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Recent developments in the ongoing war of words between blogger Kim Jff Pun and conservative opponents reached a new level of butt stupid this week. The feud, which has been festering for almost five years, pits the benevolent leader of the Republic of the Sierra Foothills against The Confederation of Workers, Patriots, & Retiree Oligarchs, or COWPRO. It began with a series of anonymous trollers posting false messages on COWPRO blogs, which in turn led to Kim’s threat to expose them all in his upcoming comedy, Jefferson State of Mind.
“I’ll bombard them with personally signed copies,” the Great Leader sneered. “If they don’t respect my boundaries, I’ll follow with volumes of lawsuits.”
The chief mouthpiece (or biggest mouth) of COWPRO, Thudd Joovanilla, issued a rebuttal in his native language: “Stoopd leftee Phn iz a JoKe too uzz. Wee no he yousis fony emale namez. Wee dew nott takke hmm cereiuslee.” He then went into his people’s traditional owl dance, flapping his arms wildly while chanting “HOOT HOOT” in a mocking fashion. He was joined by the rest of the sandbox sages in a series of witty putdowns and contemptuous comparisons to various types of devils, demons and invertebrates . Kim responded with his trademark “laughing-my-ass-off-rolling-on-the-floor” acronym, a vision that no one would care to see in reality.
Kim was quick to point out that there was a vast interblogospherical conspiracy to get him, led by a mysterious entity named “trout”, who the dictator believes is an agent of the military industrial complex, or maybe the Fast Newspaper Cartel. “Trout” transmits his wiseacre remarks from an undisclosed bunker in the suburban jungle of the central valley, leading some to wonder why he cares what we natives do in our own backyard.
The rest of our tiny corner of the world watched the tortured tableau unfold, or at least five or six of them did. Everyone else rolled their eyes at the titanic waste of time and energy and went back to more fruitful endeavors, like watching cute kitty videos on Facebook.
While cruising around the net, I found this Robert Crumb drawing of San Francisco journalist-raconteur Warren Hinckle. It portrays Warren’s 1985 bust for walking his dog, Bentley, without a license, but it was really about his scathing columns in the Chronicle denouncing the police harassment of the Mitchell Brothers’ porn palace, the O’Farrell Theater.
We spent most of this week preparing for the Storm of the Century. Our house is on a low, flood-prone stretch of Wolf Creek, and we’ve lost yard furniture and garbage cans in past years. Fortunately, the worst of the weather passed by the foothills this time around. The creek never even came close to running over its banks.
I feel for the folks on the coast who weren’t as lucky, but really, we Californians tend to overhype everything.
I’m going to be hawking my wares at HAVEN DOWNTOWN in Nevada City on Wednesdays & Sundays during Victorian Christmas. (Haven is downstairs, under Abstrakt & the Gray Goose on Broad Street.) I’ll have books, prints, magnets, and whatever else I can find in my bag of tricks. Come on by and say hey!
UPDATE: There were only two of us at Haven last night. Unless there are more vendors to provide some incentive to descend those stairs, I don’t plan on continuing to participate. Watch for further updates.
UPDATE 12/13: Under the weather. Will not be doing Victorian Christmas @ Haven.
A flashback to my furry funny animal days- Tales of the Jackalope #3 (1986) “Ajackalopes Now!” featuring the Ayatollah Kockamammie, Khadafy Duck, and Yassa Arabcat. I did my covers way ahead of the books (for promo purposes) and Yassa got bumped from the finished story. All the characters these guys were based on are dead and gone now, but the story hasn’t changed much. The Mideast is still a tinderbox, and probably will be long after we’re gone as well.
Some of you may have noticed an item in the news concerning the “Furries” or to be more specific, the gassing of conventioneers at the Midwest Furfest in Rosemont, a suburb of Chicago. Some terrorist popped open a cannister containing chlorine at the con, resulting in nineteen attendees being taken to the hospital, or perhaps the vet. The reports weren’t clear on that detail.
So you may be asking yourself, WTF is a furry? I’ve been familiar with this cult ever since I started drawing funny animal comics back in the eighties. The furries are fans of anthropomorphic characters; animals with human traits or visa versa. Their numbers have grown since they first appeared, and now have their own conventions outside the mainstream of comicdom.
Although they are obsessed with fantasy, they take their “reality” and themselves quite seriously. At a gathering called PetuniaCon in 1984, I was sitting at a table with Diane Valentino, wife of Jim Valentino, who was the author of a comic book series called Normalman. The series was a spoof of the various genres popular in the comics scene at that time. One of the issues featured a storyline called Smelfquest, which parodied a popular comic called Elfquest, combining it with the ever-popular smurfs.
A young girl adorned in green elfwear and fox ears approached the table, but upon seeing the Smelfquest comic her cheery elfin persona was replaced with a withering scowl. Her hands were shaking as she pointed at the offending comic and shreiked, “I-I-I don’t see that!!! No No No!!!” You don’t mess with people’s fantasies.
I instinctively grabbed a folding metal chair, thinking I might have to whack the little green person before she leaped across the table and attacked Diane and myself, but fortunately she was led away by her companion, who was dressed as a dog, or maybe a wolf. It was hard to tell.
During my time as the author of Junior Jackalope, I had many dealings with the furries. For the most part, they were as harmless as your basic domestic pet, but on occasion they would show their fangs. Not wanting to have to go through the ordeal of rabies treatments, I eventually dropped Junior and started writing stories featuring rock musicians. The groupies weren’t as hairy.