Boobs and Dicks – The Comic

Many of you have no doubt noticed that there haven’t been any new Boobs and Dicks comic strips for the last two weeks. Let me assure you that I have not taken another trip to the Florida Keys, nor have I abandoned my weekly excursions to the Boobs and Dicks Universe. The reason for the failure to produce comic strips in recent weeks is simpler and more sinister: the boobs and dicks have carried out an act of SABOTAGE on my mode of production.

I began Monday, June 23^rd, 2012, like any other day. Stepping out onto my balcony with a pack of cigarettes and a pot of café Cubano, I was perusing the day’s news headlines looking for new evidence of the boobs and dicks in our world, Reality Prime. That was when I noticed some small wisps of white smoke wafting in the morning air. Instinctively, I raised the cigarette in my hand to my lips in order to draw in a smooth, calming, cancer-causing lungful of air. But, much to my surprise, I found the cigarette unlit. Another wafting wisp of smoke caught my eye, looking as though it came from over the edge of my balcony. I raised my computer from my lap, stood up, and leaned forward hoping to discover the source of this white smoke. It was then that I noticed it was not coming from down on the street. The smoke was pouring out of the back of my computer!

There was a sizzle and a crack, and then the screen went black, and my computer, my companion, and my tool for converting comic strips to their digital form was as dead as a doornail.

Now, the sudden tragic death of a compute is not, in and of itself, enough implicate the boobs and dicks as the active perpetrators of a heinous act. Computers and mechanical devices die unexpectedly all the time for any number of reasons. Still, in the back of my mind, as I mourned the loss of my computer throughout the day, knowing full well that I did not have enough money to replace it, I could not help but suspect foul play.

My suspicions were confirmed at dinner. As I sat down and began eating my last box of Value Time Mac & Cheese, I noticed some black specks in my meal that did not look like black pepper. Upon further inspection, I discovered that my delicious meal was infested with tiny, dead, black bugs!

It was then that I knew the boobs and dicks had been in my apartment and were actively carrying out viscous acts of sabotage. They had attacked my computer, the main tool I use to produce comic strips exposing their existence and their plot to take over Reality Prime. And they had polluted my meal, my source of sustenance. Like an old Sicilian message, the meaning they meant to convey through these acts was clear: “Just like we’re doing with your world, Reality Prime, we are going to destroy you, body and mind.”

It was a cold, calculated message stemming from cruel acts of aggression, acts of sabotage carried out by creatures from a strange, foreign plane of existence that somehow still resembles our world in ways that are only explainable when I accept the fact that the boobs and dick are all around us, bent on taking over and dominating our lives. However, as horrified as I am by these blatant acts of aggression, I am not deterred. The undeniable presence of a legion of boobs and dicks influencing our world makes my work to document their movements and actions all the more imperative, providing the residents of Reality Prime the knowledge they need to both understand their inexplicable nature and to recognize the boobs and dicks in our world when we encounter them so that we, human beings, might be able to thwart their planned takeover of our plane of existence. The loss of my computer and all the legally questionable programs I use to create it Is only a minor setback.

Within the next few weeks, I shall resume my work with new and better tools to help me keep you informed. But be wary, my fellow residents of Reality Prime: the boobs and dicks are living among us, and they are growing more aggressive. Take heed of my warning, dear readers, and do whatever it takes to arm yourselves against them!

Ever since my near-fatal encounter with the postman a few months ago (see “Are They Already Living Among Us?”), I have been hesitant to leave the house for fear that they, the giant boobs and dicks, have infiltrated our universe and are plotting my demise.  Of course, this belief that they are trying to destroy me could simply be the result of my natural propensity for paranoid delusions.  But what if it’s not?

There a still too many unanswered questions: Did I really see a giant dick masquerading as a postman?  And if so, was this giant dick attempting to kill me as part of a larger plot on behalf of the boobs and dicks to conceal their planned takeover of our world, Reality Prime?  I have not been able to find any hard evidence to support this supposition (of course, barricading oneself inside one’s apartment does make evidence-gathering somewhat difficult), but further anecdotal evidence has surfaced regarding the boobs and dicks’ presence in our world.

