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>The Devil, You Say?

>Bizarro is brought to you today by Pure Evil.

This cartoon resulted in a lot of emails from readers, as I suspected it would. The majority loved the cartoon because they hate Cheney, but a few folks are among the dozen-or-so Americans who still support the Dick and wrote to register their complaints.

Some people just wrote asking what this cartoon means. Apparently, there are a lot of folks who are not familiar with the expression that has become popular with some Christian teens: WWJD? (What Would Jesus Do?)

This slogan is the latest in a couple thousand years of attempts at keeping youngsters out of trouble and away from sex. When you’re all worked up and pulling at the buttons of your clothing, you’re supposed to ask yourself, “What would Jesus do if He were here in this situation?”

Well, Michael, Jesus wouldn’t be in the back seat of his Hyundai on top of Jessica from Algebra class in the first place, He’d be standing on a downtown street corner shouting at passers-by, so you’re on your own.

Trying to fight teenage lust with religious guilt is like trying to stay dry in a hurricane with an umbrella. In both cases, it makes more sense to pass out the raincoats and weather the storm.

NOTE: Just for giggles, here’s an image I created before the 2004 “elections.”

>Happy and Erect Fourth!

>Bizarro is brought to you today by the Phallic Police.

I’m not a doctor, but I saw one on TV. So I feel fully qualified to say that I’ll bet 90% of so-called “erectile dysfunction” is caused by poor blood circulation brought on by fat in the viens caused by a crappy diet. We eat garbage and too much of it, then complain because it ruins our bodies, then drug companies design a work-around so you can have your chili cheese fries and boner, too. Until you drop dead, of course.

So instead, let’s address Independence Day. I was fortunate to grow up in a less civilized place and time when it was both legal and socially acceptable to hand a grocery bag full of explosives to a child and send him outside to play. My siblings, cousins, friends and I did this each year, blowing up our toys, the local flora, items from the trash, and occasionally each other. Sure, an occasional finger or eye was sacrificed to “independence,” but what good is a democracy without some wounded veterans?

As teens we graduated to bottle rocket fights, which entailed making a “gun” by attaching a handle of some kind to a piece of plastic pipe, loading a bottle rocket into the pipe, lighting it, pointing it at your opponent, and laughing as they ducked the airborne incendiary. Large groups of us would go to an industrial park or gravel pit, divide up into two armies and shoot at each other till we ran out of ammo. Casualties were anonymously deposited on their parents’ front porch and most people just chalked it up to another teen lost to the cause of freedom.

Now, thanks to the godless, homosexual girlyman liberals, there are laws against explosives inside city limits and children are not allowed to leave the house without safety helmets and proof of insurance. I wonder how we expect to defend our way of life in the future if youngsters are not accustomed to working with explosives.

I never thought I’d live to see this day (with my one good eye.)

>Menu of Death

>Bizarro is brought to you today by Abstinence.

We all spend at least a little time wondering what certain types of death are like. They say drowning isn’t as bad as it sounds because you pass out rather quickly, your brain being unable to open your mouth and take in water. Still sounds terrifying to me. Freezing to death is also said to be merciful because you “just fall asleep.” But I hate to be cold. What about all those hours or days of misery before you fall asleep?

Beheading seems quick and almost merciful, but I wonder. How long does your brain stay conscious after separation? It’s got to be at least a few seconds, right? Are your last thoughts and sights that of being upside down in a basket? Does your neck hurt? If someone picked your head up really fast and turned it toward your body, would you be able to see it?

The most peaceful death would be an overdose of sleeping pills, I suppose. But I also think I would not mind having my head blown off by surprise. Sounds terrible, I know, but let’s say I’m walking down the street, whistling a happy tune, I spot an attractive lady in a short skirt carrying a cute puppy and I smile, then my hat explodes. What do I care?

I have often said that if there is ever a major nuclear attack within 500 miles of me, I want to be at ground zero. I’d much rather go up in a flash of light and be done with it than die slowly of radiation poisoning or spend a couple of years in a basement with god-knows-who, eating god-knows-what, wondering WTF? I would rather die than live in a world like that.

Of course, I feel the same way about a Sarah Palin presidency.

>One Man's Pants, Another Man's Pariah

>Bizarro is brought to you today by Athletes in Love.

I’ve long been amazed by baggy pants fashion. When it first began (back in the early nineties?), I laughed and felt secure in my predictions that it would not last very long. Apparently, I’m no Nostradamus.

As open minded as I like to think I am, I cannot even pretend to understand it. First and foremost, it is uncomfortable to have one’s pants falling down all the time. At the very least, you’ve got to constantly hold them up somehow or you’ll trip over them, and god forbid you should have to take off running. It is the sole reason belts and suspenders were invented, for instance. So you could run away and have both hands free for waiving frantically in the air. I am reminded of a scene from a movie I saw once where an outhouse was set afire while a person was in mid-business. He burst out of the door at top speed but only made it a few feet before his chin hit the ground.

Apart from the inconvenience of having to monitor your pants falling off is the obvious ludicrousness of it being the “style” to show your underwear. What has for centuries been the cliche nightmare of people the night before a public speaking engagement, is suddenly the height of cool. When did this happen, exactly? Was I out of the country?

I’ve done a few cartoons over the years about this topic but I’m still not tired of it. Fifteen years after the trend began, guys are still hobbling around New York City like bowlegged penguins, trying to keep their gigantic pants from falling below their knees, so I’m still drawing cartoons about it. But just when I thought I’d seen the most absurd trend my cockamamie species could possibly concoct, I discovered a behavior even more ridiculous: the passing of laws against it. Apparently, some communities are actually fining and jailing people for a fashion. I won’t argue that baggy pants and exposed underwear is an eyesore, but verboten by law? What part of the world do we live in again?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m not saying I’m a big fan of really tight pants, either, just so you know.

>One Man’s Pants, Another Man’s Pariah

>Bizarro is brought to you today by Athletes in Love.

I’ve long been amazed by baggy pants fashion. When it first began (back in the early nineties?), I laughed and felt secure in my predictions that it would not last very long. Apparently, I’m no Nostradamus.

As open minded as I like to think I am, I cannot even pretend to understand it. First and foremost, it is uncomfortable to have one’s pants falling down all the time. At the very least, you’ve got to constantly hold them up somehow or you’ll trip over them, and god forbid you should have to take off running. It is the sole reason belts and suspenders were invented, for instance. So you could run away and have both hands free for waiving frantically in the air. I am reminded of a scene from a movie I saw once where an outhouse was set afire while a person was in mid-business. He burst out of the door at top speed but only made it a few feet before his chin hit the ground.

Apart from the inconvenience of having to monitor your pants falling off is the obvious ludicrousness of it being the “style” to show your underwear. What has for centuries been the cliche nightmare of people the night before a public speaking engagement, is suddenly the height of cool. When did this happen, exactly? Was I out of the country?

I’ve done a few cartoons over the years about this topic but I’m still not tired of it. Fifteen years after the trend began, guys are still hobbling around New York City like bowlegged penguins, trying to keep their gigantic pants from falling below their knees, so I’m still drawing cartoons about it. But just when I thought I’d seen the most absurd trend my cockamamie species could possibly concoct, I discovered a behavior even more ridiculous: the passing of laws against it. Apparently, some communities are actually fining and jailing people for a fashion. I won’t argue that baggy pants and exposed underwear is an eyesore, but verboten by law? What part of the world do we live in again?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m not saying I’m a big fan of really tight pants, either, just so you know.

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