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This past weekend was something of a mixed bag.  On one hand, I got outrageously f!cked up.  These two guys outside a bar started asking me for money and I just broke out laughing because they had very thick accents and I couldn't understand what the hell they were saying.  I started walking very briskly after that, not wanting to be stabbed.

On the other hand, I didn't really do much else.  I should be doing homework right now, instead of drawing batsh!t crazy comics.

Garfield can be some pretty surreal sh!t sometimes, if taken outside the context of hackneyed bullsh!t, and looked at from the human perspective.  A man, living alone, an outcast of sorts, has turned to his pets as emotional crutches.  His cat is the only living thing he talks to on a regular basis, and he perceives that cat--because lets be honest, cats don't actually have personalities--as a conniving menace, constantly out to undermine his dreams.  But, like with lots of abusive relationships, he keeps coming back because he's so damn afraid of living out the rest of his life alone.

He probably keeps a journal or a blog of all the sh!t Garfield 'says' or 'does' every day, "Today Garfield criticized my social skills again and mocked me in front of the mailwoman.  He was so cruel.  He made me so mad.  Now the mailwoman will never talk to me again."  Just sad little ramblings by a sad little man.  Thirty years' worth of pure insanity.  I bet there isn't even a cat anymore, I bet the real Garfield died 20+ years ago and John's just talking at the toaster or a rotting cat skeleton.

So, anyway, I spent this weekend, when sober, watching lots of TV.  There was a marathon of Future Weapons on the Discovery Channel, which was f!cking sweet.  Watched a lot of Nickelodeon.  I think I'm among one of the few people in my demographic who thinks Ned's Declassified is well written for what it sets out to do.  That show's referenced A Clockwork Orange, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Spartacus; even weirder, the writers clearly have nothing but contempt for that one black kid on the show, dressing him up in drag, making him the center of every damn slapstick routine--they're definitely on some sort of magical wonder-crack when they write this sh!t.  Naked Brothers Band is also great for what it sets out to do, like a modern day the Monkees.  Honestly, Nickelodeon's at its live-action peak right now (most of the cartoons suck); granted, if you're looking for Shakespeare, you're not going to find it.  But then again, if you're looking for Shakespeare, you must be some kind of pretentious douchebag.  These writers are writing for eight-year-olds, and that's how you have to look at it; with that in mind, they really go above and beyond.

Except Drake and Josh, that show is absolute sh!t.  Horrible writing, senseless plotlines, trapped in its own insipid algorithm of, "Drake is dumb, popular, and irresponsible.  Josh is smart, nerdy, and dependable.  Drake succeeds at everything he attempts, Josh's life is sh!t."  I can imagine ten or fifteen years down the road some sort of reunion movie where Drake, a wealthy and world-famous rock star, is snorting cocaine off of some supermodel's ass crack, his sister is a successful executive of some large firm, also filthy rich, and Josh is laying in some ditch off some highway a few miles from Vegas with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his face, being eaten by vultures.  What a f!cking atrocious show.

With that in mind, have a great week Polksters, and keep on keeping on.

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