Internet Comic Link Round-Up Extravaganza II

• The Perry Bible Fellowship
• Nedroid
• Dinosaur Comics
• My Life in a Cube

Why Work?

Why Work?

The official line is that we all have rights and live in a democracy. Other unfortunates who aren't free like we are have to live in police states. These victims obey orders or else, no matter how arbitrary. The authorities keep them under regular surveillance. State bureaucrats control even the smaller details of everyday life. The officials who push them around are answerable only to higher-ups, public or private. Either way, dissent and disobedience are punished. Informers report regularly to the authorities. All this is supposed to be a very bad thing.

And so it is, although it is nothing but a description of the modern workplace.

Biking to work is fun!

I was riding my bicycle home yesterday and had just crossed a four-way stop intersection. About half-way through the next block a mini-van passed me quite closely, gunning its engine etc etc as it went. Naturally I made the jerk off motion with my hand.

I wondered, as I often do, Did the driver see that? and if so does he/she understand what I mean? Well yesterday all questions were erased.

The mini-van pulled over to the right -- in fact I thought it was making a right turn at the next street. But no, it stopped and the driver's side window rolled down just as I was approaching on the left.

Side note: why do these total douchebag drivers pull over and roll down their windows like this? Do they think that I am actually going to pull over as well and talk to them? Really? No, really?

It turns out that this mini-van was being driven by a husky male who I guess just got his license or something? His male companion was in the passenger seat, and unbeknownst to me at this time, another dude was in a rear seat. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We'll meet him in a moment -- stay tuned!

The script at this point is what you'd expect:

Driver (as I pass on his left): What's your problem!?
Me (looking back over my shoulder as I continue moving):Huh, what?

Now the mini-van pulled out again and came up beside me, on my left. The passenger side window rolled down and the the above exchange was repeated a few times (I continued to play dumb. People hate that, I think). Finally:

Driver: Are you telling me to jerk off, buddy? What's your problem?

I continued to play dumb (and actually, I was not trying to tell him that he should jerk off. What I meant was that he himself was a big jerk off. A subtle distinction, I suppose).

This exchange was repeated a few times, and I continued to keep the puzzled look on my face. Then, suddenly, the sliding passenger door opened and dude in the backseat leaned out and yelled BANG!. This little guy had a shaved head and looked like he was fifteen years old and had been working out since he was about thirteen and a half.

I guess his BANG! was supposed to be intimidating. Supposed to make me think that he could have shot me with a gun if he wanted to? I'm not sure. Anyway. I laughed and asked them if they were a comedy troupe (I'm not making this up, I swear).

That confused them, I think. I heard one of them say troop?. By this time I had reached my turn, and I turned right. They turned left (the wrong way around a traffic cirle thing). I didn't get a chance to use the line that I always want to use when these young arseholes accost me with a mini-van: Shouldn't you guys head home now? I thought your mom wanted the mini-van back by six o'clock.

If I could label a blogger post through the e-mail interface (which I cannot) I would label this one with: mini-van.