Not Fit for Fido

I’m currently finishing up an ebook for the iPad that I’m doing with Chronicle Books.  It’s called “Only the Pearls” and is set to come out in early December.  It will have 250 of my favorite Pearls strips, as well as both audio and video commentary.

But in doing the videos, we occasionally used a product for which we needed approval from the company that makes it.

Long story short, the company said no.

They said Pearls Before Swine was not a “good fit” for their product.  i.e.  That the comic strip was not something with which they wanted to be associated.

Was it Mercedes Benz?  Perhaps concerned with tarnishing their pristine image?

The Ritz Carlton?  Maybe worried the strip wasn’t a good fit for their customer?

Cristal champagne?  Not sure I meshed with their upscale reputation?

No.

It was a dog chew toy.

That’s right.

Apparently Fido would take one look at my videos and spit the toy right out.

So now I can officially say…

My work is not fit for a dog.

My Marriage Is Headed Down The Gutter

So my wife and I now play “Words with Friends” against each other on our iPhones.

It’s basically Scrabble.  And it’s nice because you can play it whenever you have a few minutes of downtime during the day.

It’s also nice because we interact with each other more than we otherwise would during the day.

So yesterday she made the word, “Love.”  Then she sent me a message along with it.

It said, “A word just for you.”

I thought that was sweet.  So I wrote back, “Awwwww.”

But what I didn’t notice was that my texting spellcheck had kicked in.  The spellcheck automatically corrects words whether you want it to or not.

So the romantic text I sent back?

“Sewer.”

Hello Minneapolis (and Kansas City and Denver and Tempe and Portland and Seattle and Sacramento)

The Stephan in Wonderland Fall Tour begins in just a few weeks.

I’ll be visiting seven cities.  Sorry to all of you that live in cities I can’t get to this time.  We’ll try to get to them next time.

Here are the dates and times:

SACRAMENTO:  Thursday, September 8, 2011 at 6 p.m. in the third-floor conference room at The Sacramento Bee, 2100 Q Street, Sacramento.  To register for it (it’s free but seating is limited), click HERE.

Update on Sacramento:  If you’re having trouble registering (the site’s a bit confusing) call this number:  (916) 321-1128

 

MINNEAPOLIS:  October 16, 2011, 1:00 pm, Wild Rumpus, 2720 W. 43rd St, Minneapolis, MN 55410
http://www.wildrumpusbooks.com

KANSAS CITY:  October 18, 2011, 7:00 PM, Rainy Day Books, Unity Temple on the Plaza, 707 West 47th St., Kansas City, MO 64112, 913-384-3126, http://www.rainydaybooks.com

DENVER:  October 19, 2011, 7:30 PM, Tattered Cover Book Store, 1628 16th Street at Wynkoop
Denver, CO 80202, 303-436-1070, http://www.tatteredcover.com

TEMPE:  October 20, 2011, 7:00 PM, Changing Hands Bookstore, 6428 S. McClintock Dr., Tempe, AZ 85283, 480-730-0205, http://www.changinghands.com

PORTLAND:  October 27, 2011, 7:30 PM, Powell’s Books, 1005 W. Burnside, Portland, OR 97209
503-228-4651, http://www.powells.com

SEATTLE:  October 28, 2011, 6:30 PM, Third Place Books, 17171 Bothell Way NE, Lake Forest Park, WA 98155, 206-366-3316, http://www.thirdplacebooks.com

Burn, Baby, Burn, Comics Inferno

2,500 newspaper slots is a lot of newspaper slots.

That’s the number of newspapers Jerry Scott is in.

Jerry writes the comic strips Zits (1,600 papers) and Baby Blues (900 papers).

And newspaper slots are hard to come by these days.

So I devised a plan.

It began with a “family vacation” to Morro Bay, California.  That’s not too far from where Jerry lives.

I did everything I could to make it look like a regular vacation.  Even took photos with some of William Randolph Hearst’s sculptures at Hearst Castle.

Then I set the plan in motion.

The first step was to call Jerry’s wife, Kim, to invite them to dinner.  They were hesitant.

“Jerry’s really busy,” Kim said, “He’s got to go somewhere the next day and –”

“Come on over,” I said.  “We’ve rented a great beach house.  You’ll love it.”

I hung up before they could say no.

A few hours later, they begrudgingly arrived with wine.  That was the deal.  They would bring the wine and we would buy the take-out food from a Mexican restaurant they recommended.

As it turned out, we had no cash.  So they had to buy the food, too.

So far, I was up big time.

1) Didn’t have to drive (saved $ on gas).

2) Didn’t pay for the wine.

3) Didn’t pay for the food.

Then I asked them if they wanted to roast marshmallows.  Told them we had this awesome fire pit in the backyard composed of nothing but broken glass.  All you had to do was light a match, and WOOSH, you had a Flaming Pit o’ Glass.

So we all went out to see the flaming pit and roast marshmallows.  But it was cold and windy.   The Scotts looked like they wanted to go back in the house.

“C’mon,” I said, “We’ll just roast a couple.”

So we all took our places by the fire.

My kids, informed of the scheme, took the seats I told them to take.  As did my wife Staci.  Leaving Jerry with the seat I wanted him to take.

So there we sat, all happily roasting our marshmallows by the fire.

Except Jerry.

His side of the pit didn’t have any fire.

That’s something I learned about the fire pit in my experiments before the Scotts’ arrival.

The fire didn’t come out of the Flaming Pit O’ Glass evenly.  It only rose from spots where you dug little holes in the glass beforehand.

And that made Jerry and his marshmallow sad.  Because all the fire was on the other side of the pit.

So he did what anyone would do in that situation.  He reached across the pit.

With his drawing hand.

And this is where I’ll share a little secret with you that I didn’t share with Jerry.

Just because fire didn’t come out of your side of the pit didn’t mean it could NEVER come out of your side of the pit.

And so he reached.  And a huge flame engulfed his right arm.

And that’s where I made my only mistake.

I had estimated that Jerry had the reflexes of a 90 year-old man.  He’s slow and quiet, so it’s a natural deduction.

But no.  Jerry had the cat-like reflexes of a Kung-Fu master.  Think of Grasshopper grabbing those pebbles from the old man’s palm.  Only faster.

“Owww, my hand!” he yelled, yanking it from the fire.

“You okay?” I asked, feigning care.

“Yeah.  I think it just burned off the hair on my wrist.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed.

And that was that.

His right hand was still intact.

No end of Zits.  No end of Baby Blues.  No free newspaper slots for Pearls Before Swine.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.  The worst part was this:

I had to pay for the marshmallows myself.