The Francesco Explains It All All-Encompassing Holiday Hymn (Sung to Whatever Tune Is Currently Lodged in Your Head)

Burn little candles, burn, burn, burn
For each of the Seven Principles of Nguzo Saba
Lighting the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path
Unto the Five Pillars of Worship
With the Five Books of Moses
Acknowledging the Oneness of the Universe
To free all those who trust in Him
While committing good acts to break out of the cycle of rebirth
And the Jains don't walk on bugs
They don't walk on bugs
And the Jains never walk on the bugs

Oh, for Fuck's Sake!

Okay, first, it's poor professional conduct for a cartoonist to critique in a public medium another comic strip (I have a rather pointed email from the good folks of Archie Comics stressing just that very fact). Second, from all accounts Tom Batuik is quite the genial individual who I have always found to be a talented and accomplished artist. Third, just this very year I had Ted Forth grapple with his own emotional downturn not unlike those portrayed in Funky Winkerbean. And fourth, I write the comic strip in which said Ted Forth appears, no doubt negating any right I may ever have to critique a fellow cartoonist's work.

That said, when even success begats dismay as in the above strip...Listen, as someone who has experienced his own pronounced and prolonged bouts with depression (much due to shyness)--and is apparently blurring the very line between imaginary people and real people for the objective of this post--I just want to see this strip's characters, hell, even one character, experience a moment of pure joy. I'm not asking for eternal bliss here. I just want to see something occur to cause one of the cast to puts his/her hands in his/her pockets, closes his/her eyes, slightly tilt back his/her head, feel a cool breeze on his/her face and have him/her quietly say, "Ahhhhh."

So, with that in mind, I humbly suggest the following simple yet happy exaltations be uttered in Funky Winkerbean come 2008:

"I can't believe we won both the Daytona 500 and the MacArthur Fellowship! What a Tuesday!"

"The Con Ed explosion destroyed all of Seventh Avenue save Montoni's Pizza, which not only survived unscathed but is now impervious to monster attacks for some reason."

"With this Sword of Isis you shall never have another's day fear! Oh, and take the hilt, too. It promotes luxurious hair."

"Why, that's no ordinary mud puddle, my son! That's the mud puddle that always picks winning stocks!"

"It's easy--I tell Ben what to do, he tells the other rats what I said and before you know it--Viola! We've got ourselves a perpetual motion machine!"

"Hey, Les, that guy from 'Pushing Daisies' just touched your wife. She wants to see you in the kitchen.

Walking Bird Day: Lesson the One

Now that we have officially entered Thanksgiving Season--as heralded by the end of Halloween and the start of innumerable Williams Sonoma catalogs--I'd like to take this opportunity to celebrate and delineate the glory that is the "turducken," a smorgasbord of slaughter that, had a child invented it, would no doubt have been perceived as the first sign of a serial killer.

For those of you not in the know or who never had a lesson in informal etymology, a "turducken" is a deboned chicken stuffed inside a deboned duck, which is then stuffed inside a deboned turkey. Why the turkey is then not stuffed inside a deboned cow and then quickly shoved into an unsuspecting pachyderm or stunned gorilla may have less to do with people realizing when a drinking game has clearly gone too far and more to do with the fact that the standard oven can only contain so much carcass.

Historians of nesting-doll food preparation cite that the layering (or, as it is known in Drakes Cakes circles, "Yodeling") of animals harkens back to the Middle Ages, when farmers often hid livestock inside one another to avoid paying higher husbandry taxes, to conceal potential golden-egg-laying geese from brigands or to give themselves something else to do besides toil, pray and attribute the rising of the sun to a complex system of pulleys operated by the same spirits whose sneezes produced morning dew.

However, legend--not to mention a well-researched "National Geographic" article--traces the origin of the triple-decker dinner to a specialty meats shop in Louisiana, where the inventive provisions staff has also been recognized for installing a combustible engine inside a pig and attaching the hindquarters of an iguana to the body of a possum and the head of a teddy bear, thereby fashioning a chimera well within the price range of even the most parsimonious Christmas shopper. Others, though, attribute the turducken to Paul Prudhomme, a rather gargantuan Cajun chef popular in the 1980's and most notable for scaring doppelganger character actor Dom DeLuise into the occasional weight-loss program.

Alas, as with most things that initially attain a cult status before gaining greater acceptance and then eventually becoming a global irritant, the turducken community has experienced its own schism, with many demanding that the dish instead be labeled a "chuckey," thereby reversing the order of fowl importance but in no way impeding the madness. Violence has quickly spread between the two factions, and as of this writing many have sacrificed their lives in the name of a complex recipe that by all rights should really be called a "dicky."

Please join me next time when I show how to flash-fry a gingerbread house.

Get Ready, Get Stressed

You can hear it in the soft susurration of the wind through the slits in store banners. You can feel it in the palpable excitement of marketers everywhere. You can taste it in Starbucks Cinnamon Holly Egg Nog Gingerbread Frappe. To many it seem may like Halloween just ended--especially any office worker who spent all day yesterday desperately trying to turn 40 manila folders and a necktie into a Spongebob costume--but to retailers everywhere, why, it’s Christmastime!

And frankly, I couldn’t be happier. That’s because I like to look ahead. I'm a “big picture” person. Visionary, if you will. While others care only to study what’s right before--or coming right at--them, I prefer to stare off into the horizon, hands in pockets, gently rocking back and forth on my heels while I softly whistle a tune. Maybe it’s “Fantasy” by Earth, Wind and Fire. Maybe it’s “Shining Star,” also by Earth, Wind and Fire. Or maybe I’ll just turn that mother out and beat box to “Boogie Wonderland” by Earth, Wind and Fire. You never know with us “big picture” people. You never do. Can’t pin us down but you can always count on us to bring home the funk.

