Get Milked - Blog, Comics, Toons

Time is nothing more than an endless brownshweiger pat?being sliced by a dreary old man who believes that baby seals are Satan's spawn.

This friend of mine worked at a novelty shop, and they carried these fake rubber clubs that squeaked when squeezed or whacked. They also carried numerous stuffed animals, including a plush fuzzy baby seal. My friend had this brilliant idea. If he lined up the baby seal stuffed animals on the floor and hit them with the club, it would look and sound as though they were getting clubbed. So he did this. It became a ritual before closing. Most of the boys found it hilarious and most of the girls found it repulsive.

After putting up with this for some weeks, one of the girls decided to come up with a plan to try to get my friend to stop. One night before closing he was happily clubbing and squeaking away when this girl suddenly gasped in terror. My friend stopped, looked up and saw her wide-eyed expression of horror.

"Stop that now!" she shrieked.

"Why?" my friend asked.

"If you don't stop the stuffed animals will have their revenge!"

"What are you talking about?" my friend whined.

"They will! I swear! I saw it in a movie! They will EAT YOU!!"

With that my friend was so freaked out by this suburban girl acting like a total freak that he did in fact stop and he never whacked a stuffed seal with a rubber squeaky club again.

I think there's a lesson in this for all of us, and it is this: The most effective way to stop weird behavior is with weird behavior.

See how long you can watch this without going insane: Test Your Sanity(requires Flash plugin).

Why didn't the syndicates pick this one up? It had everything: domestic bliss, a wacky kid, exasperated expressions accompanying punch lines, and jokes about products. So what went wrong? And where is Ed Borno now?

A while back, a friend of mine attempted to move to New York City. He said the move would be a permanent one. Three months later, I ran into him back in our hometown. I thought he must be back visiting, but he said "No, I'm back for good. I had to get out of there."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, one night I was coming home from a really late movie. It was about 3 AM. As I walked back to my apartment I saw a bum standing in the street holding about 30 balloons. He was just standing there. Suddenly, another bum rushed out from behind a building, jumped on him, and starting hitting him. Balloons started popping and the obscenities started flying. I ran about a block and stopped to catch my breath. I had about three more blocks to go. Suddenly, I heard a strange shuffling sound coming from behind me. I turned around and saw a man running at me full speed. He didn't say anything, but I noticed that his pants were down around his ankles. He was only about 20 feet away and running fast. I sprinted the three blocks to my apartment, locked and chained the door, and decided right then that I needed to get out of New York. So here I am."

"Welcome back", I said.

"Thank you", he said.

After a very long wait Penguin has finally contacted us again (see 4/17/2005, 3/31/2005, and 3/18/2005 below for details). Didn't we stipulate a response frequency in his contract? Really? No? Wow. That was stupid. Well, anyways, he has contacted us, and he also sent a message. At least he sent a message. That's some consolation, I guess. Hopefully he's back on track on his search for the meaning of life. But we're withholding our enthusiasm this time until we see everything. Okay, here's Penguin's message: "BOUGHT THIS SHOP. GONNA SELL CRABCAKES." That's it? Really? Well, that's not exactly what we had in mind when we sent him out on the road. But since we have no way to contact him (another blunder), I'm not sure what we can do. We have to continue to have faith that he's doing what we paid him lots of money to do. Who knows? Maybe he's on to something with this retail endeavor? Maybe he's suggesting a hedonistic lifestyle? Maybe that's the meaning of life he's looking for? See! Never give up hope until there is no hope. Maybe this whole thing won't turn out to be a catastrophe after all! Stay tuned.

If you've got nothing better to do, play with this: Press For Hamster(requires Flash plugin).

A poem in honor of walruses who read.

It Resinates
-------------
Poop salad side dish.
Mocha mouth craned his head.
The face was stone and the heart worse.
'You're lovely when you measure me' she said with God on her face.
There's a beautiful ape in there.
She reminds me of something I ate.
A tinkling laugh covers me in ladybugs.
Someone did something unpleasant and the guy in red hates food.
Spew schmoo screw pew.

Here's a story I heard from a friend of a friend's friend.

