Archives for posts with tag: Illustration

Normal things happening non-stop start to get to a person. Going through the average every day rigmarole can really start to wear on a person’s sanity if you ask me. That might explain the current love affair with reality tv. Every day people having their every day lives shaken up some.

So i changed the dogs food or something. All I know is she hasn’t been feeling so well. Shit everywhere. All that hair just seems to bring the shit into every corner imaginable. Shit on the bed, on the floor, carpets, in my goddamn shoe. I go to put my shoe on and there is poop in it. She wakes me up in the middle of the night, with her tiny sad little paws sayin’ “Come on man, I gotta poop so bad” so I take her out and there is still shit on the floor in the morning.

So at work there seems to always be a child there just fucking with everything. Shit everywhere. Tables, floors, work, fridges, shit everywhere. Turn your head for a minute and more shit. Went to drink my apple juice today, don’t even know what she did to it, but sure didn’t taste like apple juice. Go to put some sugar and that shit is filled with salt.

Kids are like dogs. Cute as shit when it is someone else but when you find yourself stuck with one for 20 odd years just getting rid of the things seem like a good idea sometimes. Not that you ever would. I could never understand people shaking babies or whatever baby haters might do or puppy kickers but sometimes you just wish they would calm the fuck down.

Which brings me to the real heart of this thought. If I were to steal a child I would steal an Asian baby. Let’s face it, no one wants to steal your shitty white baby. You love em and that’s great but then you are stuck with somebody elses little shit factory. Fat little white babies don’t hold a candle to an Asian baby. Not only are the pre-disposed to be a little awesome everything but you end up looking like a humanitarian because people think you have adopted a poor orphan from Asia instead of just stealing it from an unsuspecting shopping cart. I want to run into the rich old adopting white ladies pushing their adopted Asian babies and make up stories about how much my little baby who can’t even walk yet has such a big personality and how much they love going to mommy and me swim time where I wade around with a bunch of awkward middle-aged women and babies in tiny yellow floaties. All those old hens would go “h man isn’t he young and good to be adopting such an adorable baby.

The difference would be that I would grow bored of the stolen baby and sneak it back much faster than I would for my shitty dog. There is one big reason for that: the dog will never have a birthday party. She will never be ten and have a bunch of other peoples little addle brained shit heads running around the house like kittens on crack.

I am already dreading the house full of other people’s shitty turds.



I think I figured it out today, the question that has been plaguing me. The reason people become such dog people is that moment when you get home and they are just the happiest to see you ever. They may have torn up all your things, crapped every where or just slept all day, but they are still just so happy.

The dog owner on the other hand was probably much shittier all day. Might have spent a whole day doing something completely useless and monotonous, might have been a complete dick and made someone’s day shitty, hell you could’ve shanked a hobo just because you both happened to be in the same alleyway and just couldn’t shake the thought that it was either you or him.

Anyhow what it boils down to is that the animal doesn’t care if their owner is a total moron or hammered, as long as they are feeding it and not kicking it around all the time.

I think if the dogs new how goddamn boring the people are half the time they would be a lot less interested each time you open that door when you get home from work.

Today’s drawing is trying to illustrate the excitement my dog feels and how she is a goddamn star:

The goal is to draw the dog differently each day but I’m thinking soon I’ll have to be painting the little bugger to keep it interesting.

Protest as we do about not becoming one of those dog people, the type that refer to you by your dog’s name, we are not at that point yet. I say yet because I go to find a picture on my dear lady’s phone and find that the breakdown of content is the following:

80% Dog
10% Me
10% Scenery (flowers, trees, that kind of thing)

Now that part is not all that strange. She is incredibly photogenic, the dog. The breakdown reminded me of another time that I was at a loss for words. As is the usual for my memorable occasions (that do not occur within my own house) I was in a nearby bar. Not the nicest bar by any means but also not one that I worry about getting shanked, or that appear to be having an awards supper for homeless including a shrimp ring.

So while at the bar I strike up a conversation with a man. Construction worker. We get talking, I tell him I used to work construction, but that is about all the chit chat I have for him. He tells me about his life, family and whatnot, but when he pulls out his phone to show me pictures he skips over any of his family or anything else and goes straight to photos of the dump truck he drives. The photos are followed up with way too much talk about his driving the dump truck.

This is what I worry might happen to my lady or I if i am not careful. No one wants to be that guy.

So here is a drawing of the dog laying around like a little baby princess: