Kings of Nothing

This is what I drew today.



Super Random Super Secret Novel Excerpt:

Admittedly, I had some creative ability. I drew alright and I had a few creative ideas about things, especially about prefabricated walls – no, not really, ha! I took a pottery class in high school and I got an A, but none of this exactly qualified me for the creation and dispersal of art. Writing I was also fairly good at, probably better at it than art some would say. I had won a writing contest in second and seventh grade. For the one in seventh grade, I got 50 bucks. I spent that money on getting some new pants. They were hip huggers, I was oh-so-cool in them, or so I thought at the time, no, I'm pretty sure I was. The guys loved me even then. Girls were jealous because they were ugly, of course.

When I received the award and cash, the lady who was giving them out, a dried out woman nearing the end of her life with skin that seemed to be leaving her face in preparation for her coming death, said in my ear, while handing the check and award into my tiny grabby hands, "You make sure to keep writing, okay dear?"

I took the cash, shrugged and said, "Yeah, okay, whatever."

Much to that lady's disappointment, though she was certainly dead by now and could not care either way, I hadn't written a damn thing since. Well, I wrote e-mails, but that didn't count. Furthermore, I don't even capitalize my words! Punctuation? Ha! What a waste of time. Perhaps when I turned 60 I could settle down and write a book, but right now? I had better things to do, and if Eric was any evidence, this act of writing, to give myself over to it, it would only lead to my own demise, or, at the very least, it would make me insufferably pompous, almost as much as he was – and that was a scary thought.

Besides, I had a job, a real job, what good would writing do for me? I had nothing to say, I had no major problems to deal with, and no one wanted to read a book about a young 20-somethings life as a Target employee. It had been done, as I said, it had all been done, all been said, it was superfluous, that was the word. (Good word, put that shit in a book.) Besides, my job was pretty fun most of the time, and so there wasn't much whining to be done in the form of literature. You want to know how much work sucks? How hard it is to earn an honest living? The struggles of the common man? Well then don't fucking ask me about it.

Garbage Day!

544

More Ayn Rand brilliance...

"Whenever I hear people say taxes are a necessary evil, I think of Hitler."

-Ayn Rand

Hey! How come these roads have so many holes in them! I can barely drive my car! If only we had a way to pay someone to fix them! Damn you Ayn Rand!!!

Hey! This library's closed! How am I supposed to check out The Emperor's Children and read it in two days because it's so damn good!? If only there were a way to pay people to work here! Damn you Ayn Rand!

Hey! This school doesn't have any teachers! Damn you Ayn Rand!

Hey! A bunch of stupid fuck wits are spouting gibberish about objectivism! Damn you Ayn Rand!

http://www.multcolib.org/

From Andrew (pretty sweet): http://www.laboiteverte.fr/lavant-et-lapres-de-peintures-connues-expliques/?ref=nf

Stuff

From the internet:

For me its exploding rocks down at the quarry all day. Nothing like a big boom then a cloud of dust to make you feel alive.

Garbage Day!!!

YOU ARE NOT PREPARED:





"I think Disney knew I didn't know anything -- but they had hope!" -Lloyd Beebe, film maker for Disney's True Life Adventure films

Teach me how to Dougie!

Why do I write?

I write because blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.



When you see Humboldt, please tell him I said hi.

The Meaning

I gave my self an A+ because I think I'm great and don't care about you. At least not since I read Atlas Shrugged and Fountainhead and found the meaning of life. (That's the meaning, to not care about you. Sorry, bro.)

This photo is marvelous by the way. (Ayn Rand would hate it because both of these women are decidedly more attractive than her.)



One of my friends posted a site that had a bunch of retro photos on Facebook. That's where I found it. It's an old photo from a movie I have sadly forgotten the name of. The site didn't have any Ayn Rand photos. (Ayn Rand doesn't matter and was a delusional megalomaniac.)

In the above photo, Ayn Rand is nowhere to be seen, this makes the photo ten times more beautiful and a hundred times less bat shit crazy.

I was eating cereal today and it didn't have any Ayn Rand in it. (I was glad because Ayn Rand was a terrible writer full of cooky ideas.)

The other day I went for a walk and Ayn Rand was nowhere to be seen, this made me glad. (Not mad.)

I had a dream the other night, it was not about Ayn Rand but my friends. (Ayn Rand would be a terrible friend because she wouldn't care about me, much like she didn't care about her real friends.)

The other day I went to the post office and someone said they did not like Ayn Rand. I invited them to my house and we had a beer. I offered it to him for free, he was glad that I did not subscribe to objectivist principles which encourage being a selfish ass hole.

Ayn Rand was not born in my city, I was born in an Ayn Rand free city, which by default makes it the best city.

I was hacking a family to pieces the other day and wait.

The other day I told my friend I did not like certain parts of his artwork. Being that he was not a fan of Ayn Rand he saw me as a critic but not an enemy of his personal pursuit of limitless excellence. We had a nice talk and I bought him a beer. (Ayn Rand would never buy you a beer.)

You'll have to guess.

Thanks lady!

Enlightenment

Morning:



Night (ha, ha):

Now is the time to panic.

INFOWARS.COM!

Nah, I'm just kidding. Stay in school kids!

Real talk.

"Whenever you get hit with an overwhelming weight, you have to jujitsu it."

-Nancy Pelosi

With just a handful of men...

ARTILLERYMAN: And what's so bad about living underground eh? It's not been so great living up here, if you want my opinion.

ARTILLERYMAN: We'll send scouting parties to collect books and stuff, and men like you'll teach the kids. Not poems and rubbish - science, so we can get everything working!

ARTILLERYMAN: Nothing can stop men like us. I've made a start already. Come on down here and have a look.

Hail Satan!

Satan a Favorite to Win Presidency

AP News
Billings, Montana

Satan, the current ruler of Hell, is a favorite to win the presidency of the United States of America. Polls have shown, that if the election were to take place today, an astounding 62% of America would vote for him. When asked about these impressive numbers, David Halberstam, a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist and political historian said, "What the hell is wrong with these people!? It's f--king Satan!"

Shirley Barret disagreed however when asked about her choice of Satan as president. "Satan is the kind of guy you'd want to get a beer with, he speaks the way your average American speaks, he supports family values, and I like his views on gay marriage." She paused a moment, then added, "I really like that he doesn't like gay marriage."

Satan has been running on a platform of saving this country from left wing elitist snobs, right wing radicals, and people who know more than you do. He believes that he can save America by "bringing this country back to the way it was before big government began to control your health care, out of control spending, blah blah blah, and something about family values."

George Brickowsen, a local plumber, had this to say about Satan's poll numbers, "It's no surprise to me really. Satan knows what the people want and he's going to give it to us. He has promised to fix the deficit, abolish taxes, kill all terrorists, save the sanctity of marriage, fix spending, and stop illegal immigration, and I look at him and see how big he is, and that really makes me think he's the one to do it. He's a big dude."

Satan has no political experience, though he promises he has learned more than enough while ruling Hell. Many critics are concerned about his complete lack of schooling, having never even enrolled in kindergarten. He has not yet chosen a running mate, but all sources point to Sarah Palin.

Garbage Day!

I'm obviously late to the party on this one, but I had to draw this for my own sanity (or perhaps insanity? ha ha).

Sorry, Mr. Heller. I'm going to keep doing that until I finish your wacky book. Deal? Deal.

From Tim Kreider (political cartoonist):

I had already turned in my cartoon Friday afternoon when, Saturday morning, I read the news that Reagan’s health was failing. I began drawing immediately. I have had a rough draft of this cartoon ready for this occasion for years. As the day continued I kept getting e-mails and text messages from friends excitedly anticipating the Gipper’s impending death. Finally Steve, with whom I have planned for over a decade to hold a party on the day of Reagan’s funeral, called me from the track, where he was betting on the Belmont Stakes, to tell me that the old bastard was finally dead. He reported that there had been a perfunctory Moment of Silence, lasting approximately 1.6 seconds, before everyone went back to betting. It was beautiful. As the afternoon went on I got a flood of congratulatory calls from friends around the world—Ben in Boston, Megan and Mike in New York, Berkeley in Baltimore, even Allison in Bulgaria. I e-mailed this cartoon into the City Paper around seven P.M., begging them in the name of our sweet lord and savior Jesus Christ to stop the presses and please run this Wednesday, and then headed down to Baltimore to drink tiny beers and watch The Big Lebowski. The Reagan party will be held at my house this weekend.

