Dr Phwoar takes a urine sample.

From You Stink & I Don’t #8

Tales from the Pub: Junkie Shines!

Ooh look, is that Hindmarsh Drive or Tuggeranong Parkway?  I like it when I get to draw Canberra in a comic coz Canberra aint never represented by nobody else, so Canberrans have to do it themselves.  Tuggeranong pride 2903.

Seriously though, people from Tuggeranong actually tattooed their postcode to their arms as a lame source of pride.  Here is a list of other stupid sources of pride:

• Nationality. Everyone was born.  It takes no effort at all to plop out of your mum, and you had no say in where her clunge was when you did.  Be proud of what you’re like or what you did instead.  Every thug in jail is proud of their nationality even though their country actually pays to have them removed from society.  It’s a bit weird to be proud of something you have nothing to do with.  It’s like me being proud of Rod Stewart.   The ones who ‘flew here’ have more right to be proud of being Aussie than those who ‘grew here’, since they actually went to a lot more effort.

• Sex. Men don’t go on about it but women often prattle on about how they’re a woman and have ovaries and crap.  I guess it’s harder to be a woman than a man.  But half the world are female so big deal.  Plus minges are pretty gross if you really look at them and all manner of gunk comes out of them.  So do nobs but they’re more like a neat hose.

• Race. Who cares if you are descended from the Maories, the Cherokees, the Celts, the Great Danes or the Monkees.  I only care about interesting stories your dad might have and how physically attractive your heritage makes you.  But don’t bore me with the fucked music of your people or your dumb tattoo.   And if you’re one of those white pride neo-nazis who points to Beethoven and Newton, don’t fool yourself.  Some white people were privileged and nurtured and able to express their genius, but our ancestors were 99% sick, poor, filthy peasants with no teeth, doing anything the Church and King asked them to and eating poo for dinner for centuries because they were chicken that God might get all angry.   So unless you’ve done something good yourself, shut up.

• Religion. Followers of mainstream religion don’t seem particularly proud of their religion.  They like it but they don’t bleat about it.  New-age followers on the other hand tend to like to go on and on about their exotic made-up beliefs using the words abundant, goddess, creative, sacred, blessing, divine, journey etc etc.  This one woman I read about who practiced voodoo insisted on spelling it vodou.  If that annoys you, you can be my friend.

• Supporting some footy team or other. Pretty much the dumbest thing to be proud of.

• Living in the one place your whole life. What an achievement!

• Being able to drink a lot.

• What your mum or dad was, if you are not that thing yourself.

• Being good at a computer game.
  

• Owning an official, olympic design frisbee. This is here because I have a friend who once boasted about owning one when we offered to buy him one.  He didn’t say ‘no thanks’, he just went on and on about this frisbee he had in a really loud voice.

• Knowing and understanding these traffic lights. Another time we were riding our BMXs and he zipped across these lights, whereas I waited for the crossing light to go green.  I mentioned as I caught up to him that he was lucky the light was about to go green and that there were no cars.  Instead of letting it go, he asked me to repeat my comment, upon which he explained at length that when he was a boy he oft spent many an afternoon riding his bike around this area and so he ‘knew these traffic lights’ instinctively, as if he posesses some kind of street smarts from his adventurous youth.

• Not having eaten at McDonalds for over 6 years. He won’t even take you through the drive-thru.  It isn’t political coz he’ll eat at Subway or KFC.  But his other boycott is that he wont eat at the Tuggeranong Ali Baba because once, 8 years ago, one of the staff was rude to him.

• Putting spare change in a large jar at the end of every day and eventually accumulating $1000 in gold coins. This would be a feat if you were 16, but he’s 34 and has a job.

Tax Pack Jack

Here’s one from You Stink & I Don’t #5, 1998.

Tales from the Pub: Crawl for your Life!

Comic of Smallness #2: The Return!

I spent most of Wednesday working on Comic of Smallness #2, and here it is!  This one is 28 pages and features two lovely stories about Barry Cat.  The printing quality is crisper and the artwork more intricate.  Look!  Look!  Want one?  It’s a buck!

Tales from the Pub: Fish ‘n’ Shits!

Tales From the Pub: The Thing that Happened Once.

They couldn’t think of a clever title for this one so they left it up to me.

Comics of Smallness. Limited Run!

The amazing Comics of Smallness has finally been reprinted!  Due to the sheer annoyingness of printing these things, Comics of Smallness is only available very rarely, and in print runs of only 12 at a time.  Each comic has been lovingly printed on my vintage Epson Stylus Photo RX530, carelessly stapled, hand guillotined (which hurts if you bang your thumb when you put it under the handle) and folded with my own artistic hands.  The comic itself is a 37 x 47mm, 32 page oddyssey, starring the surreal adventures of a cat named Barry.  For a measly $1 + postage you can have this fat little comic wilting in the palm of your hand in no time!