Angsty Ramblings

The long road home, and then back again...

2008-07-07T01:55:00.000-07:00

So for those of you that know, and those of you that don't.... and those of you who didn't care or realized that you might care, but still don't anyways. I live in Seattle. The suicide capital of the world, not that I'm suicidal, I'm just too cheap to pay for horror movies. Then again who isn't at ten dollars a ticket. Jeez.

Anyways, I live in Seattle, but my parents, or that is my Mother and my younger Brother (the Cartoonist) live about two hours north in Bellingham. Bellingham is a nice little town that's reminisent of a scene in Alice in Wonderland, mostly due to the large amounts of copious marijuna smoke that perputally bellows from the University. One of the reasons I moved to Seattle. High people, not quite as entertaining when you're sober... or just a little contact high....

However, I do tend to like to go visit as I still have some friends up there, as well as my parents and my cat. However, as my car has recently decided to commit the carnal sin of trying to kill it's master, namely me. I have to plan these visits much more selectively, and via bus. Namely Greyhound home of the bottom of the barrell, and those that kind of just really seem like they might rape you.

Now don't get me wrong, being massively poor for most of my life I have nothing against poor people (except for the rapist not super keen on rapists). I mean poor people are people too, we just smell a little worse, and usually have a keen perpetual desire for beer. Both qualities that you'll notice about us if you ever decide to ride on the Greyhound.

Along with the poor are the voluntarialy poor. These are poor people that are not the bottom of the barrel but just really stuck up rich people who have decided instead to be poor so that they can continue to stroke their egos about how much the rest of us suck for living in society like normal people. These people are easily recongized by their large rucksacks, annoyingly arrogant grins, and the fact that they still smell really horribly, like dead hooker that you forgot was in your closet from Grandpa's last trip to town. They don't like beer, though, too mundane. No for them it's so organic spice bitch beer shit made out of rainbows and the sweat and tears of joyful naked gay people riding like zombies through Fremont in broad daylight.

Anyways, the bus is an interesting place is the point I think I'm getting at here, even if I'm not very coherent.

My lack of coherency is probably due to the fact that I'm currently sitting at 2 in the morning in Bellingham typing on my friend's laptop as she crushs my lap with her oil tanker sized ass. I haven't the foggiest what the hell shes doing. Probably making notes on how to kill babies.

But that's not the full reason I'm tired. No the full reason is that this is not my first trip in the last two weeks. No in fact this is my third trip. The first, the aforementioned bus trip to Bellingham ended in the bus company fucking me royally in the ass until I bleed out a pear fucked by the fruit fucker. So instead of a fancy, and smelly, bus ride home. I had to borrow a car to drive home to work on time. I had to be at work you see.

After work, I had to be in Ellensburg, which is through the two waredrobes and up the monkeys ass all the way to Narnia. We drove there, you see. To pick up my friend's air force uniform, so that he could wear it when he leaves...in a month. So we drove out slept and turned around and drove back.

Then I went to woke. Then I got really drunk..... and lit things on fire....
and then I celebrated the fourth.... and then I slept and worked and then I drove back up to Bellingham so that I could get on a bus to go back to Seattle tomorrow....

oh and sometime died in my flat during these travels and I haven't been home long enough to figure it out....

yeah....

I'm done....

don't ride the greyhound...

unless you need to.....

then just bring beer... it makes it better.

Branding Yourself with the Warm End.

2008-06-29T21:07:00.001-07:00

Are you branded? Think about it... maybe even check your ass. That's most likely where the branding would be. It would be on your ass. Unless you were a marine, then it would probably be on your leg, at least that's what Jar Head taught me. Or was that movie about the Army? I can never remember I honestly got distracted after the hot sex scenes that opened the movie. But enough about that.

We're here to talk not about sex (that's tomorrow) but instead about branding. Yours, mine, everyones.

Branding is best known as the process in which we take a large heated metal rod with a stylized tip and stab it into the ass of a living creature. We do this, so that other people will recognize that we in fact own that animal. We do this to have possession over the animal. We do this because rings don't fit on hooves. Image if we could just do that for marriage too. On the honeymoon men would just bend their wives over and thrust a rod into their ass.... wait.... how is this different?

Anyways, back to our topic.

Branding, is not just for cows (and overly excitable S & M couples) no branding has many other meanings and purposes in contemporary society.

Social purposes.

In the context of Social Psychology, which is often called Sociology or among some more snobbish scientists little bitch science, Branding is also used as a way of categorizing people based on their images that they display. This makes it more like the Corporate definition of the word which means product that's just as good as all the others, except like forty times more expensive, and oddly enough better presented. In the case of milk the off-brand is usually just the name brand in the shitty container. Anyways, for our purposes let's say that a brand is an image that is given off.

What is your brand? Think about it... What is it? What do you wear? What do you say? How do you do it? How does your room look? Are you aware that we are so bored with our own lives that we aren't even taking the time to do anything but watch you so that define you? Did you stab yourself in the ass with your own hot metal stick?

People are very concerned in Seattle with the image that you're putting off. They are very concerned. Why nobody, myself included, knows. But they are. At work people turn down bags for their books because I might judge them.

I highly doubt that Paul went to Public School....

2008-05-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

So today's comic is actually kind of a inside joke, but I think it turned out okay. Except the art... the art is super shitty. I found that I can't do words in Photoshop and the words down come out right if done in Illustrator. I'm not quite sure what to do about that. I'll have to keep working on it to figure that out.

Anyways, the as it turns out this is a true story. One of my roommates sheepishly admitted to me that he thought my head was large, and another roommate apparently jumping on the lets get all of this out of the so he only explodes with anger once bus, chimed in that I speak funny. Kind of high pitched and awkwardly.

