although the first version of this panel was drawn three years ago, I keep working on it. I especially like his face. One theme I keep seeing crop up in my work over and over again is employees who hate their bosses.
I don’t give a damn at what point babies are babies, I say if you got something in you, you got the right to take it out. If it lives, put it in an orphanage. If it dies, well then. The corollary to this — and the point where abortion anti-advocates prove themselves assholes — is that if it cannot survive outside the body, it still looks like a baby, and it’s a pure kindness to end its suffering without making the mother suffer even more. I have a chart that demonstrates this if you’re confused.
The salient point is that nobody can make you an incubator if you don’t want to be. Laws stop at the skin (or at least they should).
What I reeeeealy want to do is give the technology another couple years to get here, until we get to the point where a baby can be implanted and survive in the GI tract for at least a little while, regardless of whether the GI tract is male or female. Apparently it’s quite possible and they just haven’t made it practical yet. And then I want to find a fat asshole senator from a state where they made abortion illegal in cases of rape, and give him a roofie and inject that shit in his fat gut, and tell him, it doesn’t matter that somebody implanted this thing in you in the most horrific and disrespectful manner possible, it’s a baby and you have to carry it.
The law will be clear.
I will be charged with rape or something, and since this is a southern state that’s only a year or two with time off for good behavior. I’ll probably get out before that shitbird brings the baby to term. And I’ll spend that whole time laughing.
If you’re in your thirties and forties, I’m talking to you. If you remember wanting an Atari, I’m talking to you.
I know how it is. We’re getting old. And everything we hoped for never really happened. The future got here only in the stupidest and worst ways. There’s no flying cars or end to war, just unemployment and killer robots and dead oceans, and this magic internet that we never dreamed of that lets us talk about it all.
Instead of the new tomorrow we were promised, we got a bad rerun of our parents’ yesterday. America’s been stuck in neutral for our entire lives, while the engine just runs and runs and runs.
There’s been a pall of doom over our entire lives. First it was the good old global thermonuclear war of our childhood days, then that went away and now…we don’t even know what it is, but we know we’re in terrible, terrible trouble. We can’t even tell where the trouble is coming from. It seems like it’s coming from everywhere.
It’s been hard to not give up.
But…
What if this is it?
What if you waited your entire life for this, and when it finally came you were just…too…old. Too old and tired and worn down and passed by. What if it finally happens, and we’re just too old to recognize it?
If you wait your whole life for something, and when it finally gets here you’re just too old to do anything about it, didn’t you wait your life for nothing?
But if you grasp that moment, then it can still all turn to gold. Those years do not have to be wasted — the world waited, and you waited, and the world was ready, and you were there.
Oh Class of ’93, you weren’t meant to spend your life in grey fluorescent hell. You weren’t meant for it all to be for nothing. We were raised by good people who wanted to give us a world full of light and joy and friendship, energy and possibility and freedom, respect and truth and dignity. An end to war, and an end to hate, to hunger, to sickness. They did not prepare us for this mean little world.
This is what they trained us for. This is what they made us for. This is why we have dragged ourselves through an endless grey night, and the dawn is finally here. The world is finally ready. The time is finally come — we can take our future back.
But we’re so old!
It doesn’t matter. Life isn’t fair. Some people wait their whole lifetime and it never happens, For us, it’s finally here. It was almost too late — it definitely wasn’t too early. But you know what they say about something that wasn’t too late and wasn’t too early; it’s right on time.
It’s time for us to help our parents keep the promise they made to us, the promise their parents couldn’t keep to them.
You are not going to get another chance.
Wake up!
So I think I strained my Tibialis posterior where it inserts onto metatarsal IV. How did that happen, you ask, and also what does that even mean?
Well, I kicked a wrought iron chair. Why they even ever invented wrought iron chairs I do not know — it must have been for a more shoe-wearing age. I intend to make that chair’s legs cardboard-shod before the moon sets this eve.
And what does that mean? That means I kicked a big bar of iron at full speed with my fourth toe, which it bent up very precisely and injured precisely one ligament, in the deepest part of my foot. Basically it’s the part that holds up the top of the arch of my foot. So if I place my foot firmly or try to push up off the front of my foot I am in a lot of trouble. Since it felt like a tear, a lot of trouble.
I got on it right away with lots of ice and arnica, and it wasn’t the worst tear, but man, it felt like a tear. A shocking new experience. A very precisely disabling injury, too. Don’t know what I’m going to do for work for a few days.
If you ever wanted a commission, now would be an excellent time. As it is I think I’ll just work on painting and Cloudhopper and War on Christmas.
First, hello to everyone on Dreamwidth and Livejournal. I should warn the people still following along on this blog that I’m going to be posting daily from now on, and when you consider how completely destitute DW and LJ have been lately, that’s a whole lot. So if you have a small friends page I’m going to take it over, and I’m sorry but I’m also not sure what I can do about it. I’ll be posting original content every Monday and at other times during the week when I feel like it, and the rest of the time I’m going to be rerunning Cloudhopper one panel at a time. If you’ve already read Cloudhopper I hope you can enjoy looking at the art all up close and pretty.
Honestly, if you really really really have a problem with me going daily, post in the comments and I’ll try to figure it out, but I’m pretty sure there are not too many using LJ and DW to keep up with my work these days.
Now, on to today’s pictures!
These pictures were taken a little over a year ago, I’ve been trying to get around to uploading them for approximately forever, here they are. These are the work of Tom Otterness, one of my absolute favorite sculptors, and these are scattered around the NYC subway station, I believe at Union Park.
If you look closely they tell a story.
Based on this and other sculptures, I strongly suspect that Mr. Otterness is a communist.
Cowboy-Free; a 24-hour comic by Geoff Sebesta
by Geoff on November 3, 2011 at 0112drawn between October 1st and October 2nd, 2011
Thanks to Zach Taylor for putting it all together, and to Conjunctured for giving him a place to put it all together. This was the most fun 24hrCD for years and years, and yielded major insights and hilarity. I had a really, really good time.
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