Cartoons that give you practical advice on living your life, that is.

Know when you’re licked…accept it with poise, grace, dignity and maybe just one last bitch-slap out of you, if that’s called-fer…

And — more importantly than that — know when you’re not.

Never let the bastards get you down. Non illegitimi carborundum.

(A frog with opposable thumbs?)

Ah yes. That “Make Flypaper From The S On My Chest” superpower, I remember it well.

I’m a little curious how this kinda stuff happens. Since the days of Superman I and II, it’s been shown that making a decent comic-book movie is not that easy. And maybe that’s the fail-point, when you have someone put the movie together who isn’t quite up on what the superhero is & is not supposed to be able to do.

Here’s the original scene. Kinda silly…you’ll notice that famous Kryptonian “White Frosting Laser Beam From My Finger” power comes next…oy.

This is just cool.

This will quickly separate the lovers-of-fun from the sticks-in-the-mud.

I’m one of the latter, I’m afraid. It’s your special day, you’re already getting your special attention. You don’t need more. I suppose it is kind of funny on some level…I chuckled myself.

But by the time these two have a kid and stage an event in which it seems a balloon is carrying him away, of course you have to feel like crying. Since it’s all the same warped lust for more-and-more attention, where do you draw the line? You don’t. At the end, you just have to admit this is the vanity that is bringing our society down, may destroy it entirely, and it’s hard to imagine anything more sad.

Hat tip to Rick.

This one is filed by KC at Compare and Contrast: Spoken by the Sexes:

There are a few problems with it. I spoke out on my favorite one, over at her place. But I can’t beat Old Iron‘s comment:

Awesomesauce; capitalism is were apparently I can have both cash AND my guns.

More here.

Hat tip to Weasel Zippers.

Physics Geek is an occasional commenter around these parts, always with something fresh and thought-provoking to say. Earlier this week Daphne clued us in on that cool joke of his.

I first saw this on rec.humor eons ago. Not exactly sure what made me think of it, but I couldn’t resist posting it.

By the way, don’t take too seriously the “it’s real” part.

Tandem Writing Assignment

The following is a true story received from an English professor.

You know that book “Men are from Mars, Women from Venus”? Well, here’s a prime example of that. This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca (last name deleted) and Gary (last name deleted).

First, the Assignment:

English 44A
SMU
Creative Writing
Prof. Miller

In-Class Assignment for Wednesday:

Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth.

Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.

And now, the Assignment as submitted by Rebecca & Gary:

Rebecca starts:

At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of the question.

Gary:

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. “A.S. Harris to Geostation 17,” he said into his transgalactic communicator. “Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far…”. But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship’s cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

Rebecca:

He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. “Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel.” Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth — when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. “Why must one lose one’s innocence to become a woman?” she pondered wistfully.

Gary:

Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. “We can’t allow this! I’m going to veto that treaty! Let’s blow ’em out of the sky!”

Rebecca:

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

Gary:

Yeah? Well, you’re a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.

Rebecca:

Asshole.

Gary:

Bitch.

My guess is that they have 5 children now.

Story behind the pic.

Don’t feel like teasing it. So that’s what you get. A pic and a link.

Figured out what you want to be for Halloween this year?

List of fifteen, here.

1. Social worker
2. Special events coordinator
3. Probation/parole officer
4. News reporter
5. Music ministry director
6. Membership manager
7. Fundraiser
8. Commercial photographer
9. Assisted living director
10. Minister
11. Marriage/family therapist
12. Curator
13. Substance abuse counselor
14. Film/TV Producer
15. High school teacher

Yeah, I know. It’s a real bitch getting born into something that isn’t royalty, having to spend your life doing things others would find useful and valuable just to chase those three hots & a cot.

Did they forget something you used to do? Leave it in the comments.

Sad. We’ll have to learn to live without atrial fibrillation now.

Okay, enough of that heavy stuff. Let’s get silly with Marina Orlova.

From here.

Hat tip to Theo Spark.

I just plain like this.

And we’re putting it up for absolutely no reason whatsoever. That’s just how we roll.