Oh dear.
Well, remember last week when I said things would get a little sillier as this week progressed? They will, trust me.
And, I just started posting my strips to Tapastic, an up and coming comic hosting site. Pop on over if you get a chance and run through Groovy, Kinda. Apparently, the more views I get, the more rewards. I’ve only got a few up at the moment, but I’m gonna try to put them all up.
Don’t worry though, I’m not taking groovykinda.org down!
Have a great week!
Good luck with Tapastic!
Oh Edison… đ
I agree, HoneyBee. All the alcoholics Iâve known were emotional cowards. As soon as Edison heard âGosh, mom!â she knew sheâd done something âreally stupidâ. She âchokedâ. If she had tried to speak, Dilbert would instantly identify her drunken slur. Edison had nothing to offer her son but more disappointment. So what did she do? She hung up and drank herself unconscious, of course!
Yeah, I dusted off my memory book and realized what sad lives my uncles had. They were human disasters, crashing through other peopleâs lives (six marriages between them). But they were a constant source of entertainment for their slightly less drunken friends . . . who only provided encouragement.
Iâm an only child, with no children. Iâm the last survivor. When I met my wife and step children, they were abandoned, terrified victims of a violent, abusive alcoholic. I showed love, they showed pain . . . a fair trade . . . I guess. Love is willingness to sacrifice your life for anotherâs. I was constantly on a love deficit. Too much was never enough. Itâs been wonderful!
I think too much, Edison doesnât . . . think.
You also make incredible, heartfelt posts. Thank you.
I wish we had a “Like,” and a “Really Like” button on the comments.
Only if there was a limit on how many times they could be used, otherwise the sycophants would just “Really Like” everything, and the whole system would fall apart.
I just wanted to share a couple of amusing memories from my âStep-fathering Notebookâ.
It is impossible to disarm a venting teen-age girl. As a rule, within an hour, most conflagrations are reduced to glowing embers. Young girls just donât have the stamina for an extended hissy fit. By the next day itâs been regulated to her âMemory Bookâ. I was reminded by Edison on page seven, âI donât wanna laugh. Iâm madân hornyân disâpoinâed anâ hurtâ.
Confusion can cause âspinzy spinsâ (Edison, page 8). One day, my step-son vented with, âYouâre not my father!â I calmly replied, âIf I was, I wouldnât be here.â I could almost hear the little synapses tingling inside his confused ten-year-old brain. I swear, I have no idea where my response came from, but it even befuddled me. His mother was in the next room, doing her best not to giggle.
Wait, Anya and Larry are in the first panel outside of Edison’s old house?
Does that mean her son and husband(ex husband?) live nearby?!
Not really-it’s a dream sequence, so they’re not really there. It was more a chance to draw them in an Archie style.