Wings

So, yeah, I was gone for a long time. Did you miss me? Sorry about that.

I was busy getting into trouble. Did you ever do something and, even as you begin, you think that nothing good can come of it? Kind of sort of a little like this.

Anyways, I am fine. I haven’t yet gotten to read my email (or do anything else) so forgive me for not answering you. I know that my prolonged absence demands some kind of an explanation. Here is the very best I can muster.

That should answer all your questions. Now you know why stoogepie has no wings.

And, yeah, I got rid of a column so I could make the comics bigger.

Barring any calamities, I will have a lot more to say before the end of this month. But that’s all I have to say about wings.

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Post-Fucking-Xmas Comic

Christmas for me this year wasn’t all that different from last year. No Clown-Faced Girl for me. I’m thinking that Santa did visit some of you. Well, congratu-fucking-lations.

Here is my post-Xmas comic. It doesn’t really have a title. I was going to call it, “Santa Gets His Groove On.” But that sucks. So, let’s just call it, “Stoogepie’s Post-Fucking-Xmas Comic.” Merry Post-Fucking-Xmas.

This fucked up year will be over soon. Good riddance, 2009. Don’t let any anvils fall on your head on the way out. Also, fuck you 2009. You sucked ass.

Happy New Year and Happy New Decade. Stoogepiety is coming. Men: eat cake with your porn, shave your pubes, stop wearing underwear, and start treating pigs with the respect they deserve. Women: wear thigh-highs, find more revealing outfits with very short skirts, stop wearing underwear, and start treating pigs with the respect they deserve.

That’s all I have to say about the holidays for now.

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Mister Shorts Number 9

So, it’s time for a Mister Shorts. But first, stoogepie’s sad tale of credit card woe.

I lost a fucking credit card a few weeks ago. Maybe I left it at a bakery in the West Village when I made a pretty goddamn large baked goods purchase. I don’t fucking know. I went back to that bakery but I didn’t even ask the baker chicks about the credit card. I just bought some more cake and left.

I called the credit card company because, yo, that is what you do when you lose your credit card. It is not like when you lose your virginity or your mind and you just say, “Well fuck me. I will never get that shit back.” And it is not like when you lose your girlfriend or your wad and you just say, “Whatev. It will take me twenty minutes to replace that.” When you lose your credit card, you have to call the credit card company and tell them your sad tale of credit card woe and answer a bunch of questions and then it’s up to them whether or not to send you a brand stinking new credit card. I had never lost a credit card before, so I was kind of nervous about this.

So, you know, I called the credit card company over in Calcutta or wherever and told them I lost my credit card, and I got a very nice plastic lady who told me that, fuck my sorry ass, it looked like someone had been using my card to make illegal purchases. She asked me when I had lost it and I said I did not know. Maybe a few weeks ago. I thought it was on my desk or at the dry cleaners or fucking an ATM machine or what the hell ever. How should I know? My credit card has a mind of its own.

So the very nice plastic lady said, well, it looks like there is some suspicious charge activity, so let’s go back a month or so. And she said, “There is a charge for a website, it looks like some kind of adult website.” And I asked which site. And she told me and I said, “yeah, that’s the one with the ass smoothies that Ken turned me on to a while back. Nah, that was me.” See, I have that credit card in AutoFill in my Google Toolbar, so I just click to use it. I don’t need actual plastic at all. I might have lost the card by then, but who the fuck knows?

Anyways, the nice plastic lady goes through like fifteen more porn purchases and a few cake purchases until we got to that last live purchase at the bakery, and then just more online porn. And at the end of the call, the lady actually asks me, “Do you work in the pornography industry or something? That is a lot of porn.” And I said, yeah, I am a porno dude. If she watches porn, she might even recognize my dick. It’s the veiny reddish one that tilts up and to the right at the head. And then she just said my new card will arrive in a couple of days and hung up on me.

I got the card and promised myself that, this time, my signature on the back would not look like I took ten meth tabs, then dug my eyes out with a spoon, and then signed with my left hand while jerking off with my right. But that did not happen.