Perhaps it may seem insensitive and unpatriotic to some for me to run such an ugly cartoon at this time of national mourning. To those of you who hold this view, I must respectfully say fuck you. Some of my younger readers may not even remember Ronald Regan’s presidency, and I would not want them to be misled by the onslaught of state propaganda they’ll be subjected to this week. Calling him the Great Communicator is like calling Hitler the Great Negotiator, and if we’re going to credit him with winning the Cold War we may as well credit him with the Challenger disaster and the return of Halley’s Comet. Let me tell you what it was really like:

Even at age twelve I could tell that Jimmy Carter was an honest man trying to address complicated issues and Ronald Reagan was a brilcreemed salesman telling people what they wanted to hear. I secretly wept on the stairs the night he was elected President, because I understood that the kind of shitheads I had to listen to in the cafeteria grew up to become voters, and won. I spent the eight years he was in office living in one of those science-fiction movies where everyone is taken over by aliens—I was appalled by how stupid and mean-spirited and repulsive the world was becoming while everyone else in America seemed to agree that things were finally exactly as they should be. The Washington Press corps was so enamored of his down-to-earth charm that they never checked his facts, but if you watched his face when it was at rest, when he wasn’t performing for anyone, you could see him for what he really was—a black-eyed, slit-mouthed, lizard-faced old son-of-a-bitch. He was a bad actor, an informer for McCarthy, and a hired front man for a gang of Texas oilmen, fundamentalist dingbats, and right-wing psychotics out of Dr. Strangelove. He put a genial face on chauvanism, callousness, and greed, and made people feel good about being bigots again. He likened Central American death squads to our founding fathers and called the Taliban “freedom fighters.” His legacy includes the dismantling of Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal, the final dirty win of Management over Labor, the outsourcing of America’s manufacturing base, the embezzlement of almost all the country's wealth by 1% of its citizens, the scapegoating of the poor and black, the War on Drugs, the eviction of schizophrenics into the streets, AIDS, acid rain, Iran-Contra, and, let’s not forget, the corpses of two hundred forty United States Marines. He moved the center of political discourse in this country to somewhere in between Richard Nixon and Augusto Pinochet. He believed in astrology and Armageddon and didn't know the difference between history and movies; his stories were lies and his jokes were scripted. He was the triumph of image over truth, paving the way for even more vapid spokesmodels like George W. Bush. He was, as everyone agrees, exactly what he appeared to be—nothing. He made me ashamed to be an American. If there was any justice in this world his Presidential Library would contain nothing but boys' adventure books and bad cowboy movies, and the only things named after him would be shopping malls and Potter's Fields. Let the earth where he is buried be seeded with salt.

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It's not rocket science people, heck it's not even 3rd grade math! Hell it's just a graph with a talking elephant!



Just a few notable dates in Reagan's presidency:

11/23/81
President Reagan vetoes a stopgap spending bill, thus forcing the federal government - for the first time in history - to temporarily shut down. Says House Speaker Tip O'Neill, "He knows less about the budget than any president in my lifetime. He can't even carry on a conversation about the budget. It's an absolute and utter disgrace."

4/18/85
While Michael Deaver is in West Germany searching for an "appropriate" concentration camp for the President to visit, President Reagan defends his visit to Bitburg by claiming the German soldiers "were victims, just as surely as the victims in the concentration camps."

5/5/85
After having visited the Bergen-Belsen death camp, President Reagan makes an eight minute stop at Bitburg. During the ceremony, he cites a letter from 13-year-old Beth Flom who, he claims, "urged me to lay the wreath at Bitburg cemetery in honor of the future of Germany." In fact, she urged him not to go at all.

5/8/85
Reagan's arms and legs are tied to four horses and the horses are made to run in opposite directions, tearing off all of his limbs. Still alive, his head is slowly crushed in a large vice. He dies.

5/9/85
A large party is thrown in Times Square. Ulysses S. Grant, Abraham Lincoln, and The Founding Fathers rise from the dead to join the party. Jesus appears and break dances. He is very good at break dancing.

5/10/85
Nothing much happens. Laker game. Uncommonly warm day.

On art...

"I don't like this art."

"Yeah? Well, what would you do?"

"I'd write a book, that's what I'd do -- and I did! I wrote two! And I'm working on a third!"

---------------------------

Ulysses S. Grant: "Good heavens woman! This is a war! You can't be here!"

Wife: "But what should we have for dinner, Ulysses S. Grant?!"

Ulysses S. Grant: "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

[Ulysses S. Grant walks off into the fog]

On delusion...

I'm a genius!

The guitar in this song breaks my heart every time. (I'm such a baby, ha ha.)