Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Z is for Zombie Bob!

It occurred to me that a lot of you might not have met Zombie Bob yet.

Zombie Bob got fired from his corporate job after contracting a mysterious virus that rendered him incapable of uttering any words other than "brains."

WOW these drawings are old.

As you might imagine, Zombie Bob's condition makes it hard for him to interact with non-zombies.

Oh, and he might or might not have eaten some small children one time.

I left that one sort of open-ended.

So now you've met Zombie Bob.  He hasn't made an appearance in a while, but hopefully he will again soon.  I still have some adventures in mind for him.

Sure, Zombie Bob.  Sure.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Saturday, April 27, 2013

X is for Xerxes I

Xerxes I was an ancient Persian ruler who kept it real.

When Xerxes I's older brother claimed the crown after the death of their father, Darius I, Xerxes I was all like, "That's mine, bitch," because Xerxes I was a man who knew how to be assertive.

When a bunch of uppity Babylonians were like, "Hey, uprisings are fun," Xerxes I put them in their place by melting their sacred golden statue of Bel, because Xerxes I was a man who knew how to rule some Babylonians.

When Xerxes I was invading Greece and a storm destroyed his army's bridge across the Hellespont, Xerxes I ordered that backstabbing, two-timing river to be whipped 300 times, because Xerxes I was a man who knew how to punish a river.

When Xerxes I's men burned Athens to the ground, Xerxes I ordered them to march right back over there and rebuild the whole thing, because Xerxes I was a man who appreciated the iconic Athens skyline.

When word reached Xerxes I that those damn Babylonians were uprising again, Xerxes I abandoned his invasion of Greece and returned home, because Xerxes I was a man who would not be fucked with by Babylonians.

Although he never finished invading Greece, Xerxes I went on to build some very impressive palaces and things, and his greatness is still remembered today.

Friday, April 26, 2013

W is for Welcome to My Blog

I seem to have picked up some new readers over the course of the A-Z Challenge.  Yay!  I feel like I need to personally reassure all of you that you won't regret this decision.  Except that's not really a promise I can make, because the Internet is a fickle mistress, and sometimes I work on posts so long that by the time I publish them, I have no idea whether or not they're actually funny, so I just sort of throw them out there and hope for the best.  Now I feel like I need to personally beg all of you for your hypothetical forgiveness just in case I need it sometime in the future.

However, in the event that I continue to post funny things and you like them, you might find yourselves thinking, "Wow, this blog isn't awful!  I wish there were some way I could help it become famous and take over the world!"  Well, you're in luck, because there is a way!  If there is a post you really like, sharing it on social media is one of the most awesome things you can do.  I even spent an afternoon putting little share buttons at the bottom of each post for Facebook, Google+, and Twitter.  So even if your busy schedule doesn't allow time for tedious things like copying and pasting links, the buttons are right there!  Many of you have already been using these buttons, and you guys are my special favorites.

And now, in the spirit of welcoming my new readers and thanking my long-time readers and giving us all a moment to take a breather after almost a month of non-stop alphabetical posts (okay, maybe this is mostly for me), here is a heartwarming recap of some of my personal favorite moments from the A-Z Challenge so far.

Stitching all these drawings together took forever and made my laptop really angry at me.

I sleeked it up a little bit.

Incidentally, if you are some kind of magical wizard who somehow manages to have money in your bank account (Seriously, how are you guys doing that?!  Wait, don't tell me, it will take away the mystery), all of those images have been added to the Haley's Comic store, as of 12:30 AM last night when I should have been sleeping.  Just click on the picture or the caption to see stuff that has that drawing on it.

That's right, you can actually buy copies of the Pick-Up Line Performance Review to carry around with you and give to people.  This is going to change the world, guys.  And it will be hilarious.

Or if you're like me and all this "disposable income" sorcery is still eluding you, do what I do:  If you see something you wish you could buy, post it on Facebook and hope some long-lost friend or relative buys it to surprise you.  Hubs did that one time, and it got him an X-box 360.  True story.

There are some other drawings I'm planning to add to the store as well, but I ran out of time.  And I'll also put those drawings on more products eventually.  If there are any other drawings you really like that you think would look good on a product, let me know!

Thursday, April 25, 2013

V is for Vegetarian

I avoid telling people I'm a vegetarian.  When I do finally have to mention it because someone is offering me meat or inviting me to a steakhouse, I cringe inside.  Vegetarians get portrayed as preachy health-nuts trying to push their eating habits on everyone around them, but let me tell you, carnivores, plenty of you can be just as annoying.

So, do you eat chicken?

