Picture If You Will...

Our title today is a tip of the hat to Rod Serling's wonderful "Twilight Zone," a place that you're in right now owing to the fact that we didn't want to get into politics today (seriously, there's not much fun to be had with the violence in Israel, CIA leakers, or Melania Trump's kidney woes) but we also needed some kind of content for today's post.

And by now, you know what that means (cue creepy "Twilight Zone" music)...Earwigs!

Today we've got another sprinkling of cartoons from years and years ago, back when we were still writing just one punchline for a piece of clipart rather than seeing how many different angles we could come up with before our brain, like a forcibly wrung dish towel, finally drip-drip-dripped to a halt.

So in no particular order, for no particular reason, and with no discernible logic, here they are. Enjoy!

Mother's Day

We're celebrating Mother's Day today (even though it was technically yesterday) with a potpourri of items. First out of the gate, an assortment of motherly cartoons from our good friend Johnny Optimism...

Based solely on these cartoons, you might guess we had an uneven relationship with our own mother - but nothing could be farther from the truth. The woman was a saint and deserves to be canonized; she knocked off at least 3 miracles every day before lunch. She was an artist, an intellect, a person with a wonderful sense of humor, and the warm heart of our family.

All that being said, there is a very special relationship between Mom and Johnny Optimism. And for those who haven't heard it before, we're repeating it for this Mother's Day edition...

___________

In May 2010, I was having lunch with my wife and a good friend (an author) who complained that children's books these days all seemed to need a heavy-handed social message in order to sell. I joked that he should do a book about a terminally ill boy in a wheelchair named "Johnny Optimism."  And  that night, just to take the joke a step farther, I quickly roughed out this book cover and sent it to him:

The next day, only a few days after Mother's Day, my Mom died unexpectedly. And for reasons I can't logically explain, I spent the following weeks expressing my grief by obsessively creating Johnny Optimism cartoons - hundreds of them - trying to somehow rediscover joy, laughter, or just a little relief in the very blackest of circumstances. And it helped me to laugh at life's pain (not at its victims) and realize that we're all like Johnny - just doing our best to cope with the odds heavily stacked against us.

Happily, Lance the dog made it into the strip without blindness or a bad cough. In fact, he's the bestest, most loyalest dog in the whole world and nothing bad will ever happen to him (my daughter made me promise).

I've never really explained Johnny's living arrangements, and in my own mind they've evolved over time. Currently, I see him living in a hospital environment where he's surrounded by other kids with interesting maladies, and inept or downright insane medical caregivers and guests.

During the day, he is mainstreamed at a regular school (which is why the school nurse is always calling to report the disaster du jour).

Early on, Johnny would sometimes mention his parents in the strips - but that element has largely disappeared. It seems to me that by freeing Johnny from traditional family structure and putting him at the mercy of a senseless bureaucracy, he becomes more of a symbol for all of us.

Johnny is near and dear to my heart. He has more courage than I do, he has bigger challenges than I do, and he faces them all with more grace and optimism than I could ever do.

And he serves as a gentle reminder that none of us is truly alone in feeling like the universe sometimes goes out of its way to throw pain and suffering our way...as well as a reminder that it's always okay to laugh, even if we're sometimes just laughing at our own vulnerability. It's quite possibly the strongest thing we can do...and the greatest gift I received from my mother.

__________

AND HERE SHE IS...

Hi, Mom! Looking good!

Her name was Johanne, but everyone called her "Jo." And it was only after I'd turned out literally hundreds of cartoons in her honor that I realized that Johnny Optimism's initials are "Jo."

Whether coincidence or fate, that gave me goosebumps. And still does.

3 O'Clock and All's Well

Full credit to Mrs. Jarlsberg for pointing out the "3 a.m. connection."

Many years ago, Hillary Clinton's primary campaign for President scored big with a political ad about the dreaded "3 a.m. phone call." The spot suggested that during a crisis (and what else happens at 3 a.m.?), Americans could sleep better knowing that a President Hillary was answering the call. 

Why? Because she would able to handle any problem thanks to having years of experience and a vagina, unlike her challenger Barack Obama - who had no experience and only possibly had a vagina.

As it worked out, both got a chance to answer that late night crisis call. As Secretary of State, Hillary took (ever so briefly) the phone call about the attack on our embassy in Benghazi. But then she ignored it, just like she had ignored the hundreds of previous messages from the embassy begging for additional security.

Still, Hillary did slightly better than Obama - who not only didn't take the call but, to this day, hasn't accounted for his whereabouts at the time. Which is certainly no reason to suspect that he was engaged in a cocaine-fueled orgy with actor Kal Penn in the Lincoln bedroom, and we'd be the last ones to even suggest such a thing.

