During the contentious 2008 US election we were often bombarded with variants of a very basic Republican speaking point: You don’t actually buy the hype do you? For all the talk of change you don’t expect you will magically open your eyes into a mystical new wonderland should, against all odds, a black man named “Barack” get elected to the highest office in the land?
Oddly, I had assumed this was just the usual pundit pedantry – intentionally making shallow word-play out of the broader social and international importance of metaphorical “change”. Heck, I think I probably argued that the act of such an unlikely election, in and of itself, would encompass of more national “change” than, perhaps, the entirety of the previous several presidential terms.
Ironically, the promise wasn’t nearly as metaphorical as I’d thought:
1130h EST, January 20th 2009 – Barack Hussein Obama II was inaugurated at the 44th President of the United States of America.
1200h EST, January 20th 2009 – I find myself in Puebla, Mexico officiating a press conference between Captain Henry Morgan and the famous Mexican wrestler, El 1000 Por Ciento Guapo, Shocker.
Now that’s change you can believe in!
(en espanol, but here’s a mildly comprehensible auto- translation)
I was picking up my pull list at my local comic haunt last week (confidential to readership: If you don’t know what a “pull list” is, this story is probably not for you) and ended up in line behind a mother and her young son discussing which comic character he would dress up as for “Super Hero Camp.” “Wolverine!” was his instant, choice. “No, that’s too scary for some of the younger kids – pick someone more friendly.” The boy started scanning action figures lining the wall across from the counter “The Hulk! Hellboy! Lobo!” Each met with a similar complaint. The young gentleman clearly screwed down his thinking cap to give the issue some major thought – and then you could see the lightbulb go off over his head – “The Joker!”.
Mom beamed. “That’s a much better choice!” At this point I came dangerously close to doing a spit-take. May I present a common comic-shop dillema: Should I volunteer an opinion that no one has asked me for? Read more
beer commercial husband, your plight is that of blindness to her plight. your only explanation you offer when she found you pouring kitty litter into the bathtub is a sheepish grin. you impulse-bought a motorcycle when the two of you were saving for a minivan, and your solution is to get a sidecar and a baby-sized germanic helmet that reads “lunch time” beneath a cartoon drawing of some tits.
Yes this is a little late, what with the theme-park distractions and all, but I felt it was important to publicly acknowledge the post that accompanies this comic over at Chainsawsuit.
Plight of the Beer Commercial Husband is quite possibly the finest thing Kris Straub has ever written.
And that’s saying something.
Sorry it was such a quiet few days. I have a bit of a hard time tracking to whom I’ve said what (and where), but much of the RocketAce family decended upon San Diego last week to celebrate the wedding of Chad Thompson and Jennie Reichert. We were only a handful of cast and crew away from a full on Dead End Days convention – so good times were most assuredly had.
Also there were theme parks.
I may never be as clever or as popular as Tim Schaefer. I may never be a suave video game designer, with my own crack team of geniuses working on some of the most critically lauded videogames of all time.
But at least my house doesn’t smell like cat-pee covered consumer electronics.
Also, Tim now has a daughter or something. Congratulations!
But mostly I wanted to bring your attention to the cat pee thing.
Because if Tim Schaefer and a freaking ROBOT isn’t enough raw awesomesauce to prevent having to live surrounded with raw animal waste – there is absolutely no hope for the rest of us.