Stoogepie Gets a Call

There’s really not much to add to this strip.

But thank fucking god a long weekend is coming up!

More worthless shit is on the way.

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StoogeNotes: Kafka’s Metamorphosis

When I was getting my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in Beverage Therapy with a minor in Condometry, I did not have all that much spare time to devote to classes.  Needless to say, I definitely did not have time to read all of the fucking books I was supposed to read for those classes.  I did not even have time to read the goddamn Cliff Notes.

So, I usually just talked to people who had already taken those classes and asked them what the books were about.  In this way, I could get an entire semester’s “reading” done over a few beers and a bag of weed.

For all you youngsters reading my blog, please do not take any unintended messages away from this.  While it’s true that I graduated from an Ivy League University with honors and today have an awesome job and am, in general , a bigshot at whom women throw themselves because I am considered A Good Catch, it’s also true that I never experienced the pleasure or gained the wisdom that those classic works of literature had to offer.  Furthermore, I never got the edumacation for which my trust fund so dearly paid, and that is why I am so stoopid today.  Meanwhile, I constantly worry that The Man will one day realize just how insanely ignorant I am of literary classics and will, as a result, take away my expense account and the secretaries and interns who give me blowjobs every day.

All that I’m saying is — and this is for you kids out there — there is really only one lesson to be learned from all of this: if you are willing to share your dope, you never, ever need to read a book.  Please don’t read anything more into any of this.

Now, I know that some of you don’t have any dope to share, because you are poor, or because your parents sent you to some fucked up redneck bible college in Texas or Tennessee, or because you are afraid of violating the conditions of your parole.  There is no shame in any of that, except for those of you attending the redneck bible colleges.

Stoogepie to the rescue.  Again.

Because I am a Major Celebrity, I feel like I should give something back to society in addition to my court-mandated hours of community service.  So from time to time, I will post StoogeNotes™.  These are ultra-condensed versions of classic literature.  These summaries are more than enough to get you through a class about a particular piece of literature and, if you are creative, will even get you through an essay.  And they will take, like, five minutes to read.

And you don’t need to be in school to enlighten yourself by reading these summaries of classic literature.  Bringing up classic literature is a great icebreaker at parties.  And I have found that many women bring up classic literary figures as a sort of benchmark at clubs and bars to decide whether you are, indeed, worthy of fucking them up the ass later that night.

Today’s StoogeNotes™ selection is Kafka’s Metamorphosis.

Summary:
The story opens when this dude, Gregor Somethingorother, awakens from a night of wet dreams to find that his nose is full of cockroaches.  Not those huge American cockroaches, but those little, disgusting German cockroaches like we have here in New York City.  See, the story takes place in Germany, so it is those nasty-assed little German roaches that are up Gregor’s nose.

Pretty much, most of the rest of the story is Gregor thinking about having cockroaches up his nose.  Really.

Finally, because it is hard to breathe with all those damn cockroaches scurrying around up his nose, Gregor goes to the doctor.  After Gregor fills out a lot of paperwork because Germany has socialized medicine, he encounters this really hot, sexy German nurse.  He eyes the nurse lustily while thinking about titty-fucking her, but he just tells her that he has a horde of roaches up his nose. 

The sexy nurse tells Gregor he should just blow his nose and hands him a handkerchief, because Kleenex had not yet been invented when this story was written.  Gregor blows his nose and about a billion cockroaches stream out and Gregor dies.

The End.

Questions your professor might ask:  Were the roaches up Gregor’s nose a symbol of something else, like snot?  Or were they just, you know, roaches up a dude’s nose?  Also, what’s up with all those fucking roaches up somebody’s nose?

Trivia to impress your professor, especially if she is a hot teaching assistant:  In Kafka’s original draft of Metamorphosis, the sexy nurse tells Gregor to lay down and she then attempts to kill the cockroaches up his nose by stomping on them with her stiletto heels.  That is how Gregor dies at the story’s end.  The publisher of the story demanded that Kafka rewrite the ending because stomping on a person’s face with stiletto heels was an accepted medical practice at the time in Germany and, in fact, is still a common feature in German porn.  The publisher did not want to infuriate the medical community and lay readers by implying that stomping on someone’s face was dangerous.  So, Kafka changed the ending to have Gregor simply blow his nose, which all Germans knew might just kill a dude.

That’s it for this installment of StoogeNotes™.  Next time, who knows what fucking story I will summarize?

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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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Eat Me! No, Really….

I’ve been working on a long comic project that is not ready yet.  I hope to have it ready to post soon.  In the meantime, file this entry under shit you (hopefully) did not know about the internet. 

There is a lot of pretty crazy shit on the internet.  I often think that the internet brings out the worst in people.  Or, at least, it gives some pretty fucked up people an easy way to find similarly fucked up people.

