Current
From “The Devil’s Dictionary” by Ambrose Bierce
Ghost, noun. The outward and visible sign of an inward fear.
There is one insuperable obstacle to a belief in ghosts. A ghost never comes naked: he appears either in a winding-sheet or “in his habit as he lived.” To believe in him, then, is to believe that not only have the dead the power to make themselves visible after there is nothing left of them, but that the same power inheres in textile fabrics. Supposing the products of the loom to have this ability, what object would they have in exercising it? And why does not the apparition of a suit of clothes sometimes walk abroad without a ghost in it? These be riddles of significance. They reach away down and get a convulsive grip on the very tap-root of this flourishing faith.
Filed 11/20/24
For fans of terrycolon.com (both of you) I must explain the lack of updates for the last week or so. As the headline indicates (see above) it’s all do to my computer malfunctioning, or in technical terms, going kaflooey. So I swapped out the hard drive into a new old machine. (I in the previous sentence means the tech guys at the computer store.) But as you see, I’m back. More or less. There’s still a problem in the art department that needs ironing out, or shaking down, or tackling or whatever, I haven’t decided on the approach. In the meantime I’ll be hobbling along the best I can. Or possibly only the mediocre I can. We’ll see.
Filed 11/15/24
Mouse Utopia
New Yorks Finest: Safeguarding the Public one Dead Squirrel at a Time
Like the man said, nowadays they police everything except crime.
P’nut the Pet Squirrel Put to Death by New York Police
Filed in Mouse Utopia 11/4/24
Quickies
Filed 10/30/24
“I don’t think we can make dinner tonight.
Looks like Bob’s brought work home again.”
Filed in Gag Cartoonery 10/28/24
Five Additional Senses (Beyond Taste, Touch, Hear, Smell, See)
And the Other Real Sixth Sense
Proprioception noun, (pronounced any way you want) is the sense of our surroundings which helps us keep track of our bodies in space. Not outer space, normal everyday space like in a room or cubicle and whatnot. This position sense is useful for walking in one direction while looking in another and for not falling out of bed when we’re asleep. Still, look both ways, and maybe down, before you cross the street or… see pic (above).
Filed 10/25/24
Mouseover the cartoon to turn over to read the small text at the bottom
Filed in A Dog’s Breakfast archives 10/21/24
Mr. Yardley (the Homeowners Pal) Advises
My neighbor has a massive tree that sheds large amounts of dead branches and leaves into my yard. I’ve complained but it does no good. I’m thinking of getting a lawyer.
You might get a lawyer, but where would you keep him? Even if you had the room, I doubt he’d help picking up the yard or raking the leaves –besides being a nuisance generally. Instead you could grow your own massive tree (a maple suggests itself; that is, one that talks) and then let the dead branches and leaves fall in the neighbor’s yard. Heh-heh-heh, that’ll show ’em.
Filed 10/2/24
“Higgens, we don’t make chalk outlines of bombing victims.”
Filed in Gag Cartoonery 9/27/24
Hover for question punchline
Filed in Joke Jeopardy! 9/25/24
Yegads, Another One from the Archives
“Hey. I voted for her.”
Filed in Gag Cartoonery
Ask Miss Information, Please
Q. I see it’s a presidential election year and I thought I should learn a thing or two about the political scene. Maybe you could answer a few simple questions?
