Thief Boobs Puppet


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When did criminals stop wearing those cute little taxi-driver caps, a Lone Ranger mask and a striped, long-sleeved T-shirt? Probably around the time banks stopped printing dollar signs on the sides of their money bags, but if I was going to commit a crime, I would definitely dress that way because people would never guess you were actually a criminal. They’d just think you were going to a costume party or something. Furthermore, if I was in jail and relegated to wearing one of those bright orange jumpsuits that say “PRISONER” or whatever across the back, I’d only escape on Halloween night. You could saunter down the street, even stop and chat with cops, and nobody would suspect a thing. A Halloween parade would be an excellent getaway vehicle. Also for a murderer covered with blood and carrying a chainsaw.

This dandy ditty was a collaboration with the infamous Wayno. He tells his side of the story here.

If you find yourself wanting another cartoon to read, look no further than a half-inch (0.000 012 7 kilometer) to the left of these words. If you’re not from the U.S. and unfamiliar with our incredibly high-class ways, we have an enormous franchise restaurant/sports bar here called “Hooters.” I went to one once back in the 90s because it was the only bar in town playing a particular hockey game that my buddy, Hector, and I wanted to see. I expected it to be awful and I was not disappointed. In fact, I was in awe of how truly awful it was. They had maybe three things on the menu and two beers, both of which are tasteless American swill. But the reason these bars are so popular is that they hire as waitpersons young, female hotties with ample, upward-pointing udders and dress them in super tight terrycloth hotpants and tiny tanktops. I’m not against scantily clad hotties per se, but they are not enough to get me to put up with lousy food and crappy beer. Though the Hooters logo has an owl in it, the obvious reference of the name is bosoms. I guess some people call women’s breasts “hooters,” though I have always preferred my own nickname, “Schlammenfloobers.”

I would now like to direct your attention to the third cartoon in this post. “Talk to the hand,” is a common expression in the U.S. (I’ve no idea if it has escaped to other cultures or countries, if so, my apologies) and it means that you are tired of talking to someone. The actual gesture that goes with this phrase is to hold your hand up flat with your palm toward the other person, as if you were telling them to stop. I suppose the idea is that you are no longer listening, so if they keep talking they’ll just be talking to the “stop” hand. This seems ridiculous because unless your arm is more than 100 yards long (91.44 meters for my readers in Canada and Europe, .0.018 939 355 888 leagues for those of you at the bottom of the sea,) you’re probably still going to be able to hear what they say. A single hand is not a terribly good sound damper unless you place it over your ear and cannot hear out of the other. Just my two cents.

For more cartoons that you like and want to have on various objects in your life, go here now.

For more cartoons that you like and would like to own in a collection that sits next to your toilet, go here now.

For more cartoons and thoughts from the inside of my head, come back here in a day or so.



24 thoughts on “Thief Boobs Puppet

  1. I love that burglar bit. That reminds me of an episode of I Love Lucy when Fred pretended to be a burglar to steal a mink coat Lucy thought was hers because it was her anniversary and Ricky let her go on thinking that, even though it was really for a show, because he had forgotten their anniversary … well anyway, Fred was dressed just like that. And so was the real burglar.

    BTW, I have a friend who told me his high-school senior daughter got a job. I laughingly said, “Where, Hooters?” His quiet reply, “Yes.”

    She actually did pretty well there. In fact when she told them she had to quit because she was going off to college they told her she didn’t have to quit, she could transfer to a Hooters where she was going. I guess they really really liked her.

    • … and her hooters. They showed an episode of Undercover Boss here in NZ, where the top hooters honcho worked undercover. The constant criticism he heard was that it was degrading to women. His solution? He was planning to launch a campaign to make women proud to be “hooters girls”. From the link that Dan provided, it seems that this is exactly what has happened. Talk about missing the point. Proud to be objectified, woohoo!

  2. I love those old time sneaky cartoon burglars! Brings me back to my childhood……oh boy…..did I just write ‘old time’ in reference to MY LIFE? well, I dont care… I still am a child…and my favorite cartoon is Batman! My husband is Batman and I am POISON IVY! and we dont even need to buy costumes at Halloween Express! We are what we imagine : )

  3. Very happy to see your newscaster is still employed — times have been tough in that business. Of course, he’s gotten a bit more stout in almost eight years, and is perhaps drinking a little too much (or does he have a cold), but still, good to see him.

    Check out 05-10-04.

  4. I went to a Hooters once for a bachelor party. It was mildly embarrassing. The waitress was really nice, beautiful and all that, but it kind of felt like we had a concubine for the evening. Definitely not women’s lib oriented.

  5. We have Hooters in Canada too – I mean the restaurant. Haven’t been to one, but thanks for the warning. Oh, and we also have those other kind too. Owls I mean. And Schlammenfloobers.

  6. Schlammenfloobers conjures up images of worn out, droopy old bras you wouldn’t give to the Salvation Army. Probably because it’s reminiscent of droopy, schlappig (droopy/baggy, saggy in German), flabby…

    How about Floobyschlabbyschwammydinglydongs, correspondingly, for men’s bits? Totally hot, hahhaha

    I’m still waiting on your adult blog, by the way. The suspension is killing me.

    • The adult blog got sidetracked by my manager who worries it would affect my career negatively, should I get the chance to do some TV. So it’s a non-starter for the time being. :o(

  7. Mr. Piraro, those two owls are not only clearly different species, but they aren’t even from the same taxonomic family. The female’s ear-tufts mark her as a member of the family Strigidae, while the male’s heart-shaped facial disc means that he is a member of the family Tytonidae (although his legs are a little on the short side, and his eyes are too big). While I applaud the forward-thinking and liberal sensibilities you’ve exhibited by portraying a relationship between two different “races” of owls (there is after all only one real race– the order Strigiformes!), I’m afraid you have unwittingly offended everyone on earth who has even a passing interest in ornithology. Furthermore, the mated pair you have depicted could never, ever, possibly exist in reality, and is therefore a completely unfit subject for a cartoon. Birders the world over await your apology, sir.

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