No competition

I have been receiving a lot of emails asking me what I'm going to do. This is not a new problem at all. I have been dealing with this for years now. They just started a new campaign again, that's all. So people are aware of the problem again. I get emails all the time saying, "Sue him, do something. It's just not right." Well, folks, I can't sue him. He is just an actor. I would need to sue the company and get a cease and desist order. I could do that I guess. It would be an open and shut case for sure. 

But I think it is pretty clear he is not the most interesting man in the world anyway. The most interesting man in the world does not drink cheap Mexican beer. The most interesting man in the world accidentally drank a pitcher of mohito mix and rum without mixing it with carbonated water once, because nobody told him it hadn't been mixed yet. The most interesting man in the world fell asleep in a fireplace that night at his friend's birthday party.

Their version of the most interesting man in the world is a matador. Big deal. I got attacked by a monkey with an erection in the forest near Borneo once.  I didn't even have a red cape to incite that horny monkey like a matador would have. I improvised like a true man. And it was very interesting. I shrieked at that monkey, and hit him with my beloved sandwich that I had made that day to eat in the forest for a snack. Making sacrifices is what interesting men do. He's always fencing in those commercials. That is not interesting. That is boring. Why not just have the most interesting man in the world play backgammon if you really want to push the lame angle. You know what's interesting? Eating bad cuttle fish from a street vendor in China, feeling sick and running home only to lose control of your bowels in a crowded elevator with a bunch of gossipy old ladies. Those ladies never stopped talking about me and the time I crapped in an elevator with them. Why did they always talk about it? Because it was the most interesting thing in the world to them. That's why.  

Why does he always say, "Stay thirsty, my friends"? I don't tell my friends to "stay hungry" or to "stay sleepy." Instead, I say, "Hey, you look hungry. Do you want to go get some barbecue, buddy? I'm buying, pal." And if my friend looks thirsty I'd be like, "Hey, you okay? You want a Gatorade or something?" I'm compassionate like that, you see? That's how interesting men do it. 

Drawings from my childhood

Kamakazi Raindrops

Portrait of My Dad's Coke

Hit Man Mocked by Mean Balloon (the balloon clearly symbolizes his childhood)

Another Kamakazi Raindrop

I don't know really what's going on here. I was 12 when I did this. This is my guess: The guy on the left is some sort of Vietnam vet and the bird is some magical type of bird that foregoes bird feed to eat this man's memories.

A Black Panther

Crazy stuff I discovered

I have noticed something for a while now. Something alarming with huge implications. I first noticed this disturbing pattern while I was living in China. Now that I have become aware of this pattern, I see it everywhere. At the supermarket. In shopping malls. On trains. Planes. Everywhere. What I have seen, and the implications of this pattern, haunt me. I am of course talking about tacky embroidery on jeans. 


I have developed a working hypothesis. The premise is this: the stupider a person is, the more lame embroidery they put on their jeans. I decided to test my hypothesis by going to a NASCAR rally. There I discovered my theory was absolutely spot on. 

I also noticed that the jeans don't need to be present in the case of some males. I found that groups of men could also exhibit a different but similar behavioral pattern. In these cases the men's shirts would most often display an asymmetrical tribal design often accompanied with old English or Germanic fonts. I was able to obtain statistical proof that the intelligence of these men could be directly determined by the stupid-looking qualities of their shirts. What's more, there seemed to be a correlation between the shirts with the lame vector graphic designs and how those men wore their hats. It seemed as though many of the men with a silly asymmetrical design on their shirts were so stupid they could not even wear their hats properly.  Further observation is needed. If you see anything that would bolster my theories please take a picture and post it to this blog. 

Stickleback attack

This is a Stickleback, a type of fresh water fish. It is not to be confused with the horrible rock band, Nickelback, indigenous to Canada. I want to tell you a story about me and a Stickleback. But first I want to get sidetracked and rant about Nickelback. Now, to be fair, when I had my encounter with the Stickleback, it was dead and smelly, and it hurt me physically pretty bad. But honestly, I would gladly relive that experience over and over again ad infinitum, before willingly having to endure 30 seconds of any of Nickelback's songs. Perhaps I should have painted a picture of an ugly goat wearing a leather jacket and distressed jeans, because that is exactly what Nickleback's lead singer looks like. That would have been funny. 


I know, you think I'm going overboard with this, but which came first? Methed-out towny Heshers or Nickelback? What would strip-club-going, fake-tit-loving illiterates do without Nickelback? Frank Lloyd Wright once said, "The poor taste of the masses will destroy the world." Don't quote me on that quote. I heard it a long time ago. It's not verbatim I'm sure. But you get the spirit of it.

