Monday, February 8, 2016

#02 - I Am Now Old and Out of Touch

*Translation: When your close friends would like to have fun, but your significant other wants to engage in intercourse at home, and you are attempting to do your best, but she is much too inebriated to reciprocate and you are highly confused by this unfortunate turn of events that have left all parties greatly unsatisfied.

Oh, and cheers to our Denver Broncos for bringing home the Lombardi trophy and doing, well, this.

Monday, February 1, 2016

I'm All Man, Baby

Hey guys! Time for another crazy but true story in the life of Bryan.

So the other day I was on Facebook (clearly my first mistake) when I saw one of those 'People You Might Know' things. And sure enough, I saw a people I knowed. But I didn't know from where. The name didn't ring a bell, but the face looked really familiar... I just couldn't quite remember who it was.

After browsing the profile I realized that it was a girl I used to go out with, but what I saw made my jaw drop hard enough to give me whiplash.

But first... some back story here.

Once upon a time ago I took up online dating, and met a few crazies along the way. Or maybe a considerable amount of crazy. Or maybe a whole clown car full of crazy. But then I met Ellen, who wasn't traditionally my type, but she also wasn't crazy. On top of that, she was intelligent, polite, and well read. And let me tell you, being well read is hard to come by these days. A ton of girls have "I love curling up with a good book!" and "I'm an avid reader!" on their dating profile, when all they really mean is "I read Fifty Shades of Grey once because I heard it was porn." In fact, a good many of them are so illiterate I'm amazed they can even manage to fill out the profile.

That joke also works with Twilight, The Hunger Games, and anything by James Patterson.

So anyway, Ellen and I met up for coffee, and she was not what I was expecting... physically. She was the tiniest person I've ever met, standing about 4'10 and weighing all of 95 lbs soaking wet. I felt like a giant standing next to her. She also had the longest, straightest, blondest hair I've ever seen. It went down all the way to her legs, and it was her pride and joy. As she told me, she had to brush it for at least 30 minutes to an hour every single day, like some kind of Disney princess.

Aside from books, we didn't have a lot in common. She wanted to be a lawyer, whereas I want to stay as far away from lawyers as humanly possible. She liked death metal, whereas I prefer my eardrums intact. She was a Pisces, whereas I don't give a shit about horoscopes. On top of that, she wasn't very talkative. But we gave things a chance, and slowly over time she began to open up to me.

I thought I'd be happy for her to finally be able to open up, but all she did was uncork a little bit of weirdness.

And she was kinda hoping I would volunteer as tribute. Then shortly after that she released the floodgate of weirdness.

I stopped talking to her shortly after that, not just because I promised I wouldn't give a woman The Raccoon* until I was married (I assumed that's what she was into), but because the connection wasn't really there and she liked me a lot more than I liked her, so I didn't want to lead her on.

*You give her two black eyes and then knock her trash cans over on the way out

So, you might ask, why is this even worth mentioning? And why did seeing her pop up on my Facebook make my jaw drop?

Because Ellen is a man now.

Ellen, who has some videos linked to her Facebook profile so as to answer all of my WTF questions, has apparently always felt like she was supposed to be a man, so she chopped off her Disney princess hair, went on testosterone, and started working out. Ellen is now legally named Steve (why not the obvious 'Allen' I don't know, but hey, not my call), and Steve is a self proclaimed gay guy who looks a little too much like a mini Justin Bieber (only MUCH more manly... obviously).

And really, I did not see that coming, especially from someone under 5 feet tall, under 100 lbs, who once had hair that most women only dream of. But maybe those were the signs, right? Having shimmery, extra long hair and wanting to be pregnant just to feel like a woman? And now I can't help but wonder if what she was into in the bedroom that was 'really weird' is related to this. Who knows?

All I know is that it blew my mind, and I considered not even posting about it because it's such a sensitive topic. I mean, how can I make light of this situation without the angry social justice warriors of the Internet digitally gangbanging me for being bigoted or transphobic or lactose intolerant or all of the other big words they don't understand how to use properly?

But hey, I'm not judging. I wish Steve all the happiness in the world. I just think the whole thing is a trip.

And so that's the story of how I once dated a man who looks like Justin Bieber.

Cheers and stay classy, friends,
Bryan (and Brandon)

Beer: Aspen Blonde
Music: City and Colour

Friday, January 15, 2016

Food Poisoning: The Poor Man's Sexy Diet

Food poisoning is the absolute worst. It's not just because your insides liquefy and then missile launch from your body at every which angle, but because if you're like either of us - foodies - then food poisoning means that chances are good you've just been hurt badly... by something you love dearly.