I am utterly horrified by the sheer number of people who literally do not know what meat is.  Regardless of whether or not you eat meat, you should at least be able to identify basic food groups.

Look, you can have a salad!

If you are at a restaurant with a vegetarian, you do not need to assume personal responsibility for choosing their meal.  Vegetarians have eyeballs and are perfectly capable of reading the menu.

Not to mention, vegetarians eat things other than salad.  Personally, I eat non-salad foods on a regular basis, and I especially avoid eating restaurant salads.  Most restaurant salads consist mainly of iceberg lettuce, which tastes like solidified water and has little to no nutritional value.

But how do you get enough protein?

I've been a vegetarian for almost six years, and I've managed to not only keep myself alive, but also to go hiking all the time without passing out, so obviously I'm getting protein somewhere.  I am not going to list every source of protein in my diet for someone's personal edification and amusement, because that is boring and awful.

Why are you a vegetarian?

I feel like people expect me to have a long philosophical rant about the evils of meat-eating memorized and ready to be recited at any moment, but my reasons for being a vegetarian are pretty dull.  Some people in my family have high blood pressure and high cholesterol and heart problems, and one day I thought, "Maybe if I don't eat meat I won't have to get my heart cut open someday."  Although I must admit, when I see a cute animal, I do derive a tiny bit of satisfaction from knowing its muscle tissue will never end up in my digestive tract.

Now I'm afraid someone is going to be reading this while gnawing on a giant hunk of beef and be offended.  Please don't stop reading my blog, beef-gnawing readers.  I respect your life choices.

The reason that question annoys me is because the person is usually asking so that they can then proceed to argue with whatever reason I give.  "Well, sugar isn't healthy, are you going to stop eating that too?"  "Plants die when you eat them, doesn't that make you feel bad?"  It shouldn't matter why I'm a vegetarian.  Whether I did it because I thought it might be healthier, or because aliens came to my room at night and told me to, I shouldn't have to defend my reasons to anyone.  I don't ask people why they eat meat, and I really don't care.  We should all just eat what we want and not have to talk about it.  If you want to spend the rest of your life eating mud soup, I support you!  (Just don't offer me a bowl, because, gross.)

Now that you're all panicking and wondering if you've ever annoyed any vegetarians, let me reassure you:
1.  You probably have annoyed them, but
2.  It's not a big deal because they probably know you didn't mean to, or
3.  They are harboring a deep personal grudge and plotting your imminent demise.  Move to another state immediately, or even better, move to Siberia.  No one goes to Siberia.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

U is for Unpacking

I have moved five times in the past six years.  First I moved into my college dorm; then into my first apartment; then into the first apartment I shared with Hubs; then into the trailer-cabin on a mountain; and finally into our current house.

By the fourth move, I was literally labeling boxes with phrases like "Stupid junk" and "Clutter for storage."  As a result, by the time we moved into this house, we were the proud owners of two closets full of mystery boxes that hadn't been opened since 2010.  These boxes were packed not when we moved out of our last place, but the place before that.

The worst part is, all this crap is mine.  Hubs hardly has any boxes full of random, unidentifiable stuff.  So there is absolutely no way to slough this task off on him.

This year, I have assigned myself the mission of unpacking these boxes and sorting through their contents.  And I must say, it's turned out to be surprisingly awesome.  Most of the things in the boxes are being donated, but every once in a while I find something I genuinely liked and completely forgot I owned.  It's like temporarily losing all your possessions and then, just when you'd given up hope, finding them again.

So if you want to give your future self a surprise gift without actually spending any money, just box up a bunch of your stuff and let it sit in a closet for three years.  Afraid you won't be able to afford presents at the holidays this year?  Start causing your loved ones' belongings to mysteriously disappear over the next few months, then kick back and revel in the joy* on their faces when everything magically reappears under a thin disguise of gift wrap.

*joy might gradually morph into dawning rage

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

T is for Theft

Adjusting to the structure and routine of preschool was difficult for me.  I viewed our scheduled activities more as general suggestions.  I zoned out during the pledge of allegiance.  During the hokey pokey, I just stood awkwardly, moving random limbs at intervals.  I took my macaroni art and coloring pages in edgy new directions that were never well received.

The only thing I liked at preschool was free play, when we were unleashed upon huge plastic bins of toys to do whatever we wanted.  Other kids occasionally asked me to play with them, but I couldn't comprehend why anyone would willingly squander their free play time doing what some other kid wanted to do.

I had one aim during free play, and one aim alone:  to find my purple unicorn.  She was the only toy I played with.  At the end of each free play, I tucked her safely in the very back of a bottom drawer where she would patiently await my return.