I won’t even tell you about how both graphics cards in my computer failed last week because that is even more fucking boring than my tale of credit card woe. But I will say this: good day, graphics cards! I said, good day!

That’s all I have to say about woe is me and all that shit. Next time, I will have a comic so badass you will not even get past the first fucking panel before you rub one off.

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Why No Whores, Craigslist?

Well, this is one of those obligatory posts. See, I’m working on a different post. A big post. Kind of like when I worked on Pierre the Zombie or Wikipedia Jones. And it took a while and I had to get my dick sucked a lot and I needed a little S&M and a lot of drugs.

So, I’m in that way again, and not totally sure that the drugs aren’t counterproductive, and thinking a little that maybe I should stop the drugs for a while. After I run out of my stash, maybe, I mean. Which might happen by January or so, unless I can find a bunch of coke-sniffing sluts to come over to the stoogepen and use up all my drugs.

Not that it’s all that hard to find coke-sluts, but I was looking on Craigslist the other day for, you know, wholesale whores in the pussy section and I discovered that they changed that whole section of Craigslist. There are no more ads for whores there.

When I say “whores,” I mean prostitutes, not sluts.

See, two weeks ago, Craigslist reached a settlement with the attorneys general of forty states that required them to get ID for any ads placed in the personals section. So now you need a phone number and a credit card to take out an ad in the fuck section of Craigslist. And Craigslist also sued people who set up ways to circumvent the system by assigning temporary phone numbers and credit card numbers for a fee. So, this is some serious shit.

No pussy for you. Not if Craigslist has anything to say about it.

Since Craigslist implemented these measures, fuck ads are down by 80%. And the po-po made a lot of arrests at the same time. Like in Massachusetts, they arrested eight people. And in North Carolina, they arrested another eight people. And a couple more in South Carolina. And in Florida, they arrested a whopping 35 people!

So, there is less fucking for money going on. Meaning that, in addition to the economic crisis the United States faces, it now also faces a pussy crisis.

As an aside — and this is a little bit of a tangent — if you have been following all the sordid details of the subprime mortgage crisis, you know that mortgage wholesalers were routinely offering pussy in exchange for mortgage sales. Yeah, you read that right: underwrite my mortgage and I will suck your dick. So, all I’m saying is that a lot fewer dicks are getting sucked all at the same time in this country.

Talk about a recession. This is the Great Pussy Depression of 2008-2009.

And my big question is this: what is wrong with getting a little fuck and suck for a few hundred bucks or, you know, the cost of a mortgage? What is so wrong about prostitution?

In an earlier post, I pointed out that, while prostitution is illegal, porno is not. Meaning that I can pay you to have sex with me and, as long as there is a fucking cameraman in the room with us, it’s perfectly legal. Now, how does that make sense to anyone? I am considering starting a company that pretty much charges dudes a few hundred bucks to film them fucking a prostitute porn star.

And don’t give me any shit about diseases or bad self-esteem or drugs. Before you give me that bullshit, do a little fucking research. You don’t know shit about prostitutes. Click here for a decent starting point. But I’ll tell you what in case you’re too lazy to do your own research: about half of prostitutes also do something else. Maybe they work at your carwash or mind your kids all day or serve you food at your local diner or make the peanut butter you eat. Fact is, that doesn’t pay enough so they can afford the subprime mortgage that someone else, unbeknownst to them, sucked a dick to get approved. So they suck some dicks and their kids get some food on the table.

Or maybe they just like fucking for money. What’s wrong with that? Wouldn’t it be nice if you liked your job?

We all have a price. You would suck my dick if I gave you enough money. Not that you don’t all want to suck my dick for free. I’m just being hypothetical here. So don’t start thinking, “Hmmm. How much can I get from stoogepie for sucking his dick?” when you know you would have done it for free five minutes ago.

