mind expanding nonsense

Archive for the ‘What a Wanker’ Category

Here’s Another One

 

Usually I prefer to fill this blog with witty rants from a slightly over medicated point of view about how America is going to hell in a hand-basket.  But I wanted to forgo a diatribe about cities burning because yet another black man has died at the hands of the police, looters ransacking already struggling business, while the incapable and incompetent leadership at the very top of government wants to get our minds off of the Corona pandemic and only speaks to the needs of his ever shrinking political base.   Instead, I’d like to focus on my drawing, which is increasingly becoming a refuge and “place of safety” during these end times during these chaotic times which is not yet approaching the shit that went down in the 60’s but is getting pretty damn close.  Oh well…gotta take solace in the fact that some things never change, and hop into my own little world where everything is fair, everyone is safe from harm and nothing is scary unless ya take a little bit too much medication – but that goes away fast, and it’s totally worth it.

So…this is a page in one of my smaller sketchbooks (brown paper).  Can’t have too many sketchbooks and different sizes.  Never can tell when ya might wanna draw the same ol’ crap you’ve been doing for years in a bigger size.  My bigger sketch books look pretty much like the smaller ones.  They are just filled with more small sketches because their pages are bigger.

If it wasn’t for Robo calls, I wouldn’t have no calls at all.

My apologies to Albert King for butchering the lyrics to his song Born Under A Bad Sign wherein he laments that “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all”.  How true!  The Wife went out of town with a girl friend (not like in a gay girl-friend, just one of her female friends; of course if ya watch enough Project Runway you’ll find that term can easily apply to both men and women).  So, I was left home alone for three days, and because all her friends knew she was going somewhere, We didn’t get a bunch of phone calls that weekend.  Except…for Robo calls (guess they didn’t know).  I did get one actual call, from a telemarketer.  Who I asked, “Are you a Robo call?”  When she replied, “Do I sound like a Robo call?”, I said “Yeah”, whereupon she hung up.

Being home alone when you’re 72 isn’t like “It’s party time!”   And it’s definitely not like the movie about the kid who’s parents forgot about him and left him behind alone to fend off burglars (although if too much herbal medication is consumed paranoia can creep in and make ya wonder if every strange noise ya hear is a home invasion and all I’m stuck with to fight them off is my measly cane).  I do get to play my music as loud as I want, and watch watch whatever ‘evil’ (meaning not a Hallmark Christmas movie) television show that I want.  Big problem is, after two nights all the left-overs are gone and the carton of ice cream was nearly empty.  That means cooking, and with cooking comes dish washing, and I like to keep my dish washing down to one utensil, a coffee cup, and maybe a bowl if I can’t microwave the container of leftovers.

Being home alone is okay once in a while, but I wouldn’t wanna do it all the time.  It could get lonely.  But at least I’d have Robo calls.

 

God, Jesus and Superman

When I was a little kid, it was common knowledge that the three most strongest people in the world were God, Jesus and Superman.  God of course had to be number one, He was God after all and created everything.  Jesus was God’s son, so he had to be number two.  Having grown up in the fifties, and having watched every episode broadcast weekly on TV, Superman was the obvious third.  He didn’t have any supernatural powers like God and Jesus, but he could leap tall buildings at a single bound, was faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive.  Best of all, he was American, and fought for truth, justice, and the American Way (which was the best way goin’ on back then, but not so much anymore, Some are trying to make it great again, but actually turning it into a shit-hole).

Superman was real!  Sure God and Jesus are real, but in a pretend kinda way.  They were too far away, up there in Heaven where they couldn’t be seen.  Superman was real, you could see him every week.  [ Do you ever wonder what God and Jesus talk about up there in Heaven?  I bet not much.  With all those prayers they gotta answer, it must get pretty noisy, what with millions of people asking for all kinda stuff; think celestial Amazon fulfillment center.  That would drive me nuts!  I would also wager, that Jesus is getting pretty antsy and more anxious to return to earth and clean things up.  They see global warming and climate change coming, and know that if things continue along this path, there won’t  be any people left to worship and pray to them.  Then what?  Are they just gonna hang it all up and write-off earth as an experiment gone bad, or will They just start all over again.  If They do, I’d suggest they make all people the same color, and forego the foreskins this time around.]

