Thunder Chuck

This is my 8th grade science teacher and this really is how he decided to teach us about friction. I had him for homeroom and science. He would greet the class each day with some flexing and moaning, and was always very helpful…if you were a girl. He wore tight velvet shirts, even tighter pants, and kept his room so cold you could constantly see his nipples. So creepy was he that we nicknamed him Thunder Chuck, which we assumed was his porn name back in the 70’s. If you got a good test score or helped clean up the lab in the afternoon homeroom period, he would reward you with a Boby Pop (don’t worry, it was candy). Better still, I have proof of his existence: http://www.ratemyteachers.com/chuck-boby/303790-t/1

Things I’ve Found episode 3

Something shiny caught my eye as I walked out of my apartment today. Half-buried in dead leaves, I thought this was a discarded dog bowl that I could make into a flying saucer. When I turned it over, I discovered this great design! The bottom is stamped with the insignia of Kensington, a company that made decorate aluminum bowls in the 20’s and 30’s. It was very rusty and dirty, but a little CLR and elbow grease did the trick. I’m a little bummed that I can’t make a flying saucer out of it, but it’s the first ‘treasure’ I’ve picked and that’s pretty groovy.

Moves like Sasquatch

Sasquatch tries to impress the ladies with his sexy dance moves and rock’n’roll wig!

The first time I drew Ole’ Sassy, I gave him rock and roll hair. Then I tried to make a comic where he finds a poster of Elvis, fashions a wig from forest components, and tries to get lucky, but that was too much for one page. But this weekend it hit me! He should dance and sing his way into her heart! What do you think, will it work? ;)

Hay Ride!

I grew up in a semi-rural area called Robbins Station. Once farmlands and woods, it is slowly being consumed by yuppie housing plans. When I was 14, my parents built a house exactly 1/2 mile away from my childhood home, which took us that much deeper into “The Station”. Our new neighbors were one of the last vestiges of back-woodsy life in the area.

On certain Sundays, my neighbor (who was 14 like me)  would hitch a cart filled with hay to his tractor and take his mother for a ride, while she drank beer and smoked cigarettes. We were usually sitting on the front porch, so he would wave and cheer at us as they passed by.