published the most shocking transcript of all. Luckily, I allegedly have it right here, and it shows beyond a doubt just how rotten Planned Parenthood really is:

Iowa Representative, Summer Louvin, Planned Parenthood Office Temp

Caller: Hello, my name is Joseph.

PP Representative: Hello, Joseph.

Caller: I have a problem and I need help with my problem.

PP Rep: I'd be happy to help if I could

Caller: My wife is pregnant, and I don't think she should be pregnant.

PP Rep: I see. How does she feel about it?

Caller: Well, she says that she's never had sex with anyone, so she don't know how she got pregnant.

PP Rep: She says she's never had sex, but she's pregnant?

Caller: She says she's still a virgin. Her name is Mary.

PP Rep: Okay.

Caller: And she says that it was the Lord God who made her pregnant.

PP Rep: Your wife claims that God made her pregnant? Has she had any emotional problems?

Caller: You think that someone who claims to be a virgin and was made pregnant by the Lord God has emotional problems?

PP Rep: I'm just asking. Could you put her on?

Caller: Sure. Hold on. (unintelligible)

Caller with higher voice: Hello. This is the Virgin Mary.

PP Rep: That man I was talking to just now, is he your husband?

Caller with higher voice: Yes. He is my husband Joseph. We are looking for a place to stay for the night, for I am pregnant, and want to abort my baby.

PP Rep: Why don't you come into our office and we can speak to you about your options?

Caller with higher voice: You mean you want me to come into your office so that you can talk me into aborting my baby, who is the son of God?

PP Rep: Um.

Caller with higher voice: Isn't that what you want? For me to abort my baby, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?

PP Rep: I want you to do what you want to do, ma'am.

This transcript is proof positive that there are a bunch of crazy people out there!

Saturday, March 15, 2008

The REAL Scandal of the Relationship Between Jeremiah Wright And Barack Obama

This comic exposes the nightmare that Jeremiah Wright has inflicted upon Barack Obama. It is a terrible tale, that should sadden everyone who hears it.

I'm trying to be diligent about crediting my sources, so here and here are the two articles I consulted regarding the script.

Here is the source for the photo in panel 1
Here is the source for the photo in panel 2
Here is the source for the photo in panel 3
Here is the source for the photo in panel 4
Here is the source for the photo in panel 5
Here is the source for the photo in panel 6
Here is the source for the photo in panel 7

Friday, March 14, 2008

John McCain Speaks to Supporters at A Townhall Meeting In Springfield Pennsylvania

The original article is here.

John McCain thinks that any terrorist attacks are an attack on him personally, and an attack against his candidacy. Those stinking terrorists, trying to sway our elections by using terror. They stink. John McCain is the only hope against them.

The photos were swiped from Reuters.

Comic Blogging George W. Bush's Speech at The Economic Club of New York

Two pages of comic response to GW Bush's speech, almost as it happened!

Photos swiped from the AP here.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Poodle Bitch's Nonchalance is Sorely Tested

Poodle Bitch stays pretty nonchalant most of the time. The only thing that really gets her riled up is when someone walks down the street outside the house. But there are things that fill her with a righteous indignation that is so fine it is barely containable within her tiny, 14-pound frame. You wouldn't know it to look at her, since she appears so nonchalant.

But Dr. Laura Schlessinger's comments regarding Eliot Spitzer's wife got under her skin. When I looked at her today I could tell what she was thinking, in spite of herself: "If she thinks she can satisfy Eliot Spitzer, and make him feel like the man he knows he is, then why doesn't she marry him?" But that's all the thought she spared for Dr. Laura. She's got too much on her plate. Iams, for instance.

Poodle Bitch has a message for everyone: Do not spare more than a few seconds thinking about that silly nincompoop Dr. Laura Schlessinger. She is not worth it. Instead, find a favorite tree, and pee on it.


