Help Me Lie to the Tree-Huggers

I guess today is Earth Day.  Didn’t know that.

As it turns out, a fair number of cartoonists did know that and incorporated it into their comic, like here and here and here.

Not me.  This is my strip (click to enlarge):

So now I’m getting emails asking me why MY strip makes no reference to Earth Day.  Like I’m some guy pouring oil on seagulls and chopping down redwoods so  they fall squarely on baby seals.

So please, help out and give me an explanation for how today’s strip is actually promoting Earth Day, so I can cut-and-paste it into my reply to these emails.  And please, make it plausible, so I can fool these annoying people.

Thank you.

And yay, earth.

How I Lived To Today

When I was in grade school, we had these things called “Civil Defense” drills.

The stated purpose of these drills was to prepare us in case of an attack by another country.

The implicit purpose, as we all knew, was to prepare ourselves in the event of a nuclear attack by the Soviet Union.

I don’t blame the school for conducting the drills.  It was, after all, the mid-1970’s, a mere decade or so removed from the Cuban Missile Crisis that almost ended the world.

Looking back on it, though, I do question the wisdom of the steps we took to prepare ourselves for a nuclear blast 1,000 times the size of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  After all, one would think that when all the big brains of the defense department and the educational system got together on a plan for protecting millions of children from nuclear radiation, the plan would be something more than this:

Hide under your desk.

And oh yeah, cover your head with your hands.

Because as everyone knows, nuclear radiation cannot penetrate the space under a third-grader’s desk.  And even if it could, your hands are there, and it can’t get through your hands.

Granted, my buddies under their desks could penetrate the space by punching me in the side and throwing pencils at me as I was crouched down.  But not the nuclear missile.

Or maybe we were just hiding from Soviet pilots who were looking out the windows of their jets and saying “Nyet.  No keeds there.”  Of course, that wouldn’t have worked in my case, because my buddy Emilio was throwing crap at me.

Either way, the plan was a grand success, as I have lived to write this.

Thank God for good planning.

Rat is an Ass, and Now He’s On One

The waterlogged, burned and ripped copy of the latest Pearls book, 50,000,000 Pearls Fans Can’t Be Wrong (plus, maybe one copy in slightly better condition) is on its way to this extraordinarily dedicated Pearls fan who will now have a Rat on her backside forever more.

She has clearly raised the bar on what it takes to win a waterlogged Pearls book, and more than any other Pearls fan, has best exemplified the meaning of giving a Rat’s ass.

Thus, I present the coolest Pearls tattoo to date.

So congrats to you, ye of the Rat-gilded rear…Please take good care of the little guy.

On Tables That Move and Maturity That Stays Stagnant

I’m at a restaurant in Florida with my friend Emilio when the whole table moves.  I look down.

It’s on wheels.  As are the chairs.  They all move back and forth together on a little track.

I ask the waitress, “Doesn’t this make people’s drinks fall over?”

“All the time,” she says, “I had one guy last week who knocked his drink over three times.”

I look at the stuff on our table to see if the items are at least plastic.  They’re not.  Both the salt and pepper shakers are glass.

“Once,” she says, “a couple had their entire table come off the track.  Lost all their food.”

I jerk my chair back and forth quickly to see if I can make the pepper fall.  It does.  I catch it before it hits the floor.

“So why does the restaurant do this?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says.

The waitress shakes her head in disbelief.  I shake my head also.  We are in solidarity on the issue of rolling restaurant tables.  We are smarter than the designers of this restaurant.  Smarter than the idiot patrons.

As she starts to walk away, I am still shaking my head.

As she recedes into the distance, I stop.

And shake the table instead.

Emilio’s drink falls on Emilio.

I know an opportunity when I see it.

Where The Trendy Things Go To Die

I’ve started fist-bumping people.

For those that don’t know, it’s that odd little gesture where you hold out your closed fist to someone and they bump it with their own closed fist.

I bring this up only to warn you that this trendy little gesture has now run its course.

How do I know that?

Because I’m doing it.

Please return to your standard high-five.