Then one day, when I reached into the drawer to retrieve my faithful companion, brimming with new imaginary adventures for us to embark upon together, something terrible, unthinkable, had happened.

Some ungrateful heathen had smeared sticky stuff across her proud, graceful torso.

I was outraged.  Clearly, I could not permit such an abomination to happen again.  At the end of free play, amid the commotion of kids returning their sticky, bourgeois toys to their bins, I shoved the purple unicorn in my backpack.

At the end of the day, as soon as our car was safely out of sight of the preschool, I proudly introduced Mom to the newest addition to our family.  She wasn't nearly as impressed by my heroism as I anticipated.

"I couldn't just leave her there!" I said. "Those kids will ruin her.  They got sticky stuff all over her, look."

I don't know if it was the bizarre logic behind my decision, or sheer exasperation, but I got to keep the purple unicorn.  I brought her home and dutifully stowed her away with all my other toys, and then I never played with her again.  I mean, she had sticky stuff all over her.  Gross.

Monday, April 22, 2013

S is for Scary

I was inexplicably scared of many things as a child.  The sound of an air conditioning unit or loudly flushing toilet sent me fleeing in horror, and those were just the normal fears.  Here are a few of the other, less standard things that incited terror in my young heart.

1.  Loved ones wearing costumes (Strangers in costumes? Totally fine)

My grandparents were relatively young when I was born--Meemaw was in her late fifties, and Pappaw was in his mid-sixties.  One night when I was two or three years old, they decided it would be funny to show up at our house dressed as really, really old people, hobbling on canes and speaking in croaky voices.  They whitened their hair and applied makeup to make their faces seem extremely wrinkled.  Mom played along and pretended they were two total strangers.  Meemaw was carrying a baby doll wrapped in a blanket like a real baby, because this was all an elaborate ruse to make me believe this baby had been entrusted to me by two mysterious strangers of the night. 

Mom invited the elderly "strangers" inside, and they approached me as though meeting me for the first time.

Their plan began to unravel when I took one look at them and realized these people were Meemaw and Pappaw, except something was horribly, horribly wrong.  Some evil wizard had sucked away their youth, and apparently their memories as well.  And my stupid mother had let these zombie-grandparents into our home without a second thought.  If I was going to survive, I had to accept that these were no longer the grandparents I loved, but mere empty husks now bent on sucking the youth out of me as well.  As you can imagine, that's a lot for a toddler to process.

If this is your idea of humor, then yes, this night was hilarious.

2.  Babies

Sensing the tension in the room, Meemaw skipped ahead and gave me the doll she had brought me, hoping to distract from the psychotic meltdown I was having.

It was a rubber doll designed to be a reasonable facsimile of a real, sleeping baby, right down to the fact that its eyes were closed.

It took the rest of the night to calm me down, and even then, "calm" is a strong word.  By the time Meemaw and Pappaw left, I had achieved a state of quiet hyperventilation.  Meemaw later painted eyes on the doll so that I would grudgingly play with it.

3.  Costumes again

That wasn't the last of my costume phobia.  When I was a little older, Pappaw wanted to surprise me one Halloween by dressing up as the scarecrow, my favorite character from The Wizard of Oz.  He and Meemaw spent hours on his costume, and when he made his grand entrance into the living room, looking forward to seeing the delight on his sweet granddaughter's face, I shrieked violently and bolted upstairs, where I took sanctuary on the top landing and had to be coaxed down to continue my night of trick-or-treating.

4.  Anything without a face, really

Several years later, Meemaw and Pappaw took a trip through Amish country and brought back an authentic Amish doll for me.  Amish dolls traditionally don't have faces.  At all.  Absolutely no facial features.  An ideal gift for the girl who was horrified of a sleeping baby doll.  Although I didn't panic as badly as I did with the eyeless doll-baby, I was obviously not warming up to the Amish doll.

So, yet again, Meemaw added facial features to the doll to assuage my fears, except this time she sewed them on.  Sorry, Amish people.

5.  Passing vehicles

Like many families, we lived on a street.  It wasn't a particularly busy street, but cars passed our house on a regular basis.  I had been given the standard warning not to approach any strangers in a car and to come inside if an unfamiliar car pulled down the driveway.  I took this to mean all cars were bent on kidnapping and murdering me, so I decided my safest bet was to treat every vehicle like approaching doom.  When I was playing in the yard and heard the approaching roar of a car, I sprinted from wherever I was to the safe area behind the house and crouched there, out of sight, until the sinister sound of the passing car faded into the distance.

On the bright side, I got plenty of exercise, and I was never kidnapped.