Forget Page Six! I've got the REAL hot speculation about the identity of the "Kristen" referred to in the FBI affidavit regarding Eliot Spitzer's purchasing of the services of a high priced call girl! I believe I've got her identity narrowed down to either:

A) Veronica Mars
B) The girl from "Laguna Beach"
C) Lana Lang from "Smallville"
D) The hot one from "Sex and the City" (I don't think it's her, since I have a little bit of a crush on her- that's why I show her facing AWAY from Spitzer in my immaculately photoshopped example of what it might look like if he were dreaming about all the Kristens in his life during a press conference or a meeting with the New York state senate, or whatever it is that governors do.)

This is obviously hot and important news that needed to get to you right away, so I've only done a minimum of fact checking on it! But I felt it important to get this to the public right away, because the story is breaking fast, and when it breaks fast, I have to get it to you as soon as it breaks! You can thank me later.

Carrie Pugsky contributed research to this story.

Michigan, Florida Democratic Parties to Hold "Do Over" of Presidential Primary Votes on A Wednesday Night "at Around 2 AM or so"

A PCMR Newswire Exclusive News Story, by Ricky Sprague

My sources are telling me that Democrats in Michigan and Florida, whose delegations have been punished by the national party for moving their primaries up too early in the presidential nomination process, are planning to hold revotes on a Wednesday night around 2AM.

The reasoning? The state parties are fearful that Republicans, who have already chosen their nominee (the stalwart, maverick war hero John McCain), will "cross over" and vote in the Democratic primaries, probably for Hillary Clinton, because there is no way she could beat a stalwart, maverick war hero like John McCain.

"Most Republicans are in bed by, like, 8 or 9 o'clock on weeknights, unless there's a late football game or something," I was told by a Democratic source in one of the two states in question. "So, while they'll be sleeping the night away, dreaming about that '3 am phone call' ad, we'll be picking our nominee, Barack Obama."

During an appearance on the "Rush Limbaugh" radio show, husband of Hillary Clinton and former president Bill Clinton decried the decision, saying that it put an unfair burden on the very tired voters who make up the bulk of his wife's supporters.

"Most of my wife's voters are in bed by 8 or 9 o'clock on weeknights, unless there's a late football game," he said.

When asked specifically which Wednesday night the do-over voting was to take place, my Democratic source replied, "That's for us to know, and you to find out." So far, I have not found that out.

Carrie Pugsky contributed vital information to this story.

Unfortunately, my sources were unable to confirm whether the above postcard, which has been appearing in mailboxes in Michigan and Florida, was the work of Hillary Clinton's campaign, or the Republican Dirty Tricks Committee.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

What Was New York Governor Eliot Spitzer's Wife Thinking?

I took the words attributed to "Kristen," the prostitute whose services the honorable Gov. Spitzer is alleged to have procured, as seen in this affidavit, and put them in the head of Spitzer's wife, Silda Wall Spitzer. It works, kind of.

I hate press conferences where the wife who's been wronged and humiliated stands there and looks dreamily at the man who wronged and humiliated her while he talks about how it's all a "private matter," and he's "let his family down," etc. It's always the same; can't we get something else? How about if she were to stick a pencil in his eye or something?

Monday, March 10, 2008

"Science" Tops Vatican List of "New Sins"

A spokesman said that "(Science) violates the fundamental rights of human nature." He also said that pollution is bad. But that we shouldn't fight pollution with science, since that violates the fundamental rights of human nature.

Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret


In March 1991 I went to King’s Island, a popular amusement park in Cincinnati, Ohio, about two hours east of my hometown back in Indiana. It was fairly common for me to make this trip, but this year I went not with my family, but with my friend Brian’s church group.

Brian and I rode all the rides together, and then when it was lunchtime, I said, “We have to go to Skyline Chili. That is the best stuff you’ve ever had!”

