Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Jack London was a gangster

*My leg hurts.

. . .

I'm going to bed.

(I may have found a printer for shirts. So, y'know, start saving up. Pink and rainbow on a light brown t-shirt/hoodie)

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Breaking News: Irony Gun Continues to do Ironic things
Experts baffled

*Doing a daily comic actually seems to be easier than a bi-monthly one. Once you get rid of the humor and quality, it's pretty much cake. And if one more person asks me about that Walrus-molestation-Unicorn comic, I am going to be miffed. Miffed. Then I'll do it, because I have no spine.

And if you would consider buying a shirt with a pink AK-47 shooting rainbows, y'know, tell me. I need some cash for my operation, and gills don't come cheap.

Monday, November 28, 2005

The Irony Gun does the opposite of what you expect a gun to do

*So that's what color looks like. Huh.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Thanksgiving is the holiday when I don't do crap

*There are very few things that piss me off more than people blathering on about how Thanksgiving is a celebration about killing Native Americans(politically correct). I mean, it is, but I don't need to know about it while I'm eating. Seriously. Freaking hippies.

Still blaming the Puritans- Jonathan Superfly McTango

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Fine! You're the Girl Anachronism!

*It is a good song I think! By an odd, odd band. I call the other guy in the comic, "I can't draw hair at all" guy. Maybe he is a superhero? (He isn't) I keep neglecting drawing the Peter and Akbar comics, whenever anyone reads them they give me an odd look and ask me who that is. If you don't love comics about obscurely famous Eurasian rulers, then get the hell out of my country. (The Independent Nation of AWESOME. They don't like to talk about us much. . . )

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

I should not be allowed to do this.

*Bleh. Finally, a comic strip with Peter I and Akbar the Great. One is insanely enlightened, the other a party animal! Both: moustaches. This is a true story. No one thinks that putting great rulers of the 16th and 17th centuries together in college is a good idea. I know better though. I think my audience is mature enough to understand the new, smart humor in WTR. Tomorrow's possible comic= Public Walrus Molestation: Like 5 people know what I'm talking about(Unicorn's Perspective)

Oh, and the comment button isn't going to give you web-cancer or anything. Seriously.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Uuugh, labels.

*I'll probably do more of these at some point. I think I ended up having too much fun writing this, so I didn't finish the comic that was originally supposed to go up today. THIS IS OKAY. Don't judge me whitey. Oh, and that song in the last panel is "Martian Girl" by the Aquabats.

So you accidentally punched the president in the stomach

Lucky you. You had an invite to the election day party for the Republican candidate. Just as the news channel was beginning to announce the ballots, your friend George joked you about your new girlfriend. You drunkenly swung at him, but he easily jumped aside. You didn't notice this. You felt contact and started lauging as the victim fell to the floor. On the news, they announced he new president of the United States to be your host. The man in fetal position at your feet weakly whispered "hooray", and then passed out. Someone half-heartedly uncorked a bottle of champagnem, the fizzy spray dripping on the newly elected president of the United Sates.

Sure, you'll have to move to Colombia to escape the death penalty for treason, but you just sucker-punched the most powerful man in the world! Pat yourself on the back!

Then run.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

I do not like Scientology

*I know I spelled it "Rsychic". I meant to. I'm creating a new language. Sorry if your mind got blown.(not really)

So the apocalypse is coming and it's all your fault.

It was just an accident. You didn't know the tenth forbidden incantion of the tome of Al'Shaggarath would bring the hellbeasts to the East Coast. You just thought it was a party game. (You were pretty drunk.) Oh well. Go home and check on your dog. He'll have changed into a maggot infested, 10 foot tall monster by now, but be sure to fill his water bowl anyways. Call all your exes up. Tell them all the horrible things you did during the relationships. (Just make stuff up if you don't have anything.) Pick a fight with a very large man. (And 4 of his friends)Oh, it wasn't the apocalypse after all. Tough luck.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Yeah she has that hat

This was drawn a while ago. Just as I was gettin around to inkin it, it gets thrown in the trash, and covered in overripe squash. (It could happen to anyone. IT WILL HAPPEN TO YOU) It probably came out better after I traced it anyways I guess. I figure I'll continue with one comic a day until I can't comic anymore. THIS WILL BREAK ME. No advice today, so if you are thrown into a compromising situation today, just be cool and ask yourself; What would Akbar the Great do? I'll tell you what. He'd think up a genius religious system thousands of years before his time. Then shoot lasers out of his eyes. Akbar the Great was awesome.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

I am so sorry about this Marshall

*Wow, a comic that more than 5 people might get! I had some kind of crazy twitch that day, and various people assumed I was hitting on them! Winking is entirely too suggestive. Winking with a single raised eyebrow? DISASTROUS.