Anyhow, I used to live in Seattle. When it was warm enough I would walk down to Lake Washington and do a little swimming. One day during the middle of a rare heat spell, I went down to the lake to do just that. As I swam near the shore, I noticed a group of little kids garbed out in their cutest aquatic attire. Little arm floaters, tiny little flippers, swimming caps, goggles, and everything. The kids were egging each other on. They were amping up to get into the water. I decided to encourage them, "You can do it. The water is nice. There's nothing in here that can hurt you." Just then, I stepped on something sharp. I shrieked and swam towards the shore. Hopping on one foot through the shallows, I reached dry land. There, I saw a fish with a huge spike protruding from its back. The spike was going straight into my foot. I was horrified, but not as horrified as those poor little kids. Some were crying. Their parents rushed over to comfort them. None of the kids went into the water that day. Last I saw they were having Popsicles. Nobody offered me a Popsicle. I had to walk home. That was my first encounter with a Stickleback.

Hooters

I have wanted an owl for a while now. My friends and family have been not so supportive of my dream to be an owl owner. I think they are afraid of owls. I just don't get it. I have also heard the "it's illegal" excuse from more than one person. Come on, just admit you hate owls, if your going to say stuff like that. Regardless, I got tired of defending my dream. I gave up. Instead of getting a live owl, I opted for the more macabre model: a taxidermied owl. I started my search only to find that the government believes that is illegal too. Apparently only antique stuffed owls can be purchased. I was having very little luck finding myself an owl, but then I found one on EBay. 

Either the owl I found was perhaps the most unique owl that ever lived, and the taxidermist who memorialized him was some sort hick genius who perfectly captured this majestic animal's quirky personality traits. Or, someone without hands and eyes decided to take up taxidermy about a hundred years ago, and what resulted was really an embarrassing travesty. Regardless, I am attracted to this owl. It would undoubtedly be a conversation piece. I will soon start a series of paintings depicting this animal with all its personality as it must have looked in nature. Straddling a perch instead of sitting on it, like a normal boring bird. Who ever said an owl even needed a right wing anyway? The owl in my paintings will get around on horseback (it was a hundred years ago, after all.) Through my paintings I will bring my owl back to life for the world to see.

Mother's and Cat's Day

Clawd on first annual Mother's and Cat's Day

Well, it's Mother's Day again. My favorite holiday--that's what I told my mom. I had some crepes with my family this morning. I couldn't help but notice my cat looked a little left out. Did he want crepes? Was he jealous of my mom's flowers? I think the answer is yes. It occurred to me that my cat, Clawd, wanted his own special day as well. Cat's Day. So this morning I decided to pair Mother's Day with Cat's Day. So from here on out Mother's Day will be known as Mother's and Cat's Day. The greeting card industry will love it. Instantly, I expanded their market to include cats as well. I don't know about your cat, but my cat loves getting cards! So anyway, I already started making today a special day for my cat to remember forever. After breakfast I took him to the hot tub with me, where we had a luxurious soak. Clawd is so modest--he kept on trying to get out of the hot tub. I think he was trying to tell me that he didn't deserve all the pampering I was giving him. But I insisted. What a good cat. After that I took him for a reflective walk on the beach. It seemed like he was still having a hard time accepting all of this attention, but I know he must appreciate it. Who wouldn't? Later, we are both going to get mani pedis. And then the best part: I'm taking my cat to see Tom Petty tonight in L.A. He is going to love it! Front row seats! His first car ride to Los Angeles will be to see Tom Petty! Lucky cat! Happy Cat's Day, Clawd!

Why my dog may be the next big Republican presidential candidate

I have known for a long while now that my dog had strong Republican leanings because of the fact that he is quite stupid. Recently, however, it came to my attention that he was a full-fledged, registered Republican. How do I know? Well, I discovered that my dog is evil as well as stupid, as this candid photo clearly illustrates. I'm letting the world know because I am concerned--I know it is only a matter of time before the established Republican leadership comes looking for my dog to be their candidate. I know he is just what they have been looking for. Besides being stupid and evil he is obviously extremely white. He also does exactly what he is told. Moreover, he is constantly making messes that others have to clean up. His blatant disregard for the environment is a spectacle to behold. Observing this, it dawned on me that he was some kind of Republican political genius. With moves like that does Mitt Romney even stand a chance with the conservative base? I think not. Like Newt Gingrich my dog is fascinated with the moon. Like Herman Cain he likes pizza. Like Michelle Bachmann he looks cute when he is dressed up in people clothes. Ron Paul and my dog have pretty much an equivalent understanding of the gold standard and the Federal Reserve. 

Now, despite my dog's political positions, I love him. He is a very good dog. I just wish he would stay my dog and not become the President of the United States. He has no business running the free world. He is too stupid for that. Unfortunately I know that is clearly their thing. My dog may very well be the next Republican President of the United States.