He’d never heard of it, but he trusted my judgment about food. Not about anything else, but that is neither here nor there. Anyway, we went to the Skyline Chili booth and I ordered the classic chili and spaghetti, while Brian ordered the “3-Way,” which is chili, spaghetti, and cheese; also a classic.

“This is great!” Brian said. “The only problem is, they don’t give you enough!”

We ordered two more helpings of our respective dishes, which amounted to about a pound and a half each of a good thing.

When it was done, our faces were covered in chili and our bellies were full and we were so content that it felt like everything was going to be alright, for the rest of our lives, which is unusual for high school seniors. We were so happy, and so content, that we couldn’t wait to get back out there and start riding the rides again. As we walked along, examining the map of the park, Brian sensibly said, “Let’s start out slow, since we just ate.”

I agreed. “Let’s do one of the kiddie rides, like the teacups that spin around!”

We made our way to the children’s area of the park. There was no line for the teacup ride, so we made our way to one of the giant teacups, took seats across from each other, and started the thing spinning.

The way the teacups work, there is a wheel in the center, and the riders spin the wheel, which in turns spins the teacup-shaped car in which you’re sitting. Then, once the ride gets going, all the cars spin around in a wide circle. The intensity of the ride is determined by how fast you want to spin yourself.

Brian and I were both young and strong, and we got that baby going!

But the ride was too short, and since there was no line anyway, we decided it would be fun to ride it again. We spun the hell out of that thing. Then we rode it again. And spun the hell out of it. Oh, how we laughed! It was fun.

But as our teacup spun, I realized the Brian had stopped laughing. Then I realized I wasn’t laughing either. And I realized that my stomach was churning madly.

“Oh boy,” Brian said, holding his stomach. “Could you maybe, stop spinning the teacup?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” We each put our hands on the wheel, trying to get it stop. Eventually, it did, but then the ride started up, so the entire teacup was spinning, almost like it was taunting us, and Brian and I sat there, our faces pale, holding onto our stomachs and trying not to throw up. That was not funny, and neither of us laughed.

Finally, the ride ended, and we both staggered out of the teacup and walked slowly, so as not to disrupt our delicate stomachs and send the food we’d just eaten a few minutes before back up our esophaguses, to a bench. We sat, and moaned.

“I hope I don’t throw up!” Brian said.

“What were we thinking?”

“You and your dumb Skyline Chili idea!”

“You didn’t have to go back for thirds, you know.”

“I’m never listening to you again!” It was the most sensible thing Brian had ever said.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” I said. “I’m never doing anything like that ever again!”


Nine years later, in March 2000, I was working at one of the major movie studios in Hollywood, California, in an extremely menial “foot-in-the-door” position. I had several friends there, and one night we decided to go to the Saddle Ranch, a restaurant and bar on Sunset whose main attraction is a mechanical bull.

“We’re all going to ride the bull!” we’d agreed. I was looking forward to it.

I was there with my coworker Gary, my coworker Jeremy and his girlfriend, another coworker that I had a crush on named Kelly, my coworker Jennifer (a woman I also had a bit of a crush on, but who liked sports a little too much for my taste) and her fiancé whose name was I think Brian (not my friend from the prologue), and a couple of other coworkers, who were also cute women I had crushes on, whose names are lost to me now. It’s important to this story that you know that each of the women at this table was extremely cute, because our server was a man who was not blind. In an effort to impress them, he offered us free appletinis.

I’d never had appletinis before, and I belittled them, mostly because of the name. The name just sounds so cute. But what the hell, they were free, and I’ve had a standing policy, since junior high school, to never turn down free alcohol. So I accepted. Everyone accepted.

They tasted delicious. I say “they,” because the women didn’t want theirs, and gave them to me. Jeremy didn’t drink, so he gave me his. “It tastes like fruit juice!” I said.

Gary, who was more of a drinker than me, said, “That’s because they are. There’s hardly any alcohol in these things at all.”

