Bizarro is brought to you today by a Prison For Bearded Children.
We start this post with last Saturday’s cartoon, which I have not posted yet because I was on a secret CIA mission to the moon. It was lovely up there but I was almost killed by secret agents from somewhere in the Andromeda galazy. Damn, it’s exciting being a cartoonist.
Starting with the wedding cartoon, I will say that I’ve been involved in far too many weddings. Always as the groom, never as a best man. If you’re like me, one of the many sickening things that occurs to you when you’re going through a divorce is how embarrassing it is that you had so many friends and relatives spend their time and money on a trip to your public declaration that you’ve found the right person and your love is special, then having them find out later that your marriage was no more special than the average third date. Bummer, dude. My most recent bride had a lot of tattoos, but that wasn’t the impetus for this cartoon, nor the reason for our divorce.
Monday’s cartoon is about an archeological dig in which one man found something important. Something quite like this happened to me twice in the nearly ten years that I was married to the aforementioned tattooed lady. I lost my wedding ring on two separate occasions and found it later both times. The first was in the pool beneath a waterfall in Hawaii, of all places. It slipped off my finger in the deluge of water pounding down into the pool and I immediately reached down to try to find it. There was nothing but potato-sized, round rocks beneath me. I searched and searched, blindly feeling around beneath me for several minutes to no avail. I called the tattooed lady over and said, “I just lost my wedding ring! I’m going to go back to the car and get my snorkel mask and see if I can find it. Stand right here to mark the spot until I get back!” She did, then as I was wading out of the pool, she stooped down, put her hand among the rocks and found it. I erroneously took it as a sign that our marriage would last forever. The second time was less interesting because it happened in our own apartment, but the ring was missing for over a year before found again. That time I did not take it as a sign because our marriage was by that time, seriously on the rocks. (pun intended)
Tuesday’s cartoon is about the ponderous mystery behind The New Yorker’s cartoon editing process. In my business, it’s pretty hard to spit without hitting a colleague who has wasted years of their life submitting cartoons to NYer magazine, with no success. When you look through any given edition, however, you see a few brilliant efforts and a lot of amazingly mediocre nothings that leads one to wonder how they go about choosing cartoons for publication. I do not know the answer, but I’m guessing a chimp and a dartboard are involved. I’m happy to say I’ve never submitted to New Yorker because I’ve never felt that what my life was missing was more disappointment.
Today’s cartoon is about disappointment of a different kind and comes from my dear friend, Cliff Harris The King Of Wordplay. Here we see two citizens who are both excluded from enjoying a particular TV program because of their age. The dog might enjoy it, though.