As an example, you have probably heard of Hot or Not, where people post their pictures and get rated on their hotness by anonymous nobodies.  Well, have you ever taken a shit that was just magnificent?  Now there is Rate My Poo!  When you take a dump that is really special, all you need to do is take a picture and upload it to Rate My Poo so that anonymous nobodies can give your crap a score.  As of tonight, Rate My Poo has 18,316 pictures of shit on it.

And I have talked about dating sites like the one for the mentally ill who want to date other mentally ill people before, but there are also dating sites for the morbidly obese who want to get even more fat and for gay thugs.  (On Gay Thug Dating, check out this thug if you dare.) 

What I have not been able to find is a dating site devoted to cannibals.  See, cannibalism is pretty big on the internet.  Yes, I said cannibalism.

A while ago I happened upon this website for dudes who have fantasies about eating women after they cook them.  It is called Muki’s Kitchen, and it features picture after picture of women with apples in their mouths being impaled, roasted, microwaved, and fried alive.

I agree that women are pretty tasty, but cooking women before you eat them seems like it might make sex after dinner less interesting.  I’m assuming there would be sex after dinner or why would I even bother cooking?  And, I know I am the first dude to ever think of this, but doesn’t cooking and eating a woman sort of suck for her?

Also, you know, what do you talk about with someone you are going to eat?  Does she know you are going to eat her?

In case you think this is just some crazy fantasy, look up Armin Meiwes.  This dude advertised on an internet bulletin board appropriately named the Cannibal Cafe for a victim to be cooked and eaten.  He used the screen name “Franky.”  Many people responded who wanted to be cooked and eaten.  At least twenty potential victims actually went to his house and, while some chickened out, he rejected some others.

Now, you know, I go to clubs and bars and shit, so I am no stranger to rejection.  It happens.  But how does it feel to be rejected as a fucking cannibal victim?

One dude finally responded who apparently met Armin’s tastes and, to prove it, Armin ate the guy.

The Cannibal Cafe bulletin board had a list of available human livestock and applications for those who wanted to be livestock.  Because, you know, you want to show a little discrimination about whom you cook and eat.  But it was a highly moral place.  On the front page, it warned that it would not tolerate participation in its cannibalistic activities by minors.  Or, as those of us in the know like to say, “no veal.”

Anyway, there is cannibalism afoot.  Pun intended.  So, the next time you go to a club and you meet a nice stud or chick, check them out extra carefully.  You may be looking for an ass buffet, but she or he may be looking for the same thing.  Only different.

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Stoogepiety: In The Beginning

There is a Christian in Texas who says that doomsday begins tomorrow, on June 12th.  Set your clocks.  (Just in case that link goes dead due to armageddon, check out this link.)

This got me thinking.  Suppose this dude is right and the beginning of the end is tomorrow?  Would all of you Christians who scoffed at this dude and ignored him and ridiculed him join me poolside in hell?

My bigger question is: why are you Christians so confident that faith leads to anything other than rich televangelists and an ever-growing list of Christian evangelical scandals?

Hey, Jesus was a Jew, right?  And all the most devout Jews around him did not believe he was the messiah.  And don’t tell me that they were doing something wrong.  Jane and Joe Israelite were doing their best, following what we now call the Old Testament, and — just like you — listening to the spiritual guidance of someone who said he had all the answers but who was also always worried about some Expensive Religious Emergency that needed to be paid for before next week’s episode.

And, fuck, even Jesus’s own brothers and sisters did not believe him!  I mean, the three stooges wise men had recognized him on sight, but thirty long goddamn years later after living with Him and who knows how many fucking miracles and mom and dad talking about the virgin birth and King Herod and frankincense and myrrh, his own fucking brothers and sisters were unconvinced!  That had to hurt.

So what makes Christians today think that they will recognize the new messiah when he or she strolls along the next time?  The most devout Jews didn’t recognize him the first time.  Only a handful of people paid any attention at all.  And, I mean, this is a dude who created an army of zombies and was a zombie himself!

Let me change gears here for a moment because I am going somewhere with this.  Like I said, this prophesy about the world ending tomorrow got me thinking, so I decided I would pick up my bible and look it over again.

Anyway, I was reading my bible while waiting for the train today on my way to work when this woman — not a hot woman — who was sitting next to me on the subway platform wants to talk about the bible.

I’m paraphrasing, but that really is pretty much how the conversation went.

All that I’m saying is this: I know that all you supposedly righteous Christians will scoff when my Stoogepiety™ ministry starts up.  But you had better watch out.  Just like happened 2,000 years ago, you just might not recognize Christianity 2.0 or Judaism 3.0 or whatever you want to call it, even as it is damning you to an infernal eternity in the Lake of Boredom.  And you will probably just kill me.  And the difference is that when I come back as a zombie with my army of zombies, we will eat your fucking brains and draw goddamn comics about it.

The time draws nigh.  Yes, nigh.

Anyway, here is a preview of the kind of dogma you can expect from Stoogepiety™: Forget all that other bullshit.  You are meat.  Get used to it.  Thanks for playing.

And here is my very first prophesy: the world will not end tomorrow. 

Stay tuned for miracles.

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