We ordered. I got the plate of mini cheeseburgers and fries. I can’t remember what everyone else got, and I don’t think it’s important, but what is important is the fact that the server asked us how we’d liked the appletinis, and we all said they were great. He offered us some more, and we graciously accepted.

Everyone gave theirs to me, and I drank them avidly. As I drank, I realized just how much more charming and funny everyone seemed. I became more charming and funny myself. Everyone was laughing and having a great time, intensely interested in every observation I made.

One of them told me she thought I was drunk.

“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “I’ve had, what one-two-three-four-“ I pointed at each of them, counting off the drinks they’d given to me, but finally I got bored and said, “It’s just fruit juice anyway!” which got a big laugh.

I ate the plate of mini cheeseburgers in record time. They were good, but greasy. And I guess they didn’t mix well with all that fruit juice, because I started to feel a little queasy.

“So, when are you going to ride the bull, Richard?” Jennifer asked.

“Oh, man,” I moaned. I looked at the bull. Someone was riding it at that time, and the back and forth up and down movement it made was slightly nauseating. I stared at it, transfixed.

“You okay there, Richard?” Jeremy asked. “Uh-oh, he’s lost it! He’s gonna pass out! Look out!”

I turned back and smiled. “That’s not funny, because it’s true.” But I felt like they were challenging me, and I didn’t want to wimp out, so I was about to tell them, Yes, I’m going to ride that damned thing, but something stopped me. I cast my mind back to that day nine years earlier. The Skyline Chili Teacup Incident. Hadn’t I made a promise to myself never to do anything like that ever again? Yes, I had, and no, I wasn’t going to be stupid.

I finally said, “No, I’m not going to be stupid. If I ride that thing now I will throw up all over everything and embarrass myself, and they’ll probably charge me to clean it up!” There was more laughter, and promises to come back some other time, and ride it “Before Richard gets drunk on his ass!”

Later, as I was turning the key in the door of my car, Kelly asked me, “Are you sure you’re not too young to drive home?”

I laughed hard. “Kelly, you know I’m old enough to drive! I’m old enough to drink, and you have to be older to drink than to drive!”

She said, “I asked if you weren’t too drunk to drive, you jerk!”

“That’s not what you said,” I insisted. “You asked if I were young enough to drive, or something silly like that, which I am!”

“Alright, I’m not arguing with you,” she said, looking in my eyes. “Just drive safely.”

As I was sitting in my car, waiting for a break in traffic so I could pull out onto Sunset, I congratulated myself on my sensible decision. I got the break, so I pulled out, and I realized I was behind a police car, and it really helped to steady me as I drove. I followed it almost all the way home.


About two months later we all went back to the Saddle Ranch, and I had every intention of riding the bull, but someone pointed out that the creators of “South Park,” Trey Parker and Matt Stone had shown up and taken a booth with a clear view of the bull, and there was no way I was going to make an ass of myself in front of those guys. “South Park” is probably the best show on television.

I guess I regret not riding the bull that night, but I have a feeling if I had ridden the bull, I'd regret that, too. That's the funny thing about regret.

Trilby is up at a site called "Ziddio."

They're part of Comcast, and they have an "On Demand" channel with them. So I was thinking maybe Trilby could be part of their on demand programming, and you could watch it on your tv, if you have cable through Comcast. I know they have it in Atlanta. Anyway, I think you have to be logged in to watch the movie there, which is a bit onerous, but let's try this anyway:

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Obama Wins Wyoming

My sources tell me that Barack Obama has won the Wyoming caucuses 98% to 2%. Because of the Democratic party's rules of proportional representation, designed to promote fairness, that means that Obama has won 9 delegates to Clinton's 8.

It's still close, everybody!

Friday, March 7, 2008

Samuel Beckett on Hillary Clinton's pursuit of delegates

I'm not sure exactly what this means, but then I always thought Beckett was a little obscure.

Quotes are from "The Unnamable," the last line of which was used as the title for this collection.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Why Do People Fear the Drugs That Will Extend Our Lives Indefinitely, and Make Us Look And Feel Younger?

