The Talking Boxes Stays Away…

…from topical humor.  I don’t like topics.  I prefer that the strip remain atopical – if not antitopical.  When people ask what the strip is about, I want to be able to honestly say that it isn’t about anything.

That makes it sound like TTB is basically Seinfeld.

But one can make a distinction between being about nothing and not being about anything.  Seinfeld, as I see it, was a “show about nothing” in that its topic was nothing as an idea.  The Talking Boxes has no topic.  There is nothing that the strip is about.  Very subtle difference.

Now I know that I could say that the strip is about sentient polygons and Halloween decorations flying through space doing nonsensical things.  That’s easy.  Or I could say that the strip is about the ultimate incomprehensibility of life and how funny it is when we try to make sense of it.  That’s pretentious.  So I prefer to say that The Talking Boxes is not about anything or, if pressed, that it’s about having fun and being silly.


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Trying To Find Funny Stuff…

… to write is way too much stress, so I’m just going to not do that.

I had a job interview yesterday.  Shockingly, this site doesn’t keep the lights on.  Also, my cool artist friend Rob Stepp is doing some illustrations for my next book which are of such great quality that, upon your looking at them, your stockings are certain to explode from your feet almost as if you had been struck hard about the chest by a large man swinging a crab.

Funny and serious are two ends of a spectrum.  There’s something in between and that’s where I live – just close enough to the serious side to be considered stupid.

Anyway, Death Magick is up on Amazon now, so go buy it and then review it.  People love reviewing things.  Write a funny review.  Or a stupid one.  The review is where you get to shine; take some of the spotlight off of me, the author, and pour it all over your opinion.  I’m the one that wrote a novel but whatever, right?  You thought something about it so I guess now everything is all about you.

Stupid is a good place to be.  It’s a balancing act.  Nothing impresses people more than someone who can balance a chair and a table on their chin and then have someone sit in the chair and serve chicken fingers for nine guests.

Go buy my book and tune in next week for the exciting conclusion of The Unpossible Skulk Part 6: Space Pterodactyl.

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The Human Drive to Compete

…is very weird to me.  I don’t understand sports at all.

“We decided to see who could jump the farthest.  You won, so here’s a metal disc.”

Boxing is a sport.  Basically competitive face punching.

“Let’s see which one of these people can hit the other hard enough to cause a brain injury.”

And then we invent elaborate competitions.  We devise complex rules.  None of it makes any sense, but many of us take it very seriously.  In basketball, you can’t just grab the ball and run across the court.  You have to be bouncing it, and there are strict rules about how this bouncing must be performed.  Baseball is just as insane.

“We throw this ball at you.  You try to wack it with a stick and run over there.   You want to step on these bags.  If someone catches it in midair, you have to go sit down.  You can’t not go sit down.  If you refused and decided to step on the bag anyway, that would ruin everything.”

I have no impulse to participate in such contests.  I am, in every way, incapable of any interest in sporting competitions.  I’ve discovered this over the course of my life.  If the majority of people was like me, sports would never have been a thing.  I imagine some ancient Sumerian weirdos standing  around:

“En-men-lu-ana wants to get together and see who can throw a rock up into the air the highest.”
“Well I’m not doing that.”

I guess the majority of people would consider it a good thing thing that the majority of people are not like me.

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Today I Came Home

And there were people cutting down the tree in front of my apartment.  It used to block my window and one time I saw a bird sleeping in there.  The cutting people were cutting branches off of other trees and had thrown them in my parking space.  It was pretty much the worst kind of chaos imaginable by anyone – short of a pterosaur attack.


I wrote a book, too.   Check it out.


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