There Ain't No Magic Potions

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Little Ralphie Ning

I used to like Little Ralphie.  He's one of those genuinely nice guys: someone who'll always say 'hi', even if it means crossing the road.  When he discovered I was writing a book, he took a real interest in how it was progressing, asking to read the various drafts and posing all sorts of questions about the back story.  It made me feel good.

So when Ralphie asked me whether I thought he should try writing a novel too, I told him, 'absolutely'.  Every second Tuesday he would e-mail me what he'd written, and I would respond with 'awesome!', along with a quick note on how he could make something better.  Never once did I think it would actually go anywhere. After all, I was the writer with the quirky imagination.  He was just a kid with a stupid story about vampire mermaids.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered he'd snagged himself an agent.  Now he was the one offering me encouragement while I sat at home wondering if this whole writing thing was a waste of time.  And if that wasn't bad enough I just discovered his book is due to be published this Spring.

Outside I pretend to be happy for Little Ralphie's success, but inside I hate him.

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Philip Tumba

Philip Tumba is a member of the Bulgoni Tribe.

Bulgonis are famous for starting life as senior citizens, aging backwards until approximately the age of forty-one, and then spending the rest of their lives aging like everyone else.

Meaning Philip Tumba is either three years old or eighty-five.

(I'm too embarrassed to ask.)

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Katie the Book Blogger

It is my experience that to be a book blogger you must a) be named Katie b) profess a love for chocolate and c) have a deep and abiding hatred for people who mix up 'they're' and 'their'.

Katie the Book Blogger is all of these.

In fact, her hatred for the grammatically challenged has turned her into a serial killer, stabbing them to death and stacking their severed heads in a pile as a grim warning to those who would continue butchering the English language.

I assumed her fellow book bloggers would be horrified by her actions.  Instead they're quite supportive, even sending her the names and addresses of grammar offenders in the hope she'll sort them out. 

So the next time you're on Facebook and you're commenting on a friend's photo of their darling dog, remember: too has two 'o's in it.  It just might save your life.

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Haiku Stu

Inside my sock drawer

A strange man speaks in haiku

Nobody likes him

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Kenny Chu, Tea Painter

Meet Kenny Chu, world famous artist and genius.  I say that sarcastically because while he is world famous, he most certainly is not a genius.  The guy literally wipes a used teabag across a canvas and then has the gall to show it in a gallery.  The only people dumber than  him are the morons who buy his crap.  Can you believe an original Kenny Chu Tea Painting sells for over $250,000?  In this economy?!?  If that's not bad enough, get a load of this quote of his I found on his web site:

"Painting with tea is a wonderful pursuit.  It’s expressive, relaxing and inexpensive. All you need is a teabag, a stick and a desire to communicate with something other than words and hand gestures." 

What a bunch of pompous garbage.  It makes me mad just reading it.  Seriously, if I ever snap and start flushing cherry bombs down public toilets, this guy's the reason why.

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Cheep

Back when my oldest daughter was 4 years old, I made the mistake of getting her a subscription to Cheep magazine.  The magazine itself was fairly benign.  Every month it featured stories and cartoons about the eponymous bird interacting with his many neighbors and friends.  But my daughter found it boring, and once the year was over, we were happy to let the subscription run out.

Except the magazines kept coming.

I didn't give it a second thought until one day I got a phone call from someone threatening to break my kneecaps if I didn't bring my account up to date.  I assumed someone was playing a joke on me, only to wake one morning to a large yellow bird smashing the windows on my wife's Toyota.

Turns out Cheep is also in charge of his magazine's collections department, and let me tell you, he's nothing like the adorable little fuzzball portrayed on the cover.  He's a thug, and that's why I've given very clear instructions to my children that if they ever see a big, bat wielding bird in a trench coat approach the house, they are to turn off all the lights and hide downstairs.

Tales From the Sock Drawer: The Shampoo O' Plenty

Not all the things in my sock drawer are creatures.  Some are inanimate objects.  Take for example my magic shampoo.  I've been washing my hair with the same bottle since the summer of 2009.  That's three whole years!  And it's not like I skimp on the stuff, yet whenever I pick it up it always manages to remain about one third full.

I've asked my pharmacist for his take and he has no explanation.  Me, I'm beginning to wonder if it has a wormhole inside it connected to a giant shampoo vat.  Either that, or I happened to pick up some kind of magical shampoo o' plenty.  I suppose its possible somebody is playing a trick on me, and pouring some back in when I'm not watching, but that would just be weird.