A friend of mine knows a woman who was bicycling down a busy road one afternoon a few weeks ago in Miami.  According to my source, this cyclist took a violent fall after failing to navigate a curb.  As she lay injured on the corner of the busy intersection, her hands and arms badly scraped and her ankle sprained, no one seemed to take any notice of her.

Finally, as she managed to crawl to the sidewalk and sit up to assess her injuries, a car did stop, and a young man leapt out of the passenger door.  At last, a Good Samaritan in a sea of apathetic assholes, this poor biker thought to herself.

Unfortunately, this was not the case, for, rather than rushing over to the injured woman to ask if she needed assistance, the young man grabbed her bike and took off on it down the road!

When I first heard this story, I thought little of it, assuming that such a heartless theft was simply the isolated action of one of society’s dregs.  However, late one evening dominated by fear and paranoia, I began to wonder whether it really was just some random asshole who had committed this crime of opportunity.  There had been no mention of anyone witnessing this young man taking the shape of a giant dick as he fled the scene.  But, then again, who else but a giant dick could even conceive of acting like such a giant prick?

Of course, the supposition that this young thief was a giant dick masquerading as a human being could just be the paranoia talking.  But, even if the young man was, in fact, not a dick, perhaps he was working for some invading legion of giant dicks plotting to make our lives miserable, a legion of assholes striving to pit us against one another through random acts of criminality, knowing full well that the apathetic inaction of other citizens would practically grant them immunity for their crimes.  Or, if these conspiracy theories are merely paranoid delusions, perhaps the young man’s callous state of mind had been influenced by an encounter (or many encounters) with giant dicks passing themselves off as everyday men and women.

As I have said, more evidence is needed to support my suppositions regarding the massive boob and dick invasion.  But, in order to gather this evidence, I will need to venture out of my locked apartment and into the world, an act that might bring on even more paranoia and lead to a failure of judgment that could have dire, even fatal consequences.

As I sit here pondering the Boobs and Dicks strip “The Sunshine State”—my mind half-wandering through a psychotropic meditative state as I prepare to make another trip into the Boobs and Dicks Universe, ever fretful of the dire toll the trip exacts on my weary soul each time I take the precarious journey—suddenly the disparate elements of the world seem to flow together and, my limber mind meandering through a Blake-like state of visionary hallucinations, a revelation is at hand.

Florida!  Of course.  Suddenly the answer to my question of how I managed to happen upon a portal to the Boobs and Dicks Universe becomes clear.  Though I’ve always known, or at least suspected, that this universe existed, it wasn’t until I moved to Florida that I was not only able to confirm my suspicions, but to travel unfettered to this strange and bewildering world as well.  Florida!  The answer has been staring me in the face this whole time.  Florida!  How could I have been so blind?

Just look at this fucked-up state.  The South Florida cities are populated by a bunch of self-absorbed yuppie assholes, while the rest of the state is nothing but a drunken redneck tribute to the antebellum South.  A conversation I had with an Orlando woman perfectly summarizes the toxic stew of vile swampy sludge that is the Sunshine State.  “We all up here think Miami people are a bunch of uppity snobs,” she quipped to me one drunken evening, to which I replied, “Well, that’s ok because all of us in Miami think that all the people living in northern Florida are nothing but a bunch of ignorant rednecks.”  She then went on to make some astute observations about Florida’s Latin population while I sneered at her in contempt, the boobishly dickish facets of my character, suppressed and subdued to the best of my ability all my life, swiftly emerging as the dominant force driving my disposition.

Florida.  It all makes so much sense now.

Just a brief look back at recent history goes a long way towards understanding why this is the place where the portal between Reality Prime and the Boobs and Dicks Universe is most intense.  Florida, home of the Casey Anthony circus and the Terri Schiavo fiasco.  And who could forget the 2000 election’s Florida recount and all the fun we had with that, and all the fun the whole country’s been having ever since.  Florida, home to Terry Jones, the Gainesville preacher who threatened to burn the Quran in protest of something, then didn’t, then did it anyways and is now running as an independent candidate for president.  And not to mention all the college boobs attending the University of Florida in Gainesville who didn’t turn out to protest this dickish fool who purports to be a man of god.

