I've been touching lives (Inappropriately)

A while ago, the Lobster Rage Fist hit the front page on Digg and Redditt, and even got a mention on "The Mens Room" morning radio in Seattle.  To know that others enjoy my work, it warms the deepest darkest cockles of my little black heart.  More importantly, I've begun touching lives on an individual level.  The other day I found this on Deviant art:

Thank you dearly Kais3r-9, you have brightened all our lives.

On an entirely unrelated note, I have decided my spirit animal is a tuna net.

Illustrated guide to mushrooms

This is not my work, I found it on tumblr.  If you know where it came from, let me know!

The unsung glory of forethree2

On the rare occasion Google doesn't have the answers to all of life's questions, I sometimes find myself mired in the cesspool that is yahoo answers.  Its here that I stumbled upon a very special person, "forethree2".  Whether he be a physical manifestation of mental illness, or of mental awesomeness, he is still a hero.  There seems to be many facets to this complex renaissance man:

Theres forethree2 the romantic:

 Then there's forethree2 the optimistic dreamer:

Then theres the adventurous gourmet:

You may notice hes also an upstanding member of society;

And finally, theres the forethree2 that harbors a deep loathing for Scotsman;

You can find a complete listing of his Q&A's here.  His answers will often stray to flat out boring, but that just might be the meds working.  

Storm trooper pin-up girls

I know its off topic, but I ran across an article about a star wars burlesque show. The idea tickled my fancy with such vigor, I was compelled to draw some storm trooper pin-ups of my very own.  If your fancy has been tickled too, feel free to show your support by buying a shirt over at Earlstees.com.  

3 Airplane Emergencies As I Imagine Them

This isn't my work, but it's sheer genius and worthy of reposting.

Illustrated by Ill Schneider 

Bedazzler Abuse.

Why yes, I did bedazzle a chicken soft taco.

No drawing this week, due to dodgeball injury. On the upside, I discovered you can bedazzle a beard.

Captain Morgan Vs. Admiral Nelson - The Final Battle

For years I've been debauching myself to the sweet taste of Captain Morgan Spiced rum. There was a point in my early 20's when I could recall the capn's back story verbatim from the back of the bottle. (Which is no longer on the bottle, but for those of you who don't remember, he was born to wealthy welsh merchant parents, & left home at a young age to pursue a life of adventure.)

Vodka had been kind to me, Whiskey and I have had some rough times, but the cap'n has never, never steered me wrong, sure, there's been some hijinks, shenanigans, and once he even got me deported, but we were always able to reconcile our differences. Then one day a new challenger appeared on the scene; Admiral Nelson. There was no doubt in my mind the admiral was intended to challenge the capn's spot in my heart as reigning champion of rums.

Appearance:

The bottle was similar, the rich amber color nearly indistinguishable, and more importantly, the mascots were similar, but maintained a stance of indisputable opposition. Yes, the admiral does technically outrank the captain, but that's of little consequence to your average rum drinker. You may notice, the captain has a sweet mustache, whereas the admiral has a jaunty eye patch. Yes, jaunty. If you'll look closely, you'll notice that both the captain and the admiral are wearing not one but TWO CAPES EACH. This makes it tough to call, but the Captain wins by a narrow margin for having racing stripes on his cape, and the good sense not to wear hot pants pirating.

Cost:

This time the Admiral comes up aces. The captain sells for about $13, whereas the Admiral retails for around $10 on average. At these prices neither one is even close to top shelf, and that $3 i save with the admiral equates to a whole lot of tacos. Never underestimate the value of a taco in the pocket.

Taste:

A taste test was clearly inappropriate, as I have always considered myself an uncultured savage. I have no taste for fine whiskey or fancy cigars. I don't appreciate a well cooked steak, or a slow-roasted joint of pulled pork. I smoke a pack a day, so now I mainly eat for texture, and most flavors are only a dim memory. Besides, its goddamn rum, and I'm there for the drunk...

The drunk:

The quality of "the drunk" is an abstract concept, and thus difficult to quantify. I decided to settle this the way any real man resolves a deep seated conflict, with a game of battleship. We briefly considered buying an actual battleship game, but we realized with all those little pieces, someone was bound to lose an eye, choke, or start a plastic fire. For safety, we went with www.sinkmybattleship.com. I was to represent the Captain, due to our longstanding association. My opponent, would be the Admirals Champion. After the sinking of two ships, things got hazy. The battle was eventful but sloppy, (as alcohol based challenges often are) and I regret to say that little is remembered. The Captain was the victor by a narrow margin, thereby forever sealing his fate as the king of all maritime rums.

The morning after:

After spending a night with both the captain and the admiral, I came to the same conclusion. They both leave you feeling like a bag of crushed assholes, although with the admiral, slightly more so.

Also, a barrel of dicks:

(Did you really think I'd spend all that time drawing captain Morgan with no potential for comedic payout?)

Real men hunt with their thumbs.

I've been spending an inordinate amount of time on the subject of lobsters as of late, but this time, I simply can't help myself. We found a lobster crane game in San Pedro. I've heard of this "holy grail of the claw-game world", but I never, ever, expected to see one north of the Mason Dixie line.