Why did it take me almost two years to figure out how to use the Comic Life software that came with my mac? Who knows?

These people are awesome. Then there are other people, as mentioned here.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

A Proposal For A Totally, Completely True Non-Fiction Autobiographical Book That I'm Hoping to Sell For a 6-Figure Advance

I awaken on the bus. There is a hole in the side of my guts, where the rival gang members shot me six times. Actually, there are six holes. They were mad because Big Turbo stiffed them on the crystal, but I didn't have anything to do with that. I was just the messenger. I'd been off dope for four years. Totally clean. Oh sure, I did a line now and then, just to show the others I wasn't no narc, but otherwise, I was clean.

I'm 10 years old. The holes in my side are bleeding. Liquid life oozes out of my body.

The bus is full of middle class white people who are on their way to Vegas, to play slot machines and craps and whatever else it is that middle class white people do to dull the pain. But I wouldn't know anything about that, since I'm half black, about 1/4 Hispanic, and call it 1/8 Native American. I was raised on the mean streets of Brentwood. I was born without feet.

I was born addicted to crystal. And cocaine. And meth. And uppers. And downers. I was born addicted to everything my biological mother was addicted to, which was just about every drug you can think of, including heroin. Which is why they put me in the foster home.

My first foster mother abused me so bad that I had to develop 38 different personalities to deal with it all. One time, she dug a big hole in the backyard and put me in the hole, then she filled the hole with snakes. I was covered with snakes, then she filled the hole with about 5,000 gallons of water, and then she threw a tiger shark in with me. She threw in rabbits with slit throats, and the blood in the water made the sharks crazy.

But I was crazier. I'd been reared on the mean streets. I was a hard little boy of five, and I bit the sharks in the neck, severing their carotid arteries. They couldn't hurt me if I hurt them first. I'd learned that as soon as I got out of my mother's womb, and the doctor slapped my ass.

They decided they didn't want me anymore, so I went back into the system, and I ended up with Moms Johnson. She was hard and she took care of me. She gave me my first gun as a present as soon as social services delivered me. The woman from social services just shook her head and said, "Keep that gun, you'll need it to survive on these mean streets." She left me there because the whole system is messed up, and there was nowhere else to take me. Then she just walked away, walked to her big giant brand new Lexus, and drove off, leaving me to survive on my own.

The other foster kids joined crips, but I joined the bloods. I became harder and more deadly. I'd killed 32 people, all of them accidentally, by the time I was 9.

But now I'm ten, and I'm on a bus to Vegas that's full of middle aged white people, and I know that in order to survive this I'm going to have to prostitute myself to them, and I'm wondering how I, a mixed race gangbanger with six bullet holes in him, managed to get to this place.

The above is the opening page of my compelling autobiography, The Power of Journeying Through Terribleness. It tells the absolutely 100% true story of my life as a gangbanger and drug addict, and male prostitute with multiple personalities. It tells the story with compassion, but unflinchingly. Unfortunately, my story is all too common on the mean streets of Brentwood, and I feel that publishing my book, and giving me a seven figure advance, will help to get their horrible stories told, so that maybe, finally, people will actually do something about it, instead of doing nothing, and just letting the shame and terror continue unabated. Thank you for considering this, my proposal for what is sure to be a #1 non-fiction bestseller.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Predictions for the Democratic Primaries For Tuesday March 4, 2008:

In Texas, look for Barack Obama to pull out the win!

In Ohio, look for Barack Obama to pull out the win!

In Rhode Island, look for Barack Obama to pull out the win!

In the other state that's voting, look for Barack Obama to pull out the win!