This friend's mother attended college for the first time in the 1960s. She registered for the morning session of "Sociology 101". On the first day of class, the professor, a gray, tenured, and frazzled man, marched into the lecture hall without even a glance at the students. With his back still turned, he grabbed a piece of chalk. On the enormous chalkboard he etched, in letters large enough to cover the entire board, the "F"-word. The students let out a collective gasp (remember, it's the 1960s). A few moments passed. Then suddenly the professor turned to face the students for the first time. He pointed at the massive four-letter word and barked "If this offends you, GET OUT!!!!" With that, some students actually stood up and left. The professor watched them indignantly as they filed out.

Following the weeding out of the squeamish, the professor erased the huge obscenity and replaced it with an equally titanic "A". And once again he turned to the class, pointed fiercely at the letter, and shouted "This is the last time you'll see that letter in this class. If that bothers you, GET OUT!!!!" This time more students filtered out, again under the watchful eye of the demonic professor.

My friend of a friend's friend mother did not leave. And she actually received an "A". But by the end of the class, she never wanted to see this professor again. To make sure, on the day of the final she asked him "Which section of Sociology 102 are you teaching next semester? Morning or afternoon?" He looked at her coldly and said "Afternoon".

When the next semester arrived, my friend of a friend's friend mother, having registered for the morning session, sat safely in the lecture hall. Suddenly, the same professor from Sociology 101 entered the class. She did a double-take and hoped that he he simply walked into the wrong class. The professor started to look around amongst the students. His eyes finally met my friend of a friend's friend mother. She stared back wide-eyed. He pointed at her and said "YOU!!! I KNEW if I told you I was teaching the afternoon section you'd register for the morning one!!"

I think there's a lesson in this for all of us.

A poem in honor of Spring.

Be the toast of Paris with this Useful French Phrase(requires Flash plugin).

There is some disappointment in realizing that one's generation is not humanity's final generation.

Joy! We have just received yet another transmission from Penguin's traversal capsule (see 3/31/2005 and 3/18/2005 below for details). Penguin has been on the road searching for the meaning of life approximately 30 days now. And since these things take time we haven't really heard much from him. But still, Get Milked burgeons with faith that Penguin will ultimately succeed in his task. As usual, Penguin sends a picture for a reason, so let's take a look at this one. Well, nothing really stands out. Is something significant happening down the alley between the two buildings? Hard to say from the photo. Did Penguin send a message... whoa... he did! Penguin has sent his FIRST MESSAGE from the capsule!! Great! He'll probably explain the importance of the buildings! Let's see. The message reads: "GOOD CRABCAKES HERE." Uhh... Okay. Apparently Penguin has found some good crabcakes in one of the buildings pictured. Is that it? Did he send a follow up? No? He didn't? Hm. Well, at least we know he's eating well out there on his quest. Hopefully he won't spend too much of his UNLIMITED BUDGET on crabcakes. Why did we agree to an unlimited budget again? Anyway, we're sure there's plenty more to come, so please check back for updates.

A very useful program:

Someone recently told me this story. Back when the Susan B. Anthony silver dollars came out (way back, wasn't that 1979?) cashiers kept confusing the things for quarters (well, if you've ever seen one you'd know why; there's a reason the Sacajawea ones were gold colored). So this kid in the neighborhood comes rushing back from the local drug store screaming his tonsils inverse about something thrilling. He nearly falls off his bike with excitement, and can also barely breathe because he's trying to talk so fast.

"Guess what guess what guesswhatguesswhat guesswhatguesswhat guessguess what guess what!??!"

"What?!?!" said his annoyed mother.

"I went to the store and I bought something for only 25 cents with a dollar, and the stupid cashier gave me 3 silver dollars back!"

His mother gave him one of those "moral" looks mothers are famous for.

"What would be the honest thing to do?" his mother asked him in a drawn-out scolding tone.

The kid said nothing until his mother forced him to go back to the store and return the "improper change." Then the kid freaked. He kicked and screamed and continually cried out "They're mine!!!!! Mine!!!!"

What his mom didn't know was that the kid had actually lied about receiving incorrect change. He had gone to the drug store with 3 dollar bills, asked to change them for 3 silver dollars, and thought it would be really cool to tell people that he made 3 dollars off the store. Of course he didn't want to admit that he lied to his mother, so instead he was out three bucks.

So what's the moral? Don't make morality more complicated than it needs to be.