 

Dirty Mind

These objects aren’t what you think they are, and if you do think they are, then you’ve got a dirty mind.  Some  people think I have a dirty mind, especially those that stop by this blog and look at my drawings.  They may be right.   The Wife definitely thinks I have a dirty mind, as did a lot of the girls I dated in High School.

Ever since I was a little kid, anything involving flatulence, self-defecation and barfing always tickled my funny bone.  The really funny shit usually always centered around a rip-roaring fart.  If there was sexual innuendo, all the better.  Guess I was just an all American boy.

I think everybody has a bit of a dirty mind.  And that’s not a bad thing… getting connected to your inner-filth can be very enlightening, when not scaring ya to death.  All stuff forbidden is worthy of a snicker.  If it’s frowned upon it’s worth investigating.  If it’s illegal… I’ll pass.  Don’t wanna break the law, cause that stuff goes on your permanent record. [I won’t even go on about that pedophile Jeffrey Epstien and how for once money was not able to save the rich and  powerful when caught with their pants down.   May he find eternal rest in a moderately low realm in Hell.]

Well. I better go and wash my mouth (and mind) out with soap.

Can’t Stop Drawing Sausages

I don’t know what it is, but I can’t seem to stop drawing sausage shapes.  That’s about all I’ve been drawing lately, and I fear people with their filthy minds in the gutter, may think me to be some kinda pervert fixated on phallic symbols.  Nothing could be further from the truth!  I draw sausage shapes cause: they’re easy, familiar, and fun to draw and decorate with all sorts of costumes.  Folks with a clean mind will think: Weiners, as in Oscar Mayer, not a bunch of floating Johnsons.

Forever Ain’t That Far Away

Recently I’ve come to realize that life is short, and forever closer than ya might think.  At anytime, the Sweet Lord Jesus could swoop down from Heaven in His chariot of fire, scoop up my ancient ass and take me away to my eternal reward.

The first thing I’d say to Him , besides “Thank you Jesus” is: “Hey Lord, don’t forget my buddy Jock”.

July 2017

A lot was going on in July of 2017.  Unfortunately, this is just about all of it I can remember – and only because of thorough documentation,.  I’m finding that if I don’t write it down , I’m not gonna remember it. [I haven’t found out yet that prioritizing things in order of importance is of any substantial value].

Although I’m glad that I did document these images, the downside of featuring the date so prominently, kinda sucks the possibility of other titles out of consideration.  “Love Is In The Air” could have been a good one;  “Hanging Loose In the Heavens” another.  “No Time For Romance” is a hot one.  “More Strange Shit” overstates the obvious.  You can call it anything you want.

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What More Sausage Shapes?

Here’s one I did two years ago way back in the good ol’ days of 2016.  I was on a roll back then, just grinding out images based on a theme.  I know….A lot of these things look like giant bratwursts afflicted with rare diseases.  What can I say?

When I was in Germany visiting some relatives I’d never seen before, they decided to go all out and treat me to a German breakfast treat: Weiss-wurst. Weiss- worst wurst are small white sausages, that are boiled, and to make them totally un-appetizing, usually served on a white plate.  It’s made of veal (baby cows) and other assorted pork products.  I think sausages, or other meat products encased in animal intestines, are gross, and nothing more than a way to recycle every part of the pig except the ‘oink’. [I think God intended us to eat our food from the outside in, Not inside out].   Who knows what you’re getting or where it came from?  Although I may be a little fuzzy as to where bacon comes from, I sure knew which part of Porky Pig our Christmas hams came from.

Be sure to check-out this video for the fine art of eating Weisswurst.

Hooked On Love

This one really doesn’t need any explanation.  Sometimes I like to work on a theme, and the theme for mid August last year was women on fish hooks.  Women often times fix themselves up in order to be more attractive to men: earrings, eye shadow, jewelry, a little cleavage, all man-attracting items.  This is not unlike when I go trout fishing in the Sierras.  If I wanna catch a fish, I gotta put something on my hook that they like.  What they see in a sparkly pink globule of freshly out of the jar Power Bait is beyond me.  But it works every time – stupid fish.

