(no subject)
What follows is a eulogy of sorts. Well...not really. Actually it's more of a long, drawn out monologue. I mean just look at it! Who the hell would wanna trudge through this? I think I mainly did this 'cause I just love to hear myself type.
A few weeks ago, prolific cartoonist Johnny Hart passed away. For those not familiar with Mr. Hart, he was the creator of several comic strips, including the ironically-not-at-all-comical piece of creationist shit known as "B.C."
"B.C" followed the imagined lives of christian cavemen (and cavewomen!!!) during an unspecified geological era, which comic strip anthropologists have placed somewhere in the neighborhood of 2 to 1.5 million years ago (or 5,000 years ago, to creation "science-ticians").
When not cracking hee-larious jokes pulled straight from Popcicle® brand Popcicle® sticks, these humorous hominids were busy breaking down complex concepts that left most bible belt-dwelling mouth-breathers scratching their heads in befuddlement (or maybe it was just chiggers.). Addressed were everything from the evils of science, to why women should be named after their body type, to funny ethnic stereotypes and the silliness of those *other*, non-jesus lovin' religions. El Oh El.
I have read "B.C." for some time. But I am definitely no fan. As you may have guessed, I didn't care for this comic in the least. Yet strangely, I was compelled to read it. Any of my coworkers who sat with me during our daily lunchtime crossword puzzle sessions can attest to my distaste for this waste of valuable coupon space. Right there, next to Will Shortz's cryptic word grid (I don't know why I wrote that, but I'm keeping it in here), was my nemesis: Johnny Hart!
Oh what many minutes of masochistic joy I derived from him! It almost became a ritual: Flip to the "Coffee Break" section. Read "B.C." Stammer at its sheer idiocy/ignorance/unfunny-ness. Take deep breath. "What's a four letter word for 'bread spread'?*" Finish crossword. Try my hand at cartooning by making "B.C." funnier, adding cleverly placed penises among preachy cavepeople. Return to work. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Now I did a little bit of research (very little), and apparently "B.C." used to be funny. Sources cite that Johnny's "humorous" period ended about the same time he became a born-again christian, all thanks to a helpful proselytizing satellite dish repairman. Huh. And here I thought they only tried to pressure you into buying channel packages you didn't need.
So Johnny grabbed his might pen and got to doodlin' in the name of jesus!
And doodle he did.
And laugh we didn't.
As I mentioned earlier, hidden amongst puns that would make a 3rd grader roll their eyes, weak attempts at some sort of political humor, and jokes demeaning women or anyone with an accent, Johnny used his caveman medium to tackle his ultimate foe: science. That godless devil, science! All straight-faced, snooty and sophisticated, with its snazzy white lab coat and clip board, using fancy-pants words like "E=mc somethin' or other!"
But the many headed hydra that is science is quite a formidable beast for any one syndicated cartoonist to face. So instead, he singled out a specific target; the most godless one of all: evolution! (All the other targets, he pretty much ignored 'cause he didn't care *how* the magic elves used their special rainbow beams to broadcast messages from heaven onto his satellite dish. He was just glad they did).
So he girded his ink-stained loins and squared for battle with that Darwinian monkey-demon as only an overtly religious, cartoon scribbling weirdo can: he made shit up.
One of his most notable methods was some bespectacled caveperson named Clumsy (the obvious man of science, as glasses = smart), who constantly held his head underwater, waiting for fish to grow legs and leave the water. HAHAHA!!! Fish grow legs and breathe air?? That's unpossible!
Of course, Mr. Hart could've saved himself a little effort and a whole lot of ink if he just swiveled that sloped cranium of his, focused his highly evolved (generally speaking) binocular eyes towards his "science-powered" television and watched any number of nature documentaries. Then he may have noticed that folks have been pretty aware of walking, air breathing fish for some time. Critters like the mudskipper, the northern snakehead, walking cat fish, and several varieties of eel for starters.
"Behold, the mudskipper! Slayer of gods! Destroyer of worlds!" Get 'em, Skippy!
Another favorite from this cast of delusional cro-mags was this grizzled, peg-legged, Gabby Hayes-lookin' cave-dweller, whose name eludes me for the moment.
No, I am not going to look it up!
Alright…I'll look it up. Jesus Australopithecus Christ! It's Wiley…happy now?!
Anyway Wiley, that one-legged laugh riot, was mainly found in the full color Sunday funnies, busting guts and tickling funny bones by quoting scripture or concocting cute little poems about things like why a theocracy is a good thing, or why Judaism is a bad thing. You can imagine I especially looked forward to *his* wacky antics!
Though I often wondered: did Wiley honestly believe all those sermons he scribbled? Or was it just lip service in hopes that if he got in good with "The Big Guy," maybe He'd grow Wiley a new leg? Unfortunately, I don't think there has been one recorded instance of god causing a missing limb(s) to sprout back, no matter how many nights spent on their knees (or nubs) in prayer. Until that happens, I guess that ol' pesky devil "science" is going to be running amok, making mischief by improving prosthetic limb technology and helping make amputees' lives easier and more enjoyable. Bastards!
So in closing: farewell, Johnny Hart. I don't think there will ever be another cartoonist like you. Your nonsensical propaganda wasn't stuffed under my windshield wiper by some well-meaning whacko. It was stuffed into every newspaper (well, newspapers that didn't care about their readership). And I willingly sought you out, like a tongue that constantly seeks out an aching tooth. You weren't very funny. You weren't at all clever. But still what sweet annoyance you brought me on a daily basis. If I were a superstitious person, then know that I would probably believe you are in a better place, among friends and family and other people who actually believed the same crap you did. Bon voyage.
Hey now folks! Don't be blue! If you are still looking for a chuckle involving Christ-centered cartoon characters whose sole purpose is to help you make friends with a big invisible guy who can see you pee-all the while taking wild, uneducated swings at all things "ungodly" (including peeing!)-then might I recommend the work of Jack Chick and his amazing Chick Tracts! A glorious utopia filled with people of all nationalities and ethnicities who share one of two common interests: living in fear of a cranky, unforgiving god. Or being punished by a cranky, unforgiving god.
Chick Tracts! Look for them anywhere some self-righteous weirdo with whom you do not want to make eye contact is passing them out. Also available flapping in the gutter, several yards away from said weirdo!
Hahahaha!!! Chick Tracts! "They're Tract-tastic!"
P.S. - If you you've read this far, you've either skipped all the way to the bottom of this post (smart!). Or you actually read most or all of it (bored?). Either way, good for you!
But you're still damned.
*Oleo