However, Obama's margin of victory will be so small (ranging from only 7 percentage points in "the other state that's voting," to 19 percentage points in Texas) that the Hillary Clinton campaign will take it as a good sign that the country is having "buyer's remorse" about the charismatic Illinois Senator, and will continue her campaign into her stronghold of Pennsylvania! This one's not over yet, folks! Until Obama can win a primary state (that's not going to be won by a Republican in November anyway) by more than 70 percentage points, he won't be the clear people's choice!

BONUS REPUBLICAN PREDICTION: Mike Huckabee, former governor of Arkansas and evolution denier, will score a crucial victory in Texas, and pass Mitt Romney in the delegate count!

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret

I get a lot of emails asking me for advice on various topics, from the romantic to the financial (sometimes both at the same time!). I usually keep these to myself, answering the email discreetly and in the style of a gentleman, and not mentioning it on my blog. But this week I got an email that, in providing an answer, led into a tale of regret. I asked the sender of the question if I could use his/her email as part of this entry in the series, and s/he said certainly. S/he seemed flattered by the request. So here it is:

Dear Ricky,

Long ago, my stepbrother broke my nose. We were just kids at the time, but I have not forgiven him. My nose was badly reset by the doctor and, while I understand that it’s not my stepbrother’s fault that the doctor made a mistake, I still blame my stepbrother for all the reconstructive surgery I’ve had to undergo since then. My friends and other members of the family tell me that I should let it go, especially now that my stepbrother is a drug addict and they’re planning an intervention for him. Frankly, I’m thinking of going to the intervention and bringing him some drugs he can take afterward. He’ll probably be jonesing after everyone’s done lecturing him.

Am I wrong to feel this way? Should I just "let it go"? Should I go to the intervention and bring him some drugs? Please help!

Bitter in Albany

Dear Bitter,

I’ll answer your question with a story of my own:

When I was in second grade, my family was torn apart by a particularly acrimonious divorce. After a long, hard courtroom battle, my mother got custody of me and my sister. But my family then hit hard times, and we had to go on welfare. We were so poor that I had to wear my sister’s clothing (she was two years younger than me, and had let’s say eccentric taste). We had to share food. I don’t want to get into this too deeply; it is painful.

Second grade was a difficult time for me. I had been a shy child, but I became withdrawn, and almost totally unsocial. I had to be coaxed by the teachers to play with other children during recess. Usually, their games were created to humiliate me.

One day, something that seemed miraculous to my still-developing mind occurred. The other children invited me to play a game of dodge ball with them, and I was treated as an equal. Smiling, laughing, throwing the red rubber balls back and forth; it was the first day in years that I felt truly happy with the other kids. It didn’t occur to me that anything could ruin this game.

Then, one of the balls soared past me, and into the playground area. Without a thought, without a care, I called out, “I’ll get it!” and ran in the direction of the ball. As I leaned down to pick it up, I felt something wet on my neck, and touched my neck with my hand.

My fingers were coated by a gooey strand of saliva.

I turned round and saw, standing on the top of one of the four wooden play structures in that playground, a fourth grader named Keith. Smiling at me, with a smug, satisfied look. He wiped his mouth, and flipped me the bird.

Keith came from a wealthy family whose parents were not divorced. He wore nice clothes. He was athletic. He wasn’t red-headed. He was considered good looking by the girls at the school, and was already dating. He was on the fourth grade basketball team. He had everything I didn’t. And he spat on me. That was the first interaction I’d ever had with him in my life. I’m sure he didn’t know who I was.

I never forgot that. I didn’t obsess on it, either. But I never forgot. The next year I was transferred to another school, as part of the “Academic Challenge” program (lucky me, I was so smart), so I had no occasion to see him again until high school.

My girlfriend in high school was the friend of a woman who had dated him. My gf told me about something rotten that he had done to her friend, a couple of years before. I mentioned that I'd known he was rotten ever since grade school, and related the story of his spitting on me. My gf told me to let it go, that it was silly to hold a grudge about something he'd done when he was in fourth grade.

Anyway, I forgot about it again, even if I didn't quite "let it go".

