Bizarro is brought to you today by Zach Galifianakis in Disguise on the Subway.
As readers of this blog know, I’m no friend to the current epidemic of so-called “reality” shows. Nor prime-time game shows which are often the same thing. Give me actors, scripts, stories and creativity any day. And, because I’m a human being with a normal tolerance for repulsiveness, I’m not a fan of Donald Trump, either. Just drawing this caricature of him (and I’m pretty proud of the result, given that caricaturism is a specific art form of which I am not greatly experienced) gave me a major case of the willies. What a creepy human he is, on so, so many levels.
My buddy, Richard Cabeza (best pseudonym of all time if you know any Spanish) suggested these food-related, celebrity-name puns in reference to cannibalism and I put them into the context of Trump’s TV show. (At the other end of the revulsion spectrum is Kristen Wiig, whom I cannot get enough of. I think she’s a genius.)
On a different subject, years ago, when Hitchcock’s version of Psycho was still fresh in people’s minds, fear of closed shower curtains was ubiquitous. Of course, in the context of the movie, the real danger is being inside the shower with the curtain closed ––and showering with the curtain open can be very messy–– but I think people extended that fear to entering a bathroom with a closed curtain. I hope lots of people still harbor this fear so that this cartoon made some sense to readers. The idea came from one of my vast network of amigos, Mr. Fisher.
Speaking of Mr. Fisher, that’s a cameo appearance by him in the cartoon at left. In fact, it is a cartoon depiction of how I met him. I was getting drunk in a local tavern recently (when am I NOT?) when I saw some poor schlub passed out on the bar with his falconer’s glove still in place, soaked with tears. I took him home, sobered him up, and showed him my poster of some hands and butterflies that said, “If you love something, set it free...blah, blah, bah.” You know the one. It seemed to cheer him up a bit and I sent him home. I then counted the cash I had stolen from his wallet while he was out. Only $23.
The falcon never came back, of course. If he’d really loved Mr. Fisher, he wouldn’t have needed that big glove in the first place.
The moral of today’s blog stories is don’t incarcerate wild animals lest they attack you while you’re in the shower. And Donald Trump is disgusting.