A. Okey-dokey. Consider this “Politics for Simpletons.” Ask away.
Q. I’m a bit confused about the abbreviations I run across. What’s Dem in parentheses after a name?
A. I believe that stands for demented. I’m only going by how they talk and act.
Q. And how about Rep in parentheses?
A. That, as far as I can tell doesn’t stand for a damned thing. I’m only going by how they talk and don’t act.
Q. What’s C-SPAN?
A. I think it’s a pun.
Q. A pun? You sure?
A. Well, it’s some kind of bad joke at any rate.
Q. What is this string of letters, LGBT?
A. My understanding is that’s code for, “Perversity is our strength.”
Q. C’mon, Get serious. What is LGBT really?
A. That’s an acronym for, “Let’s Go Bum-bumping Tonight.”
Q. I don’t believe it. That can’t be right.
A. Modern politics wouldn’t be possible without widespread belief in what can’t be right.
Q. Really?
A. Of course. That’s why politicians lie so much. If they actually told the public the truth they’d never be elected.
Q. That’s pretty cynical.
A. Cynical, yes. Pretty, no.
Q. All-righty then, what is meant by BLM?
A. It’s an acronym for, “Be Like Marty.”
Q. Who is this Marty?
A. I don’t know, but I hear he’s a riot.
Q. Hm-m. Anyway, what’s POTUS?
A. That’s another acronym, it stands for, “Puppet Of The Usual Suspects.”
Q. Who are these usual suspects?
A. If I told you they’d have to kill me.
Q. Is that supposed to be funny?
A. Nothing about our political system is supposed to be funny, it just is.
Q. You know, I don’t think either of us understands the first thing about how our political system works.
A. So what. You don’t have to know that, or anything at all, in order to vote; that’s the beauty of the American system. Heck, nowadays you don’t even have to be American to vote. Besides, as somebody-or-other famously said, “It’s not who votes that counts, it’s who counts the votes.”
Q. Ga-ah. You’re nothing but a whacked-out would-be poli-wonk spreading cynical lies.
A. That may be. But the thing is, half the lies critics tell about our modern progressive political system are true.
Filed 9/20/24
Mouse Utopia
“I have seen the future, and it twerks.” *
Forget the Magic 8 Ball, the Barbie stylists over at Mattel have already divined the future.
* With no apologies to Will Durrant, or anyone else living or dead at the New York Times.
Filed in Mouse Utopia 9/13/24
And Once More Etc. from the Archives
“Do you have any other work experience besides
men's room attendant?”
Filed in Gag Cartoonery
Two Tears for Britain!
Hail, Britannia, Britannia by the sea
Britons never hereafter shall be free
This musical interlude brought to you by the Labour Party
“Looks like Johnson’s enjoying a nice post convention bounce.”
Filed in Gag Cartoonery 8/26/24
Mr. Yardley (the Homeowners Pal) Advises
There’s this huge boulder in my back yard. I don't know what to make of it
Given enough time and some stone-working tools, you could make a group of garden gnomes of it. Or, with no skills and a sledge hammer, a collection of medium-sized boulders. On the other hand, rocks and boulders, the bigger the better (maybe), can enhance your garden landscaping with alternative texture. The many advantages of rock-scaping being it will never overgrow the space, need watering, mowing or trimming and, best of all, can never die. Consider yourself lucky.
Filed 8/23/24
I have received from the publishers, New York, a neatly printed page of questions, with blanks for answers, and am requested to fill those blanks. These questions are so arranged as to ferret out the most secret points of a man’s nature without his ever noticing what the idea is until it is all done and his “character” is gone for ever. A number of these sheets are bound together and called a Mental Photograph Album. Nothing could induce me to fill those blanks but the asseveration of my paster that it will benefit my race by enabling young people to see what I am and giving them the opportunity to become like somebody else. This overcomes my scruples. I have but little character, but what I have I am willing to part with for the public good. I do not boast of this character, further than I have built it up myself, at odd hours, during the last thirty years, and without other educational aid than I am able to pick up in the ordinary schools and colleges. I have filled in the blanks as follows:
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE
Color?–Anything but dun.
Flower?–The night-blooming Sirius.*
*I grant you this is a little obscure–but in explaining to the unfortunate that Sirius is the dog-star and blooms only at night, I am afforded an opportunity to air my erudition. (It is only lately acquired.)
Tree?–Any that bear forbidden fruit.
Object in Nature?–A dumb belle.
Hour of the Day?–The liesure hour.
Gem?–The Jack of Diamonds, when it is trump.
Poet?–Robert Browning, when he has a lucid interval.
Prose Author?–Noah Webster, LL.D.
Characters in Romance?–The Napoleon Family.
In History?–King Herod.
Book to take up for an hour?–Rothschild’s pocket-book. [My note: In those days, a pocket-book was a wallet.]