In Florida, you have the city of Orlando, a massive failed experiment in minimum-wage living.  Home to Disney, one of the most beloved corporate brands in American history, if you have no problem getting past Walt Disney’s venomous anti-Semitism, Orlando is nothing but a depressed sprawl of strip malls and poverty, save the rich areas inhabited by snowbirds. (I’ll be getting to them in a minute.)  The next time you take the family to Disney World for a relaxing vacation, might I suggest taking a little side trip to Orlando’s Pine Hills neighborhood, the place where most the people serving you hand and foot on your stay actually live.  It will be educational.

Then, of course, there’s Miami, the city that helped to kill Jim Morrison.  Every year it tops the nation’s road-rage ranking even though traffic’s worse in Los Angeles and New York.  Miami enjoys the country’s least amount of civic engagement while at the same time proudly boasting the prestigious title of second-rudest city in the country.  New York earned the top spot on that list, but I suspect it has more to do with the Big Apple’s population hyper-density because, person for person, Miamians’ impenitent egotism makes New Yorkers seem like chipper little lambs.

Still, there’s more to Florida than just rednecks and yuppies.  Florida is also home to a massive population of retirees, nearly all of them entrenched in the willful ignorance of their outdated ideas and thought patterns.  “Keep your government hands off my Medicare” was an effective slogan here.

Yes.  It all makes sense now.  If the boobs and dicks are attempting to infiltrate and conquer our universe, Florida makes the perfect base of operations.  No one would suspect that they are even here until it’s too late.

There could, however, be another explanation for Florida’s dreadful state, its putrid swamp-water ebb and flow of the malevolent forces of ignorance and narcissism.  In Florida, an “investment in education” means cutting 1.5 billion dollars from a struggling educational system that needed nearly half a billion in additional funding just to make up for population growth, only to then tout reinstating 1 billion dollars of the school’s original budget, still leaving it 1 billion short of where it was when it was already underfunded and failing, as “investing in our state’s future.”  I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s Florida.  Nothing makes sense here.  Unless, that is, you are able to see the truth and realize that Florida is a state that’s been overrun by a massive army of boobs and dicks.  Then everything about this hellish place suddenly becomes perfectly clear.

When Governor Rick Scott was elected, I should have sensed that something was amiss.  Of all the penis-shaped dicks in the world, he is by far the biggest asshole, and I even suspect that he might be one of them.  But, politics aside, it was shortly after his election that I discovered the portal into the Boobs and Dicks Universe.  Perhaps my suspicions are correct that they’ve been carrying out covert operations in our world in an attempt to take control of Reality Prime.  It is possible that I was only able to absent-mindedly discover their universe because the passage, or rift, between our worlds had grown more severe.  However, it is equally possible that the boobs and dicks are playing an active role in intensifying the size and scope of this rift.

But what led to the creation of the portal in the first place?  Did it always exist, and, if not, when and why did it appear?  Did the boobs and dicks open it?  Or was the rift between the worlds created by the ever-increasing number of Floridians who choose to act on boobish and dickish inclinations?

It is once again the case that further inquiry into the relationship between the Boobs and Dicks Universe and Reality Prime has only served to raise more questions than it answers.

And so my quest for the truth continues.

MGS

It has long been my worry that the boobs and dicks would discover a way to infiltrate our universe and begin to live among us, much in the same way that I have been able to live among them.  This week, my worry intensified into fear, for I believe I may have spotted a dick in Miami.  And, what is more, it appears that he has infiltrated our government.

The possible sighting occurred at 12:37pm on Monday, October 17^th, 2011, while I was walking home from the library.  As I approached a four-way stop, I noticed a postal truck making its way up the street behind me.  Glancing over my shoulder, I observed that the truck was slowing down and not signaling for a turn, which led me to assume that it was safe to begin crossing the street.

