“Spit on the dice, Sister Agnes.” “Hyukkk-shlorp!” “That was good, Sister Agnes, but half of your spittle landed on my rosary.” “Perhaps one of the cocktail waitresses could bring us a towel when she returns with our martinis.” “Do you think it would be ok if I said a few Hail Marys before I shoot the dice?” “What would Father O’Malley say?” “He’s over at the blackjack table.” “Yoo Hoo! Father O’Malley! Yoo Hoo!” “Not now, Sister, I just doubled down.” “Listen, Sisters, either you shoot the dice, or you pass ’em to that hooker on your left!” “Don’t give them to me, they’re covered with spit.” Etc. Etc.
I’ve seen wild turkeys before, but never a flock of 27. Too bad all I had was my IPhone and I cluldn’t get a close up.
Winter turkey hunting season in Maryland is January 16-19. I’ll tell you, around here there are lots of geese and ducks and deer. Winter time it sounds like Anzio. Don’t count on sleeping in. I’m such a bleeding heart, I couldn’t shoot anything. I’m scared to death of guns. I know what you’re thinking. “What a Wooss!” Yes, it’s true.
Sid and Spencer are still having a hard time making ends meet.
And it only took me about eight hours. It’s a step to my front porch.
I haven’t painted it yet. It’s too cold. Right now it’s sn0wing. Geeze! I can’t wait to get back to Florida. Actually, I’m quite a carpenter. I should have gone into that line of work instead of drawing stupid cartoons.
This is from 2002. BoBo was based on a feral cat that lived in our neighborhood on Anna Maria Island when I was a young teenager. He was a huge grey striped tabby. His head was about as big as a melon, and it was full of scars from all the fights he had been in. My sister named him Balls because he was endowed like a bull moose. He used to bring his lady friends around to get handouts from the neighbors. He wouldn’t eat when he was entertaining. He would just sit there and survey the neighborhood, on lookout for any ill-fated Lothario who might have the unfortunate temerity to insinuate himself on the dinner party. He was well liked among our neighbors. Many times we invited him in when he was solo, for leftover burger and a saucer of milk.
A perfectly good blow-up doll. Some guys have all the luck. The best thing that ever washed up in my yard was during Hurricane Isabel, and that was a toilet. True. But can you imagine what a sicko could be responsible for something like this? I mean throwing a perfectly good blow-up doll in the bay. Geeze! It makes you wonder what’s becoming of the human race. By the way, her name is Rachael. Somebody wrote her name across her forehead. They also drew some interesting graphics elsewhere with a Sharpie.
Today is the 77th anniversary of the surprise attack by the Japanese on our naval base in Hawaii. In remembrance of that day’s events, and of our nations participation in the war, here is a story that was sent to me by Frederick E. There is some question about the details of the story or whether it is true in part. But I think it’s a good one.
We owe so much to the men and women who sacrificed so much in that terrible conflict. There aren’t too many left now. My cousin who died two years ago served in the Coast Guard in the Atlantic and in Europe. His ship sank the first German submarine in American waters. (My father served in WWI) I have a friend who is 99 years old now, and who was a pilot during that war and the Korean War. My hat is off to them and all those like them.
Once again, if you would like to see me drawing some of this week’s strips, ther is a link in yesterday’s post.
Someone left a comment on a YouTube video that I did some years ago. I looked at it, and what a surprise. I happened to be drawing some of the strips that I’m posting this week. If you want to see me draw them click this link.
It didn’t work.
I usually works. Can’t figure.
Duane the Frog Man’s last name? Now you know.