What book (not religious) would you part with last?–The one I might happen to be reading on a railroad during the disaster season.
What epoch would you choose to have lived in?–Before the present Erie–it was safer. [My note: The Erie Railroad, that is.]
Favorite Occupation?–"Like dew on the gowan–lying."
What trait or character do you most admire in Man?–The noblest form of cannibalism–love for his fellow man.
In Woman?–Love for her fellow man.
If not yourself, who would you rather be?–The Wandering Jew, with a nice annuity.
What is your idea of Happiness?–Finding all the buttons on.
Your idea of Misery?–Breaking an egg in your pocket.
What is your bête noir?–(What is my which?)
What is your dream?–Nightmare, as a general thing.
What do you most dread?–Exposure.
What do you believe to be your Distinguishing Characteristic?–Hunger.
What is the Sublimest Passion of which human nature is capable?–Loving your sweetheart’s enemies.
What are the Sweetest Words in the World?–“Not Guilty.”
What are the Saddest?–“Dust unto dust.”
What is your Aim in Life?–To endeavor to be absent when my time comes.
What is your Motto?–“Be virtuous and you will be eccentric.”
—From “Mental Photographs” 1869
Filed 8/19/24
At the insistance of several friends who feel bonding anxiety to know beforehand what sort of phenomena we may expect the elements to exhibit during the next month or two, and who have lost all confidence in the various patent medicine almanacs, because of the unaccountable reticence of those works concerning the extraordinary event of the 8th inst., I have compiled the following almanac expressly for the latitude of San Francisco:
Oct. 17.–Weather hazy; atmosphere murky and dense. An expression of profound melancholy will be observable upon most countenances.
Oct. 18.–Slight earthquake. Contenances grow more melancholy.
Oct. 19.–Look out for rain. It would be absurd to look in for it. The general depression of spirits increases.
Oct. 20.–More weather.
Oct. 21.–Same.
Oct. 22.–Light winds, perhaps. If they blow, it will be from the “east’ard, or the nor’ard, or the west’ard, or the suth’ard,” or from the general direction approximating more or less to these points of the compass or otherwise. Winds are uncertain–more especially when the blow from whence they cometh and whither they listeth. Such is the nature of winds.
Oct. 23.–Mild, balmy earthquakes.
Oct. 24.–Shaky.
Oct. 25.–Occasional shakes, followed by light showers of bricks and plastering. N.B.–Stand from under!
Oct. 26.–Considerable phenomenal atmospheric foolishness. About this time expect more earthquakes; but do not look for them, on account of the bricks.
Oct. 27.–Universal despondency, indicative of approaching disaster. Abstain from smiling, or indulgence in humorous conversation, or exasperating jokes.
Oct. 28.–Misery, dismal forebodings, and despair. Beware of all light discourse–a joke uttered at this time would produce a popular outbreak.
Oct. 29.–Beware!
Oct. 30.–Keep dark!
Oct. 31.–Go slow!
Nov. 1.–Terrific earthquake. This is the great earthquake month. More stars fall and more worlds are slathered around carelessly and destroyed in November than any other month of the twelve.
Nov. 2.–Spasmodic but exhilarating earthquakes, accompanied by occasional showers of rain and churches and things.
Nov. 3.–Make your will.
Nov. 4.–Sell out.
Nov. 5.–Select your “last words.” Those of John Quincy Adams will do, with the addition of a syllable thus: “This is the last of the earthquakes.”
Nov. 6.–Prepare to shed this mortal coil.
Nov. 7.–Shed.
Nov. 8.–The sun will rise as usual, perhaps; but if he does, he will doubtless be staggered some to find nothing but a large round hole eight thousand miles in diameter in the place where he saw this world serenely spinning the day before.
–From “A Page from a California Almanac” 1865
Filed 8/14/24
This is a very special “Daily Dump” entry wherein I travel back in time (never mind how) to the year 1875 to interview Special Guest Blogger Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens). Though, to be honest about it, my part of the conversation, as well as his own, was written by Twain. With a few deletions for the sake of brevity, as well as my own insertions to make it work for the setting I have invented for the post. These are set off with brackets, [thus].