The "Love Maine Lobster" game was an opportunity too good to pass up. As a modern man, I am almost entirely removed from the food chain. Deep down, I always felt I was missing out, by not participating in the grand game of survival. I have never hunted and killed an animal to put in my mouth. I have never gutted a fish and cooked it over an open fire. I have never had to sort edible entrails from the inedible entrails. The closest I get to hunting or gathering is a drive-thru window. Now I have found myself with an opportunity to hunt like our ancestors, but utilizing the skills only a modern man could possess. This is hunting, hunting with a joystick.

After the first few rounds struggling with those wily clawed beasts, my knees began to shake. I was overcome by that glorious adrenaline rush, the "fight or flight" instinct. Usually that feeling only comes after 6 shots of whiskey, and realizing I've just said something terminally stupid to someone twice my size, who is totally pissed, and totally willing to beat my ass. I could'nt help but wonder if this is what my ancestors felt like, pearched abreast the prow of a hand carved canoe, gliding silently alongside an unsuspecting whale, harpoon in hand, poised to strike. Was this what it's like to stalk a lion through the parched African veldt, only a small carefully fashioned spear standing between certain death and glory? Was this what Lee Harvey Oswald felt like in that book depoitory, rifle gripped tightly in sweaty palms, waiting for that fateful motorade? I may never know for certain, but it was probably as close as I will ever come.

It took me about $30 to figure out the basics, and I never did get one all the way out of the tank, but the experience has changed me forever.

Hunting with a joystick;

finer points of the lobster crane game

Step 1: Select your opponent.

It is vital that you choose carefully. The lobsters at the bottom of the tank are often lethargic and apathetic. There may not be much fight left in them, and their cowardice will taint the sweet taste of victory. The lobsters closer to the top of the tank often have more fight in them, you will notice an intense desire to survive at any and all costs. Fortunately, this is delicious. Keep an eye out for battle scars, like dented carapaces, mangled antennae, and missing limbs. This indicates the lobsters been in the tank a while, and knows the ropes of the game, making them more likely to be considered worthy of your brutal affections.

Step 2: Name your opponent

Any worthy adversary is deserving of a name. If you name your waffles, breakfast is no longer a meal, it's a victory. This holds true for breakfast, lunch, and if your lucky, dinner. There are no predetermined lobster naming conventions, but thus far I have stuck strictly to names from Knights of the Round Table. To date I have done battle with Sir Lancelot, The Green Knight, and Sir Galahad.

Step 3: Engage

The battle will be long, expensive, and taxing, both emotionally and physically. You will not win. Crane games are rigged, ALL crane games are rigged. This makes the experience marginally less fun. You should be absolutely certain to poke and prod your advesary as much as possible, this will irrate him. There is no shame in this. The lobster will tire as the fight rages on. In the event you should emerge victorious:

Step 4: Enjoy the spoils of war

After the lobsters is in the drop chute, your part is done. Let the cooks deal with it. If you have the culinary prowess to prepare your own lobster, you should'nt be hunting with a joystick anyways.

Manatee BBQ

A long while ago, I found a great article about eating manatee. Ever since, the idea has been ruminating, and now I too lust for succulent manatee.

Perhaps the real reason certain species are endangered, is not because they are inept in the arena of survival, but because they are simply too delicious? Are bald eagles the "creme de la creme" of edible aviaries? Could free-range bamboo-fed panda meat put the finest foi gras to shame? Dare I say it, could a honey smoked ocelot outshine the simple majesty that is commonly known as bacon? Someday, I will know. Someday

Coincidentally, last week I discovered you can buy mutilated manatee fine art prints online. Thank you, internets!

Snack beard, and the mustache vending machine.

  I went in search of Long John Silvers Lobster bites, and something magical happened.  The first LJS we went to was conjoined with a KFC.  Typically when you fuse seafood and chicken, their powers combined are vastly superior to any one singular restaurant, but not in this case.  The seafood part was shut down, because; "the machine that keeps the fish hot don't work."  Usually this would send me into a seething and frothing salt & vinegar rage, but not today.  There tucked away innocuously in that antiquated, grease encrusted lobby, I discovered, A MUSTACHE VENDING MACHINE.

      That's right, for only fifty cents a go, I could "Look Cool" with a state of the art Burt Reynold-esqe facial toupee.  I was just two paltry coins away from noncommittal facial hair.  I could now posses the respect and glamor afforded only to those brave few men committed enough to groom and maintain their facial topiaries.

I tried growing my own once.  Oh yes, I tried, tried and failed.  Quite simply, I got tired of getting weird shit stuck in my mustache.  The term "soup strainer" is well deserved, that's why I settled on "the Wolverine".  It minimizes "snack beard" while maximizing facial coverage.  Nonetheless, I often find myself with unexpected treats hiding in my beard.  

EDIT 4/10/09: 

I found the mustaches come in a variety of color and styles.  It has also just occurred to me that with a ready supply of mustaches, I have the ability to instantly transform household items from "drab" to "dapper".

The mustache menagerie

Bam! Dapper salt shaker!

Bam! Dapper teapot!