My point is that everyone has a price. You do. Maybe you’re thinking it is millions of dollars, but you are just fooling yourself. I mean, if someone who was not Dick Cheney politely said, “You know, I would pay you $100,000 for a blowjob,” would you really say no? Probably not, and I only say “probably” because you might just have so much money that $100,000 doesn’t get your juices flowing. But you get the idea.

Now, admit to yourself that you would suck off pretty much anybody — even Dick Cheney — for a million bucks. Because otherwise you are a fucking idiot. Really. And it wouldn’t traumatize you or send your self-esteem plummeting or anything. You would be like, “so, do you have any friends with a million bucks who would also like to bust a nut in my mouth?”

And now ask yourself why it is not okay for someone to do the same shit for a hundred bucks. Maybe it’s their mortgage. Maybe it’s like a million bucks to them. Or maybe they just like sucking dick.

So, look, you can do something about the Great Pussy Depression of 2008-2009. You can support the legalization of prostitution. Or you can, you know, just suck a dick for a few bucks. And maybe help me use up my stash. It will stimulate the economy and it will also stimulate the good people of this country.

Think about it.

So, if you have been scared off of Craigslist and need a place to advertise your cunt or your mouth or your ass, feel free to leave a comment with prices and such.  Or, you know, even if you’re not a pro, if you just want to let everybody know your price, that would be nice, too.

That’s all I have to say about pussy for money, at least for now.

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My Personal Life

So, I am still sort of working on a very long comic.  It is epic, really.  Epic!  But it also sucks ass, so I’m putting it aside for a while.  That’s the problem with big projects.  Sometimes they seem like good ideas until you actually execute them.  Then they can totally suck.

Fail!  Oh well.  Whatever.  I have wasted days and days on this shit.  Here is one panel from the comic, just so you can get the flavor of it.

The biggest problem with all of this is that it has diverted my attention and kept me up late every night trying to figure out how to make the damn Epic Comic work.  So I haven’t been posting to the blog enough.  And when I don’t post often enough, people email me to see whether I am alive and still updating the blog.  Sometimes they make smalltalk so it doesn’t seem like they’re just emailing me to tell me to hurry the fuck up and post something.  A lot of people write me with questions.  One of the questions I get a lot is how I do the comics.

So here is how I do the stoogepie comics. 

I start with a rough sketch.  It usually looks something like this.

Then I fill in a little detail, but not too much.

Then I color it in, put in the speech balloons, layer it all on a comic panel in Photoshop, do some touch-up, and — voila! — completed comic!

Sometimes people ask me very specific questions about the shit that I write on the site or stuff that I post.  Like, for instance, one dude asked lots of questions about my banner ad. 

Lots of questions.  How did I get stoogepie.com on the chick’s belly?  Did I film it and then composite it?  Is the picture of the pig stock footage because I probably do not have a pig in my New York City apartment?  Blah blah blah blah blah?

All I have to say is don’t fuck with my pig.  Also, if you want for me to show you how to draw a perfect stoogepie.com logo on a naked chick’s belly, bring her on over.  Really.

But that brings us to the personal questions.  A lot of people ask personal questions, like whether I own my apartment in the middle of Manhattan and how I can afford to live here since I am just a stoogepie and what I do for a living.  As for what I do for a living, I.  Don’t.  Know.  I multitask most of my day at the office. 

Just like you, I worry that one day the Man will realize that I don’t do a damn thing to make me worthy of the money they pay me.  Not.  One.  Thing.  I do spend a lot of time at the office but that’s because where I work, we have interns and they need a guiding hand.

Anyway, I will tell you about my personal life.  The truth is, when I am not at the office or making comics or writing for this blog or sleeping or eating or pissing or shitting, my life is like a fucking spy novel.  Full of adventure and intrigue and crazy-assed weapons and sexy but dangerous women.  Actually, sometimes when I am pissing it is like that, too.  But not most of the time.  Anyways, my point is that I don’t talk about my personal life a lot on this blog because you can’t fucking handle it.  So don’t go emailing me and asking me questions about my personal life when you are not ready to deal with the answers.

That’s all I have to say about my personal life.

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