Banal Hemorrhage

So, I wrote and drew this one under the debilitating effects of sobriety. As we approach the end of our self-imposed experiment (dry January), a few of things are apparent. First, it was difficult. It being difficult was the point. I think it’s important to realize what has a hold of you and to what extent. I use alcohol for destressing and sometimes to enhance other things, like dining and gaming. Second, I can see why some people choose the chaste path of sobriety. In general, I found  myself to be more emotional and a bit down during this period. Before figuring out more about the effects of boozing , I think I need to understand more about the effects of sobriety. Why did I find myself so sensitive to despair and negativity this month?  I had to live with it for a whole month, without the seductive embrace of alcohol. What is affecting my mood so?  For all intents and purposes  I have a life that has exceeded my expectations. I get to travel and eat weird  t...

Someone remind me what a real dog is like. I have two of the most ineffective beings at dog-ing that I can think of. Pooping is one category in which our dogs choose to be different. Specifically Conan, the boy dog. He can’t compete in size (his poops are Hershey Kiss sized) so he seems to compete on area of coverage.  He chooses a little patch of land to coronate with his defecate, and he does it with the theatrics of a conquering Visigoth.  A thing I left out in the comic, because I respect my viewers, is that he consistently gets an erection while planting his pigmy pies. Every. Single. Time. So he’s balancing in two legs and skipping about with his butt shadowing his next target while sporting the most unsightly of anacondas. Fun fact about this comic, if you arrange the poops in a musical staff using an algorithm and play it back in an accordion, it sounds like crap. 

Sometimes, I am driven by an idea. Like "how do I draw the effects of algorithms ?", or "why do some groups love people who rock bottom ?" Today, I'm driven by "what if Batman was dumb dog lol". I never said I was proud of what I do, how I do it or why I do it. It just is. Extra Panel…   

Before the fated year of our lord 2020, we had built a life of our own. We had made things, signed off on things, cleared our schedules of things to make space for other things, organized things, arranged things, got recognized for things. Dammit we did the things! We had a life. We were actually pretty proud of our lives.  All agency has been lost since then. All we are known for in our town is this pair of dog-forsaken animals. They're not even that well-made. Our first vet told us that they are "structurally off". One of them is a biter and a blepper. The other is a serial licker and has a literal hole in her head.  That's our current legacy in our hood.  And this is a true story, as we were walking out of a musical event in downtown Kalamazoo, we overheard a kid calling us the Chihuahua People.  Our reaction in real life was more like this:

Before 2020 we were normal people. We never even considered having a small dog, let alone two. As the coronavirus raged, we found ourselves in a narrowing corridor that led to the acquisition of the weirdest, most undogly of beings. I still don't understand their place in the universe, which works out well because I don't understand my place in the universe. One time, as a youngster, my friends and I were inexplicably burdened with the care of a peer who had ingested copious amounts of LSD. Those harrowing hours are the closest I've ever been to what my current life is right now. These beings oscillate between trying to murder your face and being the most adorable things I've ever held.  They go berserker mode on animals 10x their size. They drop down and ask for belly rubs, posing like hairy French girls. These are unknowable beings.  We have less friends now that we did before COVID. Is it because of COVID or our monsters? Social distancing or simply avoiding the ...

I know. Another comic about our stupid dogs. Well it’s been a little bit over a year since we’ve gotten them so let me obsess about them before we return them to the pound. Just kidding, no pound will ever take these bastards. Conan, the male chihuahua depicted here, is an absolute dick to me. He pees on my shoes, he ignores me if Roxanne is around, bites me if I touch Roxanne in front of him and overall acts like a tiny Danny Trejo bodyguarding his favorite female.  And yet, here I am. On my vacation in Hawaii, drawing him and missing him like hell. Like most con artists, he knows how far he can push me and what to do to get me back. In his case, all he has to do is roll over in his back and look like this. He’s an absolute genius.  (Credit for the Barkbarian pun goes to John, thanks man!) Extra Panel: His sister is my little girl though. Love her to pieces, too. 

Our dogs ain’t right. We love them, they have managed to enrich our lives in new wonderful ways and we would take *tiny* bullets for them. However…  If there’s peace to be disrupted, they’ll be there. They start their walks with excited barking, which grow into curious barking and evolve into a zen-like frolicky barking. They bark at other dogs, pedestrians, bicycles, squirrels, things that look like squirrels, and their own barks.  They posture and tense their leashes with murder in their eyes. We found out that if we unleash them, their bravado goes from 11 to 1. So at least we now know they’re only acting as annoying, aggressive assholes. “Just an act” we tell our neighbors, which doesn’t seem to help any. I know we are those people now. I’ve never been those people before.  The only thing they do better than publicly shaming us is their snuggling. These are world class snugglers. Like thousands-of-years-of-developing-physical-bonds-as-a-survival-instinct world class...

Besides falling leaves, our dogs are afraid of: Their shadows Doors Stairs Petting Toys Raindrops Leashes Things that our dogs are not afraid of: Huge dogs Feral cats Burly men in the shadows Cars barreling towards them Obviously we have our work cut out for us. These guys are the least befitting of donning the crown of evolution out of any other dog I’ve ever met. Admittedly, in just five months they have burrowed so deep in our lives that I have no doubt we would take a bullet for them. So maybe that’s how they evolved.  They transform whoever adopts them into soft, malleable, unrecognizable pieces of putty. Extra Panel: This is what I imagine when I hear about dog therapists. Here’s an extra: A video of Conan who, we are convinced, learned to dog by watching YouTube tutorials. 

Have I been nauseating enough about our Coronapups? I’m gonna go with no.  We’ve had our  dobergoblins  (Conan and Xena) for the last four months and all I can say is that they’ve changed us. Roxanne and I look at each other and wince at what we have become.   There’s not an hour of the day in which these dogs aren’t an extension of our bodies. Furry, needy, whiny extensions. And what do we do with this dependent behavior? We encourage the hell out of it. Over the last month we’ve done incredibly disgusting things like:  Bought them little tiny sweaters  Put them in pouches attached to our sweaters Smuggled them into restaurants Handcrafted some masks for them Hiked with them on our backpack Only one of those is a lie. We are so screwed. Extra Panel:  They are our world.