And there's nothing worse than suffering a food miscarriage at the hands of something you love. Hey, I don't recall ordering the botulism! Who put salmonella on this? I distinctly remember asking them to hold the norovirus!

The result, of course, is a few days' worth of The Supermodel's Diet®, in which you evacuate every last molecule of food and liquid you've ever had upon ingesting even the slightest bit of anything. And since you can't eat or drink anything without projectile vomiting it like a busted fire hydrant, it's a great way to lose weight. Bryan lost 6 lbs in 2 days thanks to a bad chicken wing or two, thereby making this the sexiest illness he's ever had. He didn't even need to lose 6 lbs. How's that for a killer before/after testimonial?

The weirdest thing about food poisoning, of course, is that it can come from nearly anything, and you can't really see it coming... unless you're blatantly eating out of a dumpster that's sitting out directly in the scalding hot sun behind a dollar scoop Chinese place*. The source doesn't necessarily have to be a greasy burrito or a poorly cooked chicken wing. It can even come from something as harmless and stupid as a salad.

*pro tip: don't do that

In Communist Russia, plant waters you

If you don't think kale is evil, just remember that in addition to tasting awful, it can also murder you slowly from the inside.

Food poisoning can even taint foods we once loved forever, eternally turning them into something in which the very thought of said food makes us throw up in our mouths a little, almost as if to give you a small sample of what's to come, should you eat or drink this intestinal violator ever again.

And really, if you spend 3 solid days glued to the toilet from various ends, then no one can blame you for never wanting to eat that food again.

The other side of that, however, is if your palate is somehow willing to forgive its digestional rapist. If you can somehow find it in your heart to go back to the very food that scarred you, both emotionally and intestinally. It's like a jilted lover trying to take back the person that crushed their heart into a black, bloody paste. Do you go back? Should you go back?

No one said we humans were smart. But in the end, our reasoning is this: if we're going to get food poisoning, which we all invariably get at some point or another, we'd rather get it from something we love than something we don't. So don't skimp out on the chicken wings or the burritos or the overeasy eggs for fear of food poisoning. Like a good game of Russian roulette, food-borne illness is likely to hit you at some point in your life anyway. Might as well just roll with it.

Plus, you know, free weight loss. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Cheers and stay classy, friends,
Bryan and Brandon

Beer: Upslope Thai IPA (gotta keep hydrated)
Music: Washed Out (also the current state of my insides)

Monday, January 4, 2016

Changes A-Brewin'

Some people have New Years resolutions. This year we have blog resolutions. We always want to bring you the best, so we're changing a few things. We actually wanted to do that today, but, uh, Bryan, aka our comic drawer extraordinaire, is currently dealing with some nasty food poisoning, so he's doing a lot of this...

and not a lot of this.

But change is coming for 2016, and it's all for the better.

1. Full scale (bigger, better) blog posts on the 1st and the 15th of the month, with a single panel comic strip cushioned nicely between each.
2. Less copy/paste cartoons.
3. More intensive artwork. Real illustrations, like a real comic (go figure).
4. More funny. Each joke guaranteed to be 20% funnier or your money back.
5. More writing (we didn't get to do much of that in 2015).

These things take a lot of time to put together/draw, so we think this schedule will help us give the best amount of high quality output we can while not being a ghost town between posts. So... stay tooned.

No comments today. Save your words for the 15th. Shit's about to get real.


Monday, December 21, 2015

The War on Christmas

*NOTE: New post coming 1/4. Things are slow around here during the holidays anyway, so no sense in breaking our backs over something a ton of people will miss out on while spending time with family and friends. Plus, we're busy spending time with our own family/friends. Have an awesome New Year and we'll see you in 2016! Man, have we got some awesome stuff in store for you. ~B&B*

War... War never changes. We laughed at them when they said they were waging a War on Christmas. We never took them seriously. But in the year of our lord 2015, well, that was when the bombs began to drop.

It all started in 2005 when Santa's elves, under strict orders from workshop president Elf W. Bush, sold elf-made weapons and artillery to Iraqi insurgents as a way of financing the production of Christmas toys. And so when the bombs began to drop on the North Pole, they were emblazoned with serial numbers traced straight back to their very own workshop.

There were massive casualties. Frosty the Snowman was melted by napalm. He's now nothing more than chemically unstable melted snow pooling in a bucket. The Grinch was wounded badly in combat, having taken a bullet straight to the aortic valve. He needed an emergency heart transplant in order to survive, but unfortunately the donor heart he was given was two sizes too small, and he died of massive heart failure.

The reindeer were the next to go. Do you know why they call him Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer? It's because he got his goddamn nose blown off by an IED.

