Mud. Muddy muddy mud.
Mud goes all the way down, you know. Between the rocks, and in the sand, and past the clay. Mud.
I’ve been on hikes like that. I’d like to think I’d be as calm as Hubris is about it.
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Posts Tagged Mud
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Ron and Duke don’t seem to be the sorta fellas who are gonna let a good fishing trip plan roll over and kick its li’l feet in the air and expire.
Of course, they DO seem to be the sorta fellas who you read about in the paper- all about how they went on a fishing trip and drowned under odd, but not controversial, circumstances. And possibly rolled over and kicked their size 13s in the air as they expired.
Don’t nobody make a “Hey, Y’all, Watch this…” joke now, you hear?
You guys remember Mr. Mud Pie, right? He was waaaaay out in front during the first of the race, and by golly, it looks like he stayed there.
I think Mrs. Mud Pie was expecting to hear something more entertaining than, “I was so good that no bad stuff could catch up.” Maybe she enjoys the excitement of a little cannon fire now and again.
Next time, Paste needs to take off his helmet before the slide into the mud. I’m tired of drawing his toasted-up head.
I think the two finishing competitors so far have different experiences to look back on.
Today’s dippy sermonette on cartooning at the Hubris Patreon Page was one I was pretty pleased with. For those of you who don’t Patreon, I post the cartoon a little early, and talk about the nuts-and-bolts of it or some behind-the-scenes aspect.
Don’t feel left out if you only read the cartoon here. It’s not critical information, and not really even cartooning lessons- just some fun trivia about writing or drawing or coloring these particular strips.
If that’s interesting to you, please become a patron. For a buck a month or whatever you like, you too can be Team Hubris and hear what I have to say- in this case, at least- about varying lettering and why you’d wanna.
Crowding the tape. We do it. The cops put up caution tape, the parade functionaries put up sawhorses, the museum directors put up velvet ropes, and we belly up to them as though they’re going to stop the stray bullets, out-of-control floats, and idealism-maddened zealots. And we get sprayed with whatever detritus there is flinging itself past the mostly-imaginary boundaries set up by our social gatekeepers if not by actual physical limitations. Pow.
Witness the ‘innocent by-standers’ on the outermostside of a curve in a Dakar race. Pow.
Those in the first row of a Gallagher concert. Pow.
Those who crowd the line at the bank teller’s window when the sketchy guy who seems to make the teller nervous keeps waving the ragged slip of paper and gesturing to the back of the room with a pistol.
So, don’t ‘crowd the tape’ when watching races that end in man-made swamplands. You’re just gonna get your underpants covered in mud. Even when they’re neatly covered by every other piece of outerwear you’re also wearing.
Mud treatments. They crop up. People have put mud on their skin for a long time for a lot of reasons.
Of course, I’m talking about movies and TV. I Love Lucy. There was a mud pack gag there, right? And Arnold Schwarzenegger. He used mud to disguise his body heat from The Predator. In The Rabbit Of Seville, Bugs puts concrete on Elmer’s face in place of a mud treatment. In Lonesome Dove, Janey puts mud on Roscoe’s wasp stings. Yes, Mud for all reasons and for all seasons. Mud.
Feel free to fill the comment section with your own knowledge of mud poultices and mud pies. It’ll distract you from the fact that I filled this space with random gabble because I couldn’t think of anything interesting to say today.
Poison Ivy.
If you’re exposed to it or even suppose that you might have been exposed to it… wash with soap and water as quickly as you can get to it.
Don’t be like me.
I have a tendency to get a case of poison ivy every year since I was 33 years old- the year I started having reactions to it.
The only treatment for poison ivy after it’s turned into a weeping, raw mess that has ever impressed me is to go and play in the ocean for an afternoon. Once, I had a horrible dripping mess made of both knees (after a really unfortunate tumble off a trail unicycle) and after playing in the ocean with my kids for a while, I came out with a keyring that had rusted over and knees that healed almost miraculously. Since then, of course, I’ve tried treating my poison ivy rashes with saltwater, but it’s just not the same. I need someone to provide a university with a grant to discover just what it is in ocean water that dries up poison ivy.
Man, I hope it’s not the fish poo.
It’s amazing what people will do, for the li’l hospital kids.
“Last Year’s ‘Fest” is a subjective time frame. It’s “last year” in comic strip/comic book/soap opera time. In real world time? We got old.