So you got caught.

You knew this day would come. You’ve been on the run for 17 years, but your past caught up at last. Your maid, Juanita, opens the door slowly, just as she always did, but there’s something different about her. She pulls a handgun from her blouse, and points it at you with practiced efficiency.
“So it was you, Juanita.” Say it nonchalantly. Make her think this doesn’t matter to you, they don’t have enough evidence to make this stick.
“It had to end one day. You knew that as well as I.” Her gun hand doesn’t waver. She’s a professional. “I have the documents. There’s no worming your way out of this.”
“You did your homework! What are they paying you?” She expected this, but offer an alternate sum anyways. She’s barely fazed, but you still have a chance, remember that. Hum Birdland. This is her song.
“Don’t. . .” She’ll say, but you see she’s weakening. Take the chance: Jump into your moat from the window. She won’t try to stop you. (Blow her a kiss if you’re debonair enough.)

You’ve evaded them for another day. Congratulations! Grow a moustache and buy a mansion in Russia.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Revenge of the Mutant Fruit

*Two updates in two days? I'm on a roll at the expense of all other aspects of my life! Go me! If you don't know what Craisins are, or you're Australian, they are like raisins, except instead of grapes, they use cranberries. From now on, all my food must be a culinary mutant. I'm going to write this down. I wonder what happened to the California Raisins? Maybe they would have been more popular if they hadn't resembled ambulatory mounds of crap that played jazz.

So your boss overheard you.

You’ll be at lunch, talking to your coworkers about your overbearing boss. Someone will do an unflattering impression. You’ll laugh mockingly, and chorus “Totally” with your coworkers. You voice your opinions: he’s brain damaged, a closet case, a ruffian, and possibly a vagabond. As you tell them how moronic the company policy is, they’ll stare over your shoulder, expressions frozen in alarm.

You would normally continue on, without missing a beat, “And he’s standing right behind me.” DO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU. Turn around and greet your enraged boss warmly. Invite him to join you for lunch. He will decline stiffly, but press him into it. Tell him about the crepes you brought for everyone. (This is his weakness.) When he sits down, pull out the list of 172 Things Wrong With My Boss that you prepared last night. Whip out the reading glasses, even if you don’t need them, and begin narrating your list, pausing to offer your boss the crepes at number 19. End with a quip involving his mother.

You will get a promotion.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Last Days of the Patrianarchy

*Disclaimer: Do not be offended after reading this if you are an XX. The people who should be offended will be notified later on. Happy Egg-Nog Month!

So you lost the will to live even though you have 5 million dollars.

You were dangling upside down from a cloaked helicopter when you began to think. As you sent the gold to your partner, to be melted down and transported across the border, you pondered the meaning of life. You were depressed all through the heist after-part, nursing an expensive red as your partners bragged about their newfound wealth. Food loses it’s flavor, each bite only serving to perpetuate the ties between you and your physical body.

Dial a suicide hotline. A girl named Carol will answer. She’s about your age, and wracked with grief over losing her last caller. You’ll feel an immediate connection, and talk for hours on the phone. Agree to meet at a fancy Chinese place. She orders the shrimp, and you fall in love with her. On the second date you meet at a café, and accidentally tip the waiter with a hundred. She asks about the money. You should avoid answering for another two months, but admit your crimes to her after the police search your home.

She breaks into tears, and confesses to her past as a jewel thief. (She ended it when one of her partners betrayed her to the cops.) She’s been on the run ever since, and joined the suicide hotline to give back to the world. Donate all the money to charity and run off to live together in Brazil.

You'll die of a baboon mauling 20 years later, but be cool about it. They are endangered.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Man, so I see this baby. I walk up to it, friendly-like, just trying to make small talk. And while I'm talking, he's just staring at me, with those soulless little eyes. Finally, I realize that this baby cannot talk. What the hell!? In my day, a toothless blind man with a helper monkey taught you how to speak English. Ah yes, I remember those hot summer days, standing in the middle of the street, shouting out my ABC's with a small primate on my back, hammering in every letter with a wooden coat-hanger to my head. I fondly remember going back to that blind man's shack in Central Virginia and rearranging his furniture. Later, I paid an inebriated Dutch sailor tuppence to rough up that thrice-accursed monkey. Then I realized that monkeys probably do not live that long anyways, and I felt kind of bad for doing horrible things to a blind guy. Then I had some jello and someone yelled at me for arguing with a baby.

Comic later!