After college, my friend Brian and I rented a house in the middle of the woods in Brown County, Indiana. Brian planned a party for one weekend, and invited dozens of people, who in turn invited people themselves. A few days before the party, he told me, “Hey, I just heard from Jeff that Keith, from our high school, might be coming to the party.”

I started to tell Brian about the spitting incident, but I decided against it. I didn’t want him telling me that I should "let it go." “How about that?” I said. I decided to quietly prepare.

I got a 5-gallon plastic bucket, and started spitting. Any time I thought of it, I would hock a loogie, and spit. When Brian wasn’t around, I’d carry it with me, spitting all day. When Brian was at home, I would leave it in my room, and make surreptitious trips to help increase the load.

By the day of the party, the 5-gallon bucket was about three quarters full of a sloshing mixture of water, electrolytes, mucus, antibacterial compounds and various enzymes. It was an impressive amount of oozing liquid, and I was looking forward to throwing the contents of the bucket on the big stupid head of that big stupid jerk Keith.

The party started around seven o’clock, when the first arrivals showed up. Friends of Brian’s I’d never met before. The house started filling with revelers, who spilled out into the back patio and a fire was started at the edge of the woods. A substantial crowd stood out there, drinking, singing and dancing, talking excitedly. Some people attempted to engage me in conversation, but I was too distracted. Where was Keith? I had all that spit sitting in my room, ready to go. It wasn’t fair!

Then, a VW Bus rumbled up the driveway. I bolted around to the front of the house and saw the door slide open, and a group of Patchouli heads climbed out, smiling dopishly.

“Hey, man,” one of them said, seeing me. “Heard there wassa party…”

“Around back,” I asserted.

They filed past me, smiling and nodding. One of them was Keith. Like the others, his head was covered by a colorful bag, in which was knotted hair, and herbs. They lived in the bus, traveling from one part of Indiana to another, so bathing was a luxury they were rarely able to indulge. The herbs helped with the smell.

It helped some, but not a whole lot.

I followed them around to the back, to the fire, where they each took beers, and easily joined the crowd. I marveled at how nonchalant they were, how casual. There was something admirable about the way they conducted themselves at the party; and I admit I saw something seductive about their dropout lifestyle.

There was a crowd around Keith, and he held forth with stories about life on the road; of bus breakdowns, of run-ins with the law, of casual sex in apple orchards while Bob Marley songs played in the background.

He smiled sheepishly, crookedly, honestly. I tried to see the face of the boy who’d spit on me, those years before. I tried to superimpose that face over the face I was seeing at that moment, and I just couldn’t do it. The person who was here now, before me, was not the same person who’d spit on me back then. Throwing that bucket of spit on him now would be completely meaningless. No, worse than that, it would be a vindictive, petty act, on my part.

I couldn’t do it, I thought. I went into the house and took the bucket into the bathroom, where I emptied the contents into the toilet and flushed them down. It took a few tries to get it all down, and as I was flushing it occurred to me that this was truly disgusting, and that I’d been living with that, in my bedroom, for days. Gross.

I went back to the party and for the most part had a fine time. Around two am I decided I needed to go to sleep, so I left the few people who were still awake at the fire and headed toward the house. As I was walking I turned to my right and saw Keith, passed out drunk, laying face down on the ground, all by himself. At that moment I cursed myself for flushing away all that spit. His prone body was the perfect target for a three-quarters-full five gallon bucket of spit. I could have poured it on his head and he probably wouldn’t have even awakened.

Son of a bitch! And after I’d gone to all that work collecting the spit! I couldn’t believe that I’d let the opportunity get away. An opportunity I was sure would never return.

I don’t think about it every day, but occasionally I think back on that missed opportunity to get my hard-earned revenge, and I regret dumping the spitbucket.

Bitter, if you have an opportunity to get revenge on someone who has wronged you, then for your own sake, you need to take it. If you don’t, you will regret it for the rest of your life.