For the record, I neither exploded with anger nor was previously unaware of this information. I mean, I, unlike Paul, actually went through Public School. I've been more then aware that I both A. have an accent, and B. a large head since I was like 12 years old.

It really doesn't bother me as much as people seem to think it should. I mean really, so I'm not exactly Fabio, forgive me if I'm not that sad. I'm am kind of odd looking. However, I really have never relied on my face for much, especially given the level of smiling that usually comes with stand up. (sidebar my face is gets even weirder when I smile, it crunches up and all sorts of funky shit.) Anyways, the point is as a writer, artist and comedian, being beautiful has never really been a priority for me. Even if I end up going into politics its really not that important.

Also, I'd lose my position as the Vice President of the Unibrow Club of Custer. (I had a little bit of a unibrow when I was younger.)

Work in Progress

2008-05-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

So for today's comic, as you noticed it really isn't a comic. Instead, I'm trying to get back into the swing of using Illustrator. More importantly I'm using an Illustrator that's much newer then the one I'm used to, like around five years newer. I think I have Illustrator 8 at home, and this is CS. Much nicer. My Illustrator was so old that it was literally almost not usable, Sir Pooty and I had to come up with all sorts of tricks and cheats to make things look half way presentable and honestly, it didn't always work out.

Anyways I'll keep working on this image, as well as some other ones, and will probably use them as get out of jail fillers when needed.

Political Shticks

2008-05-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, so today is the first official day of the blog, even though I'll make efforts over the next couple of days to add a lot of the backlog stuff onto this page to make things easier.

Today's comic as most of you probably noticed was not our usual free humor gag. It came about in my Scandinavian class when we were talking about gender equality in Norway. It looks like the current deal is that the Norwegians are fairly equal and into the whole solidarity shtick, and have all of these cool policies to allow women into politics. I think its something like 40% of the election ballot need to be women, so people still have a choice, but you know keeps things diverse.

However, despite their position in politics many women in Norway still feel jipped. There have been some complaints that Business and Corporations, which are mostly male lead, are where the real power in a modern globalized society, and honestly, I'm not sure if I disagree. These women have begun to demand that more women be included in business not only throughout the business but at the heads of it as well. They're probably get it too. Those women know how to bargain.

Anyways, that's the back ground on this comic.

In other news the actual cartoonist Sir Pooty, has told me that he will be working no some canon strips to present to you that I can go ahead and load up for him when he gets them done. I'll try and start including canon strips as well, I'm just not as good at them as I would like to be. Anyways, I need to go home now. I've been at the library for like five hours after a full day of school and I haven't even started my damn dinner or homework yet.

I see you guys monday.

Salty Peter.

Bathroom Ethics

2008-05-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

So as some of you may know I currently am attending the University of Washington, which is to put it lightly... freaking huge! Not only is it freaking huge, or as some social scientists are now saying, Hugeomous Freakcanious, but in total the number of people who come to campus each day, is somewhere in the vicinity of maybe 45,000 people. 45,000 people! Maybe its easier if I spell it out. That's 1 plus 1 plus 44,998 people to equal a grand total of forty five thousand people who come and go from campus each day. That, for those of you that wish to compare, is the size of my home town of Ferndale. Roughly.

I don't think I need to say that it takes a little getting used too.

Anyways, on campus there are like fifty billion bathrooms. I mean there are bathrooms in every building on every floor except for Gowen hall where apparently men don't pee because there isn't a bathroom to be found in that confounded heap of brick, sweat, and tears of small children. However, except aside their are a lot of bathrooms. Sometimes when you come out of one bathroom in the library you can see another bathroom, like ten feet away.

Why, you might ask, would we need so many bathrooms? Well its simple really.... BECAUSE THERE IS ALWAYS SOMEONE IN ANY PARTICULAR BATHROOM THAT YOU MIGHT HAPPEN TO WANT TO USE AT EVERY HOUR OF THE DAY UNTIL THE BUILDING CLOSES OR IF YOU'RE A SLACKER LIKE ME AT 3 IN THE MORNING WHEN YOU'RE LITERALLY PEEING BLOOD AT THE LIBRARY! I'll go into bathrooms so far in basements that I swear I saw Gandalf the Grey fighting a fire beast one hall over and still there will be someone in there. I'm serious, we'll be so far down that people don't even come there anymore and the ones that do have long since lost the ability to see and just kind of fluorescently glow like some type of retarded deep sea fish. I'll be so far down that I'm actually worried my torch might burn out before I see the sun again and low and behold there's someone in the bathroom. No, not just in it. At this point the poor guy might actually be living in it. Endlessly scribing hateful things about the Jews and homosexuals like Pytheous chained to the boulder for all eternity.

Sometimes, you'll go into bathrooms, and there will be guys just chatting in there. Just chatting. Just hanging Not doing anything secret mind you, but just you know kicking it. I mean it's not like there are benches, and couches and even food courtts outside of some of these bathrooms. It's not like you know they have like thirty square miles of city to kick it in. Nope, these guys are just inside the bathroom like a bunch of ten year old girls chatting to each or even worse, on their cell phones! I certainly hope nobody is calling me from the john, I seriously don't need to listen to them or worse the guy next door that must just live off dairy and nuts shitting out what I can only assume must be a substance so nutty and hard that it will in fact be confused for a meteorite at some point by NASA and studied indefinitely before I'll get to learn about in Biology.

Finally, there are those who break the one and only holy code of bathrooms. Which is, that unless you're blood buddies forged in the trenches of WWI by the overwhelming bombardment of German Artillery, molesting each other in the ass, an alter boy and his priest, or in the rare case unable to stand on your own, if there is an open urinal that is not next to someone else... YOU TAKE IT. You do not stand directly next to someone and admire their penis. Not only is that bad taste, but it might make your eyes bleed.

Salty Peter