Jon visited his local book store where they had a huge display with a sign saying, “Newly Translated from the Original French: 37 Mating Positions.”
The book was rather pricey, and every copy was wrapped in a plain brown wrapper. Intrigued, Jon just had to buy one.
Once he was safely at home, Jon eagerly tore off the wrapping and opened his new book.
It turned out to be an expensive book about chess!
Drawing a Blank
It’s a little embarrassing when this happens, but it does. It’s not that there isn’t a lot to talk about, or my muse has taken leave. I’m just really busy right now with things. What kind of things? Well it’s the usual everyday things I’ve alway had to deal with, but these days there seems to be less time to take care of them.
So with all that’s going on, I can’t seem to come up with anything to talk about right now. Funny how that works, isn’t it?
Just wanted to point out something about that filler panel up there. That’s the “new and improved” Brandon. Looks kinda like the old Brandon, but the shading and texturing is done differently. I’m still working on it, but once I get it all done, it should have a cleaner, more professional appearance. Heck, even the couch and lampshades got upgraded.
Pax,
-f2x
Charlie called 911 and told the dispatcher, “I think my wife is dead.”
Trying to determine the nature of the situation, the dispatcher asked, “What makes you believe that she’s dead, sir?”
Charlie replied, “Well, the sex is about the same, but the ironing is piling up!”
John ran into his old pal Joe and asked, “What are you doing these days?”
“I’m a fireman,” Joe replied.
“You know my 12 year-old son wants to be a fireman,” said John.
“Well,” explained Joe, “if you want some good advice, you’ve got to install a pole in your house that will go to the basement so your kid can practice, because the hardest thing for a fireman is to jump off into space and catch that pole in the middle of the night.”
Ten years later, the two old pals happen to meet again.
“Well, did your son become a fireman?” asked Joe.
“No,” moaned John, “but my daughter became a stripper.”
Deep down in the bowls of hell, an English lord and his Irish manservant ran into each other.
“My lord,” the Irishman exclaimed, “What is a nobleman like yourself doing here amongst the damned?”
The Englishman sighed, “I’m here because I lied, cheated, and stole to pay the debts run up by that playboy son of mine. But you? You were a faithful, loyal servant. Why are you here?”
“For fathering that playboy son of yours,” the Irishman replied.
A window cleaner goes to a monastery looking for work. The Abbot hires him but tells him to clean all the windows except the top three.
So the window cleaner cleans all the windows except the top three for years and years until curiosity finally gets the better of him. He puts his ladder up against the first of the three windows and looks in. he sees 12 monks with their robes up and their cocks lying on a table with a mouse running around on top of the table.
The window cleaner goes down the ladder moves to the second window and looks in. There he sees a beautiful woman and a monk in bed screwing like mad.
The window cleaner goes down the ladder and puts it up against the third window. He looks in and sees a monk tied up, stripped to the waist being flogged.
He climbs down the ladder, but when he gets to the bottom the Abbot is waiting for him. The window cleaner says, “Look, I know your going to fire me, but please, at least tell me what is going on up there.”
“Well,” says the Abbot, “in the first window you saw a competition to see which is the lucky monk. Wherever the mouse stops is the lucky monk. And in the second window you saw a monk with the prize.”
“But what about the third window?” the window cleaner asks.
“Well,” says the Abbot, “that monk was caught with a piece of cheese in his foreskin.”
OUTSIDE: As the days go by, I think of how lucky I am…
INSIDE: That you’re not here to ruin it for me.
OUTSIDE: If I get only one thing for Christmas…
INSIDE: I hope it’s your sister.
OUTSIDE: I’ve always wanted to have someone to hold, someone to love.
INSIDE: After having met you, I’ve changed my mind.
OUTSIDE: I must admit, you brought religion into my life.
INSIDE: I never believed in hell ’til I met you.
OUTSIDE: Looking back over the years that we’ve been together, I can’t help but wonder…
INSIDE: What the hell was I thinking!
OUTSIDE: I always wanted to be rich, powerful and well respected.
INSIDE: And while I’m dreaming, I wish you weren’t so damn ugly.
OUTSIDE: Sex with you is like using drugs:
INSIDE: Lots of people do it, but nobody’s stupid
enough to admit it.
OUTSIDE: When we were together, you always said you’d die for me.
INSIDE: Now that we’ve broken up, I think it’s time you kept your promise.
OUTSIDE: I’m so miserable without you…
INSIDE: It’s almost like you’re here.
OUTSIDE: If you ever need a friend…
INSIDE: Buy a dog.
OUTSIDE: Congratulations on your new bundle of joy.
INSIDE: Did you ever find out who the father was?
Running a little behind
So yesterday (Saturday) morning I woke up to another stunning headache. Of course no one knows what’s causing these migraines, but the thing that really gets me is that they typically happen on my days off. This time is was so bad I threw up. It kind of pisses me off, because I had shit to do, and I’m left completely incapable of even basic tasks.
I was kind of busy all last week, what with work and all. It was the end of the month, so mostly 10 hour days. Something I’ve noticed lately… No matter what, I spend at least two hours in the kitchen every day. In any event I had pushed back doing the comic until the weekend, and Friday I was so tired I figured I do it first thing in the morning… And then I got the migraine. It lasted until well into the afternoon. Believe me when I tell you that looking at a screen with a migraine is like stabbing out your eyes with steak knives.
Not to change the subject, but I just noticed that it’s Sunday the 1st. That means there’s going to be a Friday the 13th soon. It’s not that I’m superstitious, but the yokel locals tend to run amok when these sorts of things occur. C’est la vie.
Pax,
-f2x