Yule logs were incinerated in their beds while they slept, and chestnuts were burned by the millions in giant extermination furnaces. But they didn't get it the worst. No, the mall Santas got it the worst by far.

These poor, drunken minimum wage employees were systematically yanked from shopping malls all across America, tortured until their bodies could take no more, and then murdered in an attempt to find the real Santa. This was especially tragic, because as we all know the average mall Santa is a scrawny homeless man just looking to make some extra booze money, and is most definitely not a jolly fat man looking to spread magical joy.

Santa wasn't the only one facing a massive manhunt. Terrorists were also scouring the country for the big cheese, the commander-in-chief himself, General Jesus H. Christ. For his protection, Mr. Christ was kept locked up and secure in his private fortress, deep inside of a child's mouth. For you see, it's often said that Jesus can be found in the smile of a child.

Meanwhile, the real Santa set out to retaliate for the loss of his elves and his reindeer by dropping bombs of his own over Baghdad. In the span of one night he murdered 5,000 innocent Iraqis and mutilated another 2,000, and to this day no one's quite sure why be bombed an entire city without doing any research whatsoever on where insurgents might or might not be located.

Santa's fatal flaw, however, was having his location tracked through, which is a really cute website that shows Santa's geolocation as he delivers presents, but it also allowed him to be easily traced by terrorists and blown out of the sky by a surface to air missile that agonizingly incinerated him and the comically idiotic Labradors he had trained as last minute reindeer replacements.

With that, Santa and his army of elves had been decimated.

Now set to deliver the final blow, the terrorist insurgents searched high and low for General Jesus, but they could not find him. No, for they were so stupidly looking for a dark skinned Middle Eastern man, and as we all know, Jesus is white. And so, completely unnoticed, blue-eyed blond-haired surfer Jesus grabbed his lamb and just surfed away to safety, never to be seen again.

With Jesus gone, exchanging presents and assembling for family dinners was outlawed by congress in 49 states, meaning that people could only exchange gifts or cook big dinners in Alaska. However, they often died of hypothermia or dysentery on the long trek there, and eventually gave it up altogether in lieu of sitting at home quietly, starving, and just overall being miserable.

And so in the end... that's how ridiculous it sounds when people proclaim that there's a "war on Christmas". Look, Christmas isn't going anywhere anytime soon, angry politicians aren't desperately trying to pass laws to ban it, and no one is looking to burn down your Christmas tree KKK style. And even though some people make a public Grinchly stink out of the holiday and get way too much press coverage for it, either of us have yet to meet anyone who's genuinely offended by being wished a Merry Christmas and reacts with fiery, seething rage.

So to those who celebrate, we hope you have an awesome Christmas, and to those who don't, well, hopefully you at least get a free day off of work, and in that case who the hell can complain about that?

Cheers and stay merry, folks,

Music: Charles Murdoch
Beer: Aspen Brewing Independence IPA

Monday, December 14, 2015

The Wheel of Outrage

It's no secret our society has become increasingly impatient. In a world where you can sext your other half, Skype with your aunt in Mexico, and snap a selfie of yourself on the toilet all at the same time, it's no wonder we've become so efficient at using our time. But unfortunately, that impatience has spread to other facets of life, which brings us to today's topic: the fleeting beast of public outrage. It's just amazing how we the public can be so dramatically outraged by something... only to not do anything about it, forget it entirely five minutes later, and then move onto something else to be livid and worked up about.

Ah, the Washington Redskins. Remember how mad you were about that a few months ago? Yeah, we don't either. It's amazing, isn't it, how quickly we forget? We're just glad the heat has finally blown over and the Washington Redskins can go back to sucking ass again, quietly and in peace.

And let's not forget America's favorite nerdy, anorexic Bond villain, Martin Shkreli, the guy that hiked up the price of an AIDS medication by 5,500%. Last month, people were absolutely furious at him and wanted his head on a pike... Now, though, not so much.

It's like the world's worst game show, Wheel of Outrage. Every time we spin the wheel, we find something else to hyperfocus our rage on, while simultaneously forgetting everything else we were so mad about.

It's wacky fun for the whole family! Who knows what we'll be mad at next?

And it's not just the quickness in which we change and redirect our scorn. The other funny thing about public outrage is how quickly it can turn in the opposite direction. Like, how one minute we absolutely hate someone or something... and the next minute we just can't get enough of them. We're looking at you, Chris Brown, you woman-beating-piece-of-shit.

Now, if you'll excuse us, we've got to go check Tumblr out to see what the outrage du jour is. It's been like 5 minutes and we are way behind on what everyone's pissed off at right now.

Cheers and stay livid, folks,

Beer: Lawyers, Guns, and Money (Crazy Mountain Brewing)
Music: Highly Suspect