And then there's the much-reviled President Trump. 

Not only was he genuinely ready to deal with a crisis, at 3 a.m., he actually flew to Andrews Air Force Base to welcome home the three American prisoners released from North Korea.

The Left is still obsessed with slickness and style points (no matter how ineffectual), while a growing number of Americans are voicing their support of a President who keeps producing tangible and substantial accomplishments.

And yes, we will sleep better tonight because of that.

(Editorial note: A previous version of today's cartoon & commentary incorrectly stated that Trump flew to Alaska. That's what we get for trying to write while sober.)

WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE, WHO NEEDS MRI's?

Owing to our great enthusiasm for trying new things which can't somehow be avoided, we experienced our first MRI brain scan yesterday and learned some very important things about our mental makeup. Like, how quickly we'd start spilling state secrets if tortured.

The MRI scan was looking for the cause of our previously documented nighttime tap-dancing and self-pugilism. The bad news is that the condition seems to be getting a bit worse. But the good news is that with all this practice, our nocturnal choreography is now fabulous!

We'll admit that we were slightly apprehensive about the procedure owing to it's extreme similarity to being buried alive. But our fears were quickly allayed by a friendly, soft-spoken technician wearing a hijab who assured us there would be no danger from the immense, whirling mega-magnet as long as we removed our hearing aids and...and...

Okay, we don't know what the other dangers were because our hearing aids were gone. The rest of the instructions were basically delivered in pantomime as we stretched out on the pallet which would soon slide us into the heart of the electromagnetic storm.

We were given headphones to allow us to listen to relaxing music during the procedure, and we'd actually burned our own CD of soothing favorites which didn't mention death much. After the headphones, a metal cage was locked over our upturned face and the technician slipped into the adjoining room to push the "Fire One" button.

While waiting in the tube (and only opening our eyes once, which was a mistake) we had a lot of quality time to think about a variety of things:

• Did someone leave an oxygen tank in the room which could be sucked explosively into the space currently occupied by my head?

• If there's a metal alien implant in my head, will it puree my brain once the MRI starts spinning it like a particle accelerator? (Go ahead and laugh about the alien implant thing, but I could tell you stories...)

• Is there an active shooter in the building?

• Is it actually possible to choke to death on your own post-nasal drip?

But these thoughts were quickly banished when the machine started whirling, beeping, banging, shaking, and occasionally emitting Klaxon signals of the kind usually only heard on a submarine attempting an emergency dive.

This cacophony went on for a LONG time, largely drowning out poor Enya as she tried to croon "Orinoco Flow" to a hyperventilating, increasingly panic-ridden deaf guy. In total, our stay in the MRI tube lasted about 40 minutes, which feels a lot longer when you're trying to convince yourself that you actually can breathe, no matter what your heart and lungs are telling you.

But eventually it was over and the friendly technician smiled and said...well...

We have no idea what she said, because our hearing aids were still in a locker in the next room. But she seemed happy enough, and pulled a contrast-injecting needle out of our arm before helping us sit up. She also gave us a small bottle of water which, oddly, seemed to be shaking quite a bit.

A couple of hours after returning home to our beloved wife, faithful dog, and cheap scotch, we got a phone call from the MRI facility giving us the good news that the procedure hadn't spotted any "gross abnormalities," which constitutes a clinically significant difference between our brain and Hillary Clinton's birthday suit.

The other good news is that these results make it far more likely that our wacky sleep condition (which our neurologist, with a twinkle in her eye, describes as "violent seizures") is probably just a weird reaction to an antidepressant we started about 6 months ago...and are now getting off of as quickly as possible.

So hopefully we'll soon be able to shelve our tap shoes and put this whole thing to bed. So to speak.

SPECIAL WTF BONUS!

This may not be our brightest idea, but if you want to see one of our more colorful nighttime episodes, here's your chance. If you click this link, you can download an MP4 file of some highly kinetic night time video we recently took (about 40 seconds long). TRIGGER WARNING: In complete seriousness, this footage is potentially upsetting even though we added The Who's "Cobwebs & Strange" as a soundtrack because we have a really strange sense of humor and it works beautifully. But really, think twice before clicking because it's not a joke or a put on and you can't unsee this.

If you take the plunge, note that the real-time speed of the footage has not been altered, there is no particular discomfort for your humble narrator while this nonsense is going on other than chagrin and annoyance (there's no pain, no loss of consciousness, and no after effects), and that the subject is wearing a CPAP mask and not just huffing paint fumes. As an additional bonus, you can enjoy a special surprise guest appearance by Penny, the official emotional support dog of Hope n' Change!

Please don't share the video with others or on any social media sites. Unless, of course, you happen to be friends with a top notch neurologist, or know a booking agent for America's Got Talent.