This assumption, however, turned out to be false.  Exactly five steps into crossing the street, I glimpsed the postal truck accelerating and beginning to turning right.  Had I not witnessed this, the results may have been dire, but, recognizing the danger, I was able to quickly move out of its path.  It wasn’t until after the truck would have run me over that it came to a sudden halt.

Fueled by the adrenaline surge that can only accompany close encounters with severe bodily harm (an adrenaline surge with which I am sorry to say I am all too familiar due to my pedestrian habits), I turned to face down the negligent driver who had nearly run me down.  When the postman didn’t even lower his phone as he turned to give me a foul look insinuating that all the fault lay with me, I exploded.

“What the fuck, you fucking asshole!” I bellowed with both middle fingers flailing out in front of me, startling all the alfresco diners at the café on the corner.

“No, fuck you!” he shouted back, taking his hand off the wheel to return my discourteous gesture, his other hand lowering his phone slightly so as not to deafen whoever, or whatever, was on the line.

Perhaps realizing that he was in the wrong, though more likely recognizing how many complaints could be streaming into his post office branch should any of the café patrons decide to report his poor driving, the postal worker, still glaring at me in disgust, returned his free hand to the wheel, stepped on the gas, and began to speed off.

It was then that I saw it, or at least I think that I saw it, though it’s difficult to be sure given the precarious state of my mind as of late.

As he yelled what I can only assume was some derogatory comment about me into his phone, the truck speeding away down this small neighborhood side-street, I observed that his human shape seemed to flicker in and out like a bad television reception.  His true form had been revealed to me.

It was not a man who had nearly run me over but rather a giant dick!

Alarmed and befuddled, I stood in the road staring down the street.  When the truck made another right turn two blocks away, the postal worker, still yelling into the phone, had returned to his human form, though I believe I was able to see the faded outline of a dick still surrounding him.

After a moment, I noticed that the café patrons were now all staring at me, my legs shaking as a deluge of sweat began to pour from my brow.  It appeared that none of them had seen what I had witnessed.  None of them knew there was a massive dick living among us.

As I hurried home and locked myself in my apartment, a thousand questions flooded through my mind, not the least of which being questions of my sanity.  Had I in fact just nearly been bulldozed by a giant dick masquerading as a postal worker?  (If it were true, then it would mean that a dick had managed to infiltrate the government by obtaining a job at the Post Office.)  If I had seen this one, did that mean that there were more of them, both boobs and dicks, traveling to our world in the same way that I have been able to travel to theirs?  And, if so, how far had they managed to penetrate our institutions?

And then, of course, there were the questions raised by the fact that this giant dick—if, indeed, it was a dick that I saw and not my sanity waning—had nearly killed me.  Was this encounter just some fluke near-accident?  Or are the boobs and dicks aware of who I am and trying to kill me in an attempt to suppress my work and keep their existence hidden from the rest of humanity?

It is this last possibility that has given me the greatest pause.  Either way, I shall exercise more caution as I go about my business both in the Boobs and Dicks Universe and in ours.

In the course of my observations, I have come to suspect that the boobs and dicks are unaware that they are not human, or, at the very least, unaware that they do not embody a human form.  As I walk among them, cloaked in the disguise I assume each time I travel to their universe, it seems that I alone understand that it is not men and women who surround me, but rather a bunch of boobs and dicks.  This observation has raised some interesting questions that may or may not prove important to my work.

For example, what would the boobs and dicks see were they able to catch a brief glimpse of our universe?  I am able to see them as they are when I travel among them, but, were they able to perceive us in our universe as we wander through our daily toil, would they see us as the human beings that we are, or would we be nothing to them but a multitude of boobs and dicks?  And what does all of this say of my ability to carry out my observations?

As for my capacity to observe them as they truly are, I must remain resolute in the infallibility of my perception.  And, as for their ability to view us in our world—indeed, for them to even know that our universe exists—let us hope that never happens, dear reader, for, if I am able to travel into their universe undetected, what would stop the boobs and dicks from infiltrating ours?