I Hate Theme Weddings

"Jesus!" Chad thought. "My only reason for even suggesting a Tarzan-themed wedding was to get Jennifer to finally take her top off... but then she had to turn into a complete chickenshit at the last minute. Like always. Where'd she get that white tarp, anyway? You can't even see her knees! God only knows what she brought for our honeymoon tonight. Probably a jogging suit. Balls. Meanwhile, I'm left standing here like a jerkoff with a synthetic loincloth on. Damn thing itches like crazy. And I think the trained chimp we hired to be a flowergirl peed on it. Like, a minute ago.

Hell, I bet the only person more ticked about how they're dressed for this wedding is Jennifer's maid of honor, LeVonna."

Update: I'm now 99.99% sure I'll be able to post with laxative-like regularity for the rest of this week. Just don't expect any new artwork until early next week. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go supervise Tusker's gold tooth implantation procedure. (I've been trying to talk him into replacing one of his hands with a hook or perhaps a giant corkscrew, but he just won't go for it.)

Artificial Hair Transplant

"Honey, a huge envelope filled with hair just arrived for you! Do we know anyone who's being held for ransom?"

For some reason, I'm picturing horses on a conveyor belt, being fed into a machine that snips their tails off. (Then it's off to the rendering plant!) And I love that the long, blonde braid ends in a handlebar mustache. But the little 'stache really ought to have an equally dainty Meerschaum pipe dangling from beneath it. Or perhaps an adorably miniature frothy stein of German lager (or a micro-brew)! Huh. I'm getting kind of pissed about their negligence, now I think about it. The fuckers! Honestly, they just should have turned over the entire ad campaign to me.