[I begin the visit saying,] “Hoping it’s no harm, I’ve come to interview you.”
“Come to what?”
“Interview you.”
“Ah! I see. Yes–yes. Um! Yes–yes.” [Looking up at his bookshelves,] “How do you spell it?”
“Spell what?”
“Interview.”
“Oh, my goodness! what do you want to spell it for?”
“I don’t want to spell it; I want to see what it means.”
“Well, this is astonishing, I must say. But about this interview. You know it is the custom, now, to interview any man who has become notorious.”
“Indeed, I had not heard of it before. It must be very interesting. What do you do it with?”
“Ah, well–well–well–this is very disheartening. It should be done with a club in some cases; but customarily it consists in the interviewer asking questions and the interviewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring out the salient points of you public and private history?”
“Oh, with pleasure–with pleasure. I have a very bad memory, but I hope you will not mind that.”
“Oh, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best you can. Are you ready to begin?”
“Ready.”
Q: How old are you?
A: Nineteen in June.
Q: Indeed, I would have taken you to be thirty-five or six. Where were you born?
A: In Missouri.
Q: When did you begin to write?
A: In 1836.
Q: Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen now?
A: I don’t know. It does seem curious, somehow.
Q: It does indeed. Whom do you consider the most remarkable man you ever met?
A: Aaron Burr.
Q: But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are only nineteen years–
A: Now, if you know more about me that I do, what do you ask me for?
Q: Well, it was only a suggestion; nothing more. How did you happen to meet Burr?
A: Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day, and he asked me to make less noise and–
Q: But, good heavens! if you were at his funeral, he must have been dead, and if he was dead how could he care whether you made noise or not?
A: I don’t know. He was always a particular kind of man that way.
Q: Still, I don’t understand it at all. You say he spoke to you, and that he was dead.
A: I didn’t say he was dead.
Q: But wasn’t he dead?
A: Well, some said he was, and some say he wasn’t.
Q: What did you think?
A: Oh, it was none of my business! It wasn’t any of my funeral.
Q: Did you– Let me ask you something else. What was the date of your birth?
A: Monday, October 31, 1693.
Q: What! Impossible! That would make you a hundred and eighty years old. How do you account for that?
A: I don’t account for it at all.
[…]
Q: Had you or have you any brothers or sisters?
A: Eh! I–I–I think so–yes–but I don’t remember.
Q: Well,that is the most extraordinary statement I ever heard!
A: What makes you say that?
Q: How could I think otherwise? Why, look here! Who is this picture of on the wall? Isn’t that a brother of yours?
A: Oh, yes, yes, yes! Now you remind me of it; that was a brother of mine. That’s William–Bill we called him. Poor old Bill.
Q: Why? Is he dead, then?
A: Ah! Well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There was a great mystery about it.
Q: That is very, very sad. He disappeared, then?
A: Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him.
Q: Buried him! Buried him, without knowing whether he was dead or not?
A: Oh, no! Not that. He was dead enough.
Q: Well, I confess that I can’t understand this. If you buried him, and you knew he was dead–
A: No! no! We only thought he was.
Q: Oh, I see! He came to life again?
A: I bet he didn’t.
Q: Well, I never heard anything like this. Somebody was dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was the mystery?
A: Ah! that’s just it. That’s it exactly. You see, we were twins–defunct and I–and we got mixed up in the bathtub when we were only two weeks old, and one of us was drowned. But we didn’t know which. Some think it was Bill. Some think it was me.
Q: Well, that is remarkable. What do you think?
A: Goodness knows! I would give my whole world to know. This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom over my whole life. But I will tell you a secret now, which I never have revealed to any other creature before. One of us had a peculiar mark–a large mole on the back of his left hand; that was me. That child was the one who was drowned!
Q: Very well than, I don’t see that there is any mystery about it, after all.
A: You don’t? Well, I do. Anyway, I don’t see how they could ever be such a blundering lot as to go and bury the wrong child. But, ’sh!–don’t mention it where the family can hear of it. Heaven knows they have heartbreaking troubles enough without adding this.