I think these drawings would have worked out better if I had a model to draw from.  Sadly, The Wife refused, and I only had my imagination, and warped sense of anatomy to go on.  Image yourself in your living room, sitting in your favorite recliner, feet up, eyes closed blissfully listening to the Doors “Light My Fire”, when all of a sudden women on fish hooks start descending from the ceiling.  Would you snap at one like a fresh out of the hatchery trout, or, would you think twice?  I’d like to think that I’m a better man than that.  I’d also like to think that I’m still 18 years old, and a lot of other things that ain’t never gonna happen.

 

 

 

Xmas

This past Christmas The wife hung these pine scented candles on our Xmas tree because the tree had no pine smell to it.  How a pine tree doesn’t have a scent is beyond me.  Maybe Monsanto has even genetically modified Xmas trees not to smell so they can sell us pine scented products (same division that makes the herbicide Round-Up) on the side.  The problem was, to me, these scented candles smelled like the cakes they throw in urinals to keep the stink down.  Kinda spoils the Yuletide festivities when your front room smells like a gas station restroom.  Every time I stood next to our beautifully decorated tree to admire all the ornaments, I found myself unzipping my pants and wanting to take a whizz on it.

He’s Back

For any of you who remember Hot Dog Man…He’s back!  This is what Hot Dog Man looks like when he’s had too much medication.  Not that there’s anything wrong with too much medication; I do believe that everybody functions at their best when properly medicated.  It’s that sometimes, too much is just…too much.  But then again there’s a certain compelling logic to the “if a little is good, a lot is better” school of thought.

Despite the fact that I’m blurting this stuff out to the whole worldwide web (half a dozen followers for this blog) my drawings are not for general consumption.  Hot Dog Man is kinda like an alter-ego for me.  I get to act out through him, what The Wife never allows me to do when she’s home.  I rarely show my sketchbooks to her friends.  They’ll politely look through them, but are mostly aghast, and later question her about any obsessive-compulsive behaviors I might have.   All a total embarrassment, which I happily post for your edification.

White Paper

I’m a multi-media sort of guy.   Most of the stuff I’ve been posting recently has been on brown paper.  But I don’t just use brown paper only, I use white paper too!  In fact, I use quite a lot of white paper because brown paper sketch books are really expensive so ya only wanna put you really good stuff in them.  Old Hansi ain’t made of money.  I don’t wanna end up like some of my broke social security buddies having to eat cat food in order to survive.  Every time I go over for dinner at their house, I gotta ask if we’re having canned food or kibbles – I really don’t like dry-food.

Supposi-stories For Your Mind

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The title was really supposed to be Suppositories for your Mind, but I didn’t want to sound gross or suggest that anyone ingest my words anally, unless, you’re some kinda Tea Party nut-case that thinks my blog is blasphemous or a bunch of bleeding heart liberal communist bullshit; then I think you know where you can feel free to shove it.

divel-fipps 005Anyway, taking these little ‘mind stories’ rectally is a slow way to assimilate them.  Number one, your butt is pretty far from your brain.  And number two (snicker), it’s all up-stream, and who wants some tired, worn-out stimuli in their brain? [Some have solved this problem by magically placing their heads up their ass].  Taking these stories orally seems like a faster way, but anything that goes in your mouth has to go down first, and then make a big U-turn before it goes back up to your head.

I guess the best way to digest these stories is visually.  The back of your eyes have little cords running outta them which plug directly into your brain.  That’s why I always throw in a drawing or two.  Gives the eyes something to look at while your brain is trying to figure out what has been written.

 

Happy Birthday

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By the time you read this, I’ll have had a birthday (late February, the sixth day before the end of the month, unless it’s leap-year and then it’s seventh)…68 Frickin’ years old!  Some how I’m not so excited about it, or looking forward to a birthday when you were a kid and it was your “special day”.  [If I get my tenses mixed up, it’s not because I’m so spaced-out I can’t keep things straight.  It’s because I can’t make it a current event like all that crap which was such a big deal for Social Studies].  There’s no fun in getting older.  But then again, there’s never any fun when ya stop getting older.

