When I see a headline like this one, “Obama Expects GOP Tax Cave”, the image that comes into my mind is of a skin-clad, shaggy Grover Norquist, gnawing on a bone, crouching in the GOP tax cave.
I Wish I Were a Cartoonist
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I have free will.
Stand down.
Pretty weird, isn’t it?
But I do know how to wield authority.
All caught up in your myths.
It’s just life.
It’s that easy. Or hard, as you , as you take it.
Mine was hard.
It WILL untangle shortly.
It’s lightning. If you want to know.
That was the first clue.
You are a deep and faithful man, Monsieur David. How can a woman not love you?
Some would say you are “graced”. I just like you. You’ve been with me for a long time.
Heads up. Quit acting like snotwads. Grow up.
I am the wife of the Storm god, and I will lay your soul to waste if you cross me.
Pretty interesting.
That’s my message to you.
I am the Magdalene and Mary, and Isis. We like women.
Come and get me.
Or I’ll come to you.
Rocky, boy.
Snotwad.
Now, about this Galactic Cowgirl series, Michael and Katherine, we do the Four Horsemen and three are unsaddled She goes forward on a Palomino with a Ruger in her back pocket.
WE WIN.
Here’s one where I get to beat Dave in the “weird job” contest: I was, briefly, a political cartoonist. It was for a chain of local newspapers on Cape Cod, IIRC. I say if I recall, because I didn’t do the job for long — maybe six weeks. That’s how long it took them to figure out that 1) I wasn’t much of an artist and 2) I didn’t give a damn about local news.
That’s certainly something I’ve never done. I can draw. I’m more of a draftsman than a sketcher, caricaturist, or artist but I can draw. I just don’t have the patience to do it. If I drew more often it mightn’t be such a chore.
My brother Paul can draft and sketch. It’s pretty rare.
He used to do atrocious cartoons of me when I was a little girl. Bastard.
I could beat him at Gin, though.
We all jes’ doin’ the best we can.
Where ya’ll?
Daddy loved Patricia best.
Hey, I still like Paul. He lives in Little Rock.
You can be Paul without being doctrinaire.
Get over it. I had to.
I’m the Queen of Heaven and Earth and I don’t even drive a Mercedes?
My love is a joker, I tell you.
Straight on the line, everyday. Psychotic, romantic dimwit, inspired prophetess, twit. On and on.
Galactic cowgirl is the best.
Take me now. To Whitfield. I hear Napoleon is free for lunch.
This sounds like a hippie/stoner thing to say, but I can paint, do respectable art when I’m stoned. Or at least I could back in the old days. Nowadays I have some very minimal ability with a pencil but I don’t really try to tap that. Fork in the road and all that: word or picture. Left brain won.
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