Tales from the Sock Drawer: Gary the Crow

Standing five feet eleven inches tall and weighing 120 pounds, Gary the Crow is one massive bird.  And don't let the weight fool you: the reason he's so light is because of his hollow bones.  Seriously, if Gary was a mammal he'd easily top 250 pounds.

Not surprisingly, flying has become difficult for this over-sized corvid, so to make things easier, Gary purchased for himself a big black pickup truck.   He uses it like a bus, transporting crows to various parking lots around the city, quietly reading the paper while his normal sized brothers and sisters go in search of garbage.  Crows, though, are notoriously messy, and to keep his truck clean and shiny, Gary has introduced a strict no pooping policy: you're caught once and you're banned for life.  I don't know how he enforces it though; even Gary will admit they all look the same.

Oh, and what ever you do, don't call him Gary the Raven.  He hates that.

More Fiends from My Sock Drawer

For whatever reason, my sock drawer has become a repository for ghosts and other similar spirits.   One of the creepiest is Trevor.  He's this seven year old who broke his neck falling out of his bed one night and now he hangs around my bedroom with his big box of black crayons, drawing pictures of weeping children and dead trees.  It's so depressing the other ghosts have taken to avoiding him, even referring to him as Cheerful Charlie in the sort of sneery way only the undead can pull off.   And if that's not bad enough, he doesn't know he's dead, so I have to constantly tip-toe around his condition (or lack thereof) asking him stupid things like how his day at school went when I know perfectly well it’s the weekend.

Meet The Fiends in My Sock Drawer

Did you know there's a condition where a person's organs are on the opposite side of the body?  It's true, it's called Situs Invertus, and it comes in very handy if you're in a gunfight.  Or at least that's what Willem McGee told me.  He's a gunslinger, you see, and thanks to his wrongly placed organs, he's survived over a dozen duels, suffering only shattered ribs and punctured lungs when anyone else would have had their hearts exploded.   I didn't believe him at first, but then he showed me his chest, and let me tell you, there's nothing quite as odd as seeing a man's right nipple where his left nipple should be.

Living With the Enemy

Meet the Fiends Living in my Sock Drawer

 Poor Olivia. She's dressed to go somewhere fancy, but before she can actually leave there's an important phone-call that needs finishing, and wouldn't you know it, the person on the other end keeps putting her on hold. It's been going on like this since March of 2002. (That's like ten years of being forced to listen to crappy instrumental versions of popular radio tunes) If I was Olivia I'd simply hang up.

Meet the Fiends Living in my Sock Drawer

Duane Gro Bub is a relatively new inhabitant of my sock drawer, emigrating from one of the lower circles of Hell sometime in mid-October.  I didn't even know he was there until I found him napping in the corner using one of my good socks rolled up into ball as a pillow.  Never one to waste an opportunity, he gave me one of his business cards before shooing me away to go back to sleep.

Turns out Duane is a realtor, and with a move to Ontario on the horizon, I decided to give him a call.  He wasn't much help, though; all he was concerned with was ensuring our house sold as soon as possible, which meant listing it somewhere south of thirty dollars.  Not only that, his breath reeked of sulfur.  He tried to hide it by gargling from a bottle of Lysol, but that just made him smell like a public toilet.  Even worse, he refused to wear trousers.

In the end I decided not to go with old Duane. He was nice enough, but I just wasn't comfortable dealing with someone who, every time he reached over to write something on his notepad, I could see his balls.

Simple Pleasures

Meet the Fiends Living in my Sock Drawer

Meekius Meu-Meu (or Mickie, as she's known by the sycophants in her writing circle) is the award winning author of 'Oinkus the Pig' and "Butterfly on my Bum'.  The funny thing is I didn't know she was a writer until she offered to proofread the final draft of my debut novel.  (for a fee, of course)  Naturally, I was skeptical; Miniature Pinschers are bred to attack things with their face, not edit novels, but after discussing it with my wife, I decided to give it a go.

It took roughly two weeks, and when I got my story back, I was surprised to discover my manuscript chock full of little post-it notes filled with remarks (sarcastic, mostly) on how it could be improved.   It turns out Mickie is not a fan of my work.  In fact, she hated everything about it, from the plot right down to the characters' names.  I'll admit: I was devastated, but I eventually recovered, to the point where now when she brings up my story, I swat her on the bum and tell her to quit pooping behind the television.

12 Days of Christmas

Confessions

Oh, the Future (and what will it bring)

Now What?

Strip #16 (continued from September 7th)

Did you know these cartoons are based on my real experiences writing my first novel?  It's true!  If you're at all curious to see what my book is about, you can download it for free from Amazon.