Well, fuck those guys

apparently, they’re just a collection of twitter trolls with nothing better to do.

I’ll be back here, and I don’t care who views what I do, it’s all here so I can find it. People with the self esteem necessary think I’m funny. People wanna put my shit down, that’s fine. You’ve produced nothing of any worth. More cartoons (which require actual creativity and humor) to come.

Never go to http://www.schizonaut.com

It Was Me

also, does anyone know how to upload mp3s on here? I got some music I made that would be great to share.

More Foul Cartoons

Sorry it took so long.

aww hell yeah

Piss Possum

Just a few minutes ago, I heard some noise in the backyard and decided to go investigate. I looked around for a good five minutes, and decided it was nothing. I had to take a piss, and it was dark outside, so I unzipped and went right there. Almost immediately, I hear an odd, almost feline hissing.

I urinated on a terrified possum.

Keep on rockin, Puma Jones.

Smoke Break

I stepped out into the oppressive, bullshit sun. 99 degrees today. You know ,they say that high temperatures can contribute to rises in violence and aggression in humans. I was definitely boiling in more ways than one. Shit, shit, and more shit. Tired of answering the same preset group of stupid customer questions, fed up with calls from my boss, yelling in his incomprehensible Turkish accent because he was in an airport. Basically feeling done. I shut the door behind me and lit a cigarette.

What happened next was all prehistoric brain jelly and ape reflexes. I saw a lizard, about the size of a mouse, slink at breakneck speed underneath a steel plate covering a water system access hatch in the sidewalk outside the store’s back door. Reflexively, I felt a hatred for it for hiding from me. I leapt into the air, my flabby body grabbing rad air as I shouted, “I HATE WHEN SHIT HIDES FROM ME.”

I heard a tiny crunch as I landed. Remorse lasted for a dim moment, as I squinted in the atomic sunlight and lifted the plate. There he was, the poor bastard, not flattened, surprisingly serene looking, but with a bit of gut burst out behind his front leg and an eye that launched a good foot or so. He was undeniably dead, laying in a position not even a lizard could enjoy. My remorse quickly died as my mind raced to justify this cruelty. Normally I am not one to kill an animal, but for some reason this little guy pissed me off.

I slid him out into the hot sun of the bare, open sidewalk with a stick. So he would bake. So he would stink. So the ants would find him quick and leave nothing but bones.

“That’s what it feels like to be a human,” I said to the lizard corpse as I bent over it. “Every fucking day.”

I put out my cigarette and went back inside to slide up the front gate and deal with the sea of disgust that would overflow back into my store.

you should read this

http://www.schizonaut.com/

It’s multiple awesome blogs in one.

Some of the best questions people have asked me at my job; cop visit

I work at a store that sells neon clocks with sports logos on them, Elvis and Betty Boop merchandise, and ICP shotglasses, among other things. Here are some of the best (dumbest) questions I’ve heard.

• do y’all make neon signs?
• I was wondering if yall sold little statues of ladies showin’ they ass. Do you? Why not? (he was baffled)
• Do you guys just have this, or is there more in the back? (no, sir, we never keep any backup inventory.)
• I just want the lava stuff inside a lava lamp, do you guys sell that? Well, can we just open one up and I’ll buy the stuff inside?
• Is there anywhere in this mall I can get a beer? (man, don’t I wish.)
• Do you have any more Betty Boop stuff? (an entire 30 foot wall and two sets of standing racks are full of Betty Boop shit)
• You ever get sick of all this Betty Boop shit? (bitch, what do you think?)
• You guys aren’t the pet store, are you?

Also, one of the cops who gave me a citation for paraphernalia a while back came in to the store to return some shoplifted merchandise (they had caught the culprit elsewhere in the mall.)

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked me.

“Yeah! Hi! I’m the guy whose office you ransacked. Remember? You found like, enough seeds to fill a beer cap and charged me with paraphernalia! How are you? I didn’t lose the job because of that, by the way, we were closing anyway. I only got a $50 fine. How are you?” I put on my best sarcastic smile for him.

“At least you didn’t do any hard time.”

I smiled wryly and made sidelong eye contact with him, putting the returned sunglasses back on the rack. “I wasn’t worried,” I said, “except about your raging eczema. You ever gonna beat that eczema, man? Babies have that shit.”

I have never seen a more impotently angry police officer in my life. He walked off.

This Is Habitual

Tell me this isn’t horrifying.

Drinkin’ With Puma

“WHY DOES THAT CART SAY LIVE ANIMALS”

“I SHOULD BE LABELED LIVE ANIMALS”

“GIMME THAT MARKER, QUEER”

also, more comics soon, once Ben can scan ’em in for me.

I had the raddest fucking dream last night

I don’t remember where/how the dream started, but I’m being pursued through the woods by cops for knocking over a flower pot or some stupid shit. I’m running for my life, and I find this old Schwinn up against a dead tree. It shows signs of rust, yet… it glistens. Almost magically. Fuck it, I think to my dream-self. It’s magic.

Cue the music from E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial when they fly up and away from the cops on their bikes. I laugh and shout down as i ascend: “COME ON UP FUCKERS!”

I love when my dreams cut to third person shots, and that’s exactly what happens right here. I crest the moon, and quickly soar far beyond the reach of the law.

The rest of the dream involves me cruising at 45-55 mph (somehow, but fuck it, the bike is magic, right?) and calling people queers at stoplights and then going vertical and laughing when they get out of their cars to get at me.

Rad fucking dream.