I don’t think of myself as an old man…until, I look in the mirror and wonder, “Who’s that old geezer?”.  That’s why I indulge in the naughty little boy side of me as often as possible.  At this stage, I really don’t care if I get my hand caught in the cookie jar.  And speaking of the ol’ cookie jar,  the latest rage amongst cannabis connoisseurs is “edibles”, cannabis infused food products*   You’ve heard of  the fabled Alice B Toklas brownies.  Well now you can load-up on weed enhanced: popcorn, chewing gum, hard candy and (my favorite) chocolate.  Make some canna-butter (THC extracted into heated fats), and you can cook with it and get ‘baked’ at the same time.

now 004I’d like to do that at Thanksgiving sometime.  Make up a batch of cannabis butter and use it to : baste the turkey, stir into the mashed potatoes, place a few pats on the veggies, and of course, slather it on rolls.  Yum.

It goes without saying, that you don’t tell any of the usual attendees (The Wife’s born again relatives) about it.  Just let ’em help there selves to a bountiful harvest feast.  Thanking God (when not saying, ‘oh my gawd’) for the bounty, and the joy of living in the United States of America (land of the free and home of the brave…of thee I sing).  And Jesus (the Mexican guy down at the dispensary) and me, for making it the best Thanksgiving ever.  Sadly this, along with many of my great ideas, will never happen.

*Ain’t that something?  A “munchie” made to get ya high, that once high, gives ya the munchies, so what do ya grab?  Why more “edible” munchies which again gives ya  the munchies ad infinitum.

Invisibility

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A few posts back, I wrote something about how I’m starting to feel invisible, un-noticed and ignored as I got older.  I also made mention of, like a nasty little boy, adolescent fantasies of invisibility wherein one could do all sorts of forbidden stuff, like go into the girls locker room at school; a fantasy common to most horny little boys along with the wish ya had x-ray vision like Superman.  [I wonder how often he scoped-out Lois Lane?]

Well, I’m not most men are not into that stuff anymore.  Thankfully, voyeurism (and the horns) have worn off by the time ya start getting Social Security.  But wouldn’t it be cool  to be invisible for real, like the guy in the Invisible Man movie.  You could do all kinds of stuff, like walk into any theater, sit down and watch what ever you wanted without having to buy a ticket.  You would have to make sure it wasn’t a crowded performance so some fat-lady wouldn’t come down your row and blop her big fat butt on top of ya.

You could also stay in some pretty nice hotels, just go behind the front desk, grab a set of keys, and voila, you’re livin’ large.  Hitting up the breakfast buffet might be challenging.  Nothing like a floating tray piled high with goodies being a dead give-a-way that someone invisible is pigging-out.

Driving a car could be difficult.  I’d sure freak-out for sure if I saw an apparently driver-less car next to me in the fast lane.  Motorcycles and bicycles are out too.  With all the drones flyin’ round these days, someone might think that they were being chased by remote control, with some geek in Virginia, sitting at his joy-stick, ready to take your ass out.

I don’t think I’d like to be invisible all the time.  If you needed to be seen, you’d have to put on clothes, hat and gloves, and cover your face with bandages, and hope that the cheap shit ya bought at the 99 Cents Store didn’t start to unravel on ya.  That’s what the Invisible Man had to do, which of course meant: he was naked  all the time!

I’d like to turn my invisibility off and on.  The Wife don’t want no invisible hairy ass sitting on her sofa-love seat.  An off switch would be nice, that way you don’t have to stand up all the time.  Even if I put a towel down on my recliner, eating a bowl of soup could be mighty uncomfortable, especially if I dribbled.  I would do all my blogging while invisible; sorta lends itself to the medium.  Doing Skype would be interesting, especially if the person you were Skyping had their invisibility turned on too.  It would be like a plane old phone call, except you could see the phone booth they were calling from.  I think I’d float an ashtray in front of the screen or bend some spoons just to let ya know I was there…and naked.

Below is a picture of me being invisible; must have just gotten in from wondering around in the garden.  The one above is by my six year old grandson Logan; he could care less about invisibility, but just wait.

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