Q: Well, I believe I have material enough for the present, and I am very much obliged to you for the pains you have taken. But I was a good deal interested in that account of Burr’s funeral. Would you mind telling me what particular circumstance it was that made you think Burr was such a remarkable man?
A: Oh! it was a mere trifle! Not one man in fifty would have noticed it at all. When the sermon was over, and the procession all ready to start for the cemetery, and the body all arranged nice in the hearse, he said he wanted to take a last look at the scenery, and so he got up and rode with the driver.
[I then reverently withdrew. I believe Mr. Twain was sorry to see me go.]
—From “An Encounter with an Interviewer” 1875
Filed 8/9/24
Quickies
There were no curiosities in the vessel except the passengers and a placard in French setting forth the transportation fares for various types of people.... In the list of prices first-class passengers were set down at fifteen shillings and four pence, and dead bodies at one pound ten shillings and eight pence—just double price! That is Belgian morals, I suppose. I never say a harsh thing unless I am greatly stirred; but in my opinion the man who would take advantage of a dead person would do almost any odious thing. I publish this scandalous discrimination against the most helpless class among us in order that people intending to die abroad may come back on some other line.
—From “O’Shah” (describing the visit from Belgium to England by the Shah of Persia) 1873
Filed 8/8/24
And Again Once More Still Again Yet Another Repeated Rerun from the Archives
Filed in Spot and Smith
Quickies
“This is an age of progress, and ours is a progressive land.… We have a criminal jury system which is superior to any in the world; and its efficiency is only marred by the difficulty of finding twelve men every day who don’t know anything and can’t read. And I may observe that we have an insanity plea that would have saved Cain. I think I can say, and say with pride, that we we have some legislatures that bring higher prices than any in the world.”
—from “After-Dinner Speech” (At a Fourth of July Gathering in London, of Americans) 1875
Filed 8/6/24
And Once More Still Again Yet Another Repeated Rerun from the Archives
Filed in Gag Cartoonery
And Once Again Still Yet Another Repeated Rerun from the Archives
Turn Vice into Virtue by Acting Naturally
Filed in Weary the Cynical Dog
And Again Still Yet Another Repeated Rerun from the Archives
“We have ways of making you talk, little man.”
Filed in Gag Cartoonery
Quickies
What do they call a rude, obnoxious, anti-Christian bigot in France?
Citizen.
How can you tell when a Frenchman is full of crap?
He’s licking his lips.
How many Frenchmen does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Frenchmen don’t screw in lightbulbs, they’re too busy screwin’ each other’s wives.
How many Frenchmen does it take to win a soccer game?
Only one. Plus ten Africans.
What do you call a thousand Frenchmen at the bottom of the ocean?
Not nearly enough.
Filed 7/30/24
And Again Still Yet Another Rerun from the Archives
First comes…
Feelosophy: Set of half-baked beliefs that make you feel virtuous and superior.
Justified by…
Nincomproof: Argument so incoherent and divorced from realty only the gullible and overeducated believe it.
Leading to…
Wishteria: A pandemic of wishful thinking belief in a feelosophy.
Containing many a…
Psychophant: Crazed fanatical follower of a crazier fanatical leader.
Precipitating a…
Howl Movement: Working on the premise that the louder you shout it the truer it is.
Resulting in…
Kooktopia: Basically, the inmates running the asylum.
Filed in Betterize Your Fauxcabulary
And Yet Another Rerun from the Archives
H.L. Mencken once said, “The older I get the more I realize there is no wisdom in age.” On the other hand, there is humor in it. And you can quote me on any of the following.
Terry’s Top Seven Things to Realize when You’re Not Getting Old, You’re Already There
Below are a couple of old lists of old old jokes from old posts of old. Because old is forever.
You Know You’re Old when…
Signs You Might be Getting Old
First filed 2/8/23
Yet Another Rerun from the Archives
“You really need to let go of the past.”
Filed in Gag Cartoonery
Another Rerun from the Archives
Top Twenty Free Website and/or Blog Names (with free free subheads) Nobody Asked for
First filed 2/14/22
Filed 7/15/24