Anyway, Christmas. To help get you in the mood I’ve put together a short holiday prep list so that when the season actually does roll around you won’t be caught off guard like the grasshopper in that fable. You know the one I'm talking about. While the ant toils away to get ready for the long winter months ahead the grasshopper frolics and fritters, completely unaware that the ant is in actuality the very serial killer that’s responsible for a string homicides in the vegetable garden. Then one day the grasshopper returns home only to find his roommate hacked to pieces and a message on his bathroom mirror scrawled in blood that reads, “You’re next.” The grasshopper tries to tell the police what happened but they’re of no help. So he must take matters into his own hands. Ultimately ant and grasshopper face off on the ledge of a partially constructed high-rise. We see the flash of a knife. We hear the peel of a gunshot. We see a limp corpse drop 40 stories. We are horrified but learn a valuable lesson and are all the better for it.

Anyway, the list:

The Francesco Explains It All Holiday Prep List

Eight Weeks before Xmas: Panic. The next few weeks are going to get very busy very quickly so best to get the inevitable breakdown out of the way now. Snap at friends. Snarl at strangers. Sucker punch acquaintances. Sob hysterically and howl incessantly on the drop of a hat or every leaf. Then get right to work.

Seven Weeks before Xmas: Play God--Wrathful Edition. Decide who will and who won't get presents this year. Recall caustic remarks, casual slights, age-old vendettas, stutters that might have masked an aspersio or even dubious advice. Remember, the more ill will you harbor for friends and loved ones the more money you'll have to spend on yourself this season.

Six Weeks before Xmas: Go batshit looking for a Wii. Pester managers. Bribe store clerks. Blow "Game Stop" employees. Invest more time and energy into finding a video game system than you did your marriage, your career or your attempt at resuscitating Grandpa. Success is your only option. Suicide your only alternative.

Five Weeks before Xmas: Stop what you're doing. You completely forgot about Thanksgiving, didn't you? You forgot to buy a turkey, right? You forgot to make sides, right? Well, no time for cooking now! Just quickly determine how many people a kindergarten "hand outline" turkey drawing and 16 cans of 4C Bread Crumbs can feed if you get everyone drunk enough early enough.

Four Weeks before Xmas: Get decorations and supplies out of storage two weeks ago...You did already do that, right?...RIGHT?!?...Oh, for...What the hell are you waiting for, merry elves or striking television writers to get your house ready for the holidays? Perhaps you thought if you played a jaunty carol all the supplies would come marching down the stairs from the attic and assume their rightful positions on the tree, hmm? Jesus! People like you make me want to--no, no, not gonna let you do this to me. Time of joy, time of peace. Just T.P. the inside of your own house in lieu of streamers or tinsel. But for the love of God make sure it's at least two-ply or quilted toilet paper. Anything else and you might as well be celebrating Winter Solstice.

Three Weeks before Xmas: Freeze holiday food and snacks you should have already made. Oh, you didn't make any meals yet? Well, here's a little holiday tip--guests don't like to starve! What the fuck have you been doing with your days, dancing a merry jig? Explaining to visitors why there's a big bow of Charmin on your mantelpiece? Getting drunk, yet again, in front of the kids, as if THAT won't affect their self-esteem or future relationships in any way whatsoever?! GOD! At least open a freaking jar of mixed nuts! Can you do that?! Huh?! Can you?!?

Two Weeks before Xmas: Mail the cards you no doubt probably haven't even thought to address or even buy. Man...let me ask you a question--Why do you even bother getting out of bed if you're only going to destroy everyone's Christmas with your astounding indifference and incompetence?! No one likes to be forgotten on the holidays! No one! That includes your kids whose names you probably can't even slur correctly after your eighth whisky sour. I got an idea, and it's one you can do as you decide between neat or on the rocks. Just tell your wee ones that Mommy and/or Daddy simply couldn't be bothered to make this season a happy one for their children. Just tell them Mommy and/or Daddy were never equipped to be parents. Just tell them Mommy and/or Daddy will eventually prove to be nothing but two dead albatrosses hanging from the freaking necks of their grown, emotionally crippled offspring for their entire goddamn adult lives! Go on...TELL THEM! I'll still be here with more helpful advice when you get back.

Last Week before Xmas: Ruin everything for everyone. After all, why stop a ten-year streak now? Surely they hand out medals for such astounding accomplishments, medals you'll no doubt pawn for more booze and the bite-size Snickers bars your kids have come to call "brunch." Sigh...Well, I tried to help you get ready for Christmas. I really, realy did. But you didn't want a list. You didn't want a guide. You wanted your own staff to do everything for you while you danced that jig, waited for decorations to climb down the stairs and on to the tree and hoped elves would show up with a Dyson, Tilex and Glenfiddich. And now here you are, with nothing to eat, no tree or gifts for the kids and no one to blame but yourself. You make me feel so very, very sick and so very, very superior.

Well, that's all the time I have for now. Please join me tomorrow when I stress that there are only seven short months before swimsuit season.

Happy Halloween from Medium Large!

Very Last-Minute Halloween Costume Ideas

1. Paulie, The Forgotten Smurf: You know Papa and Brainy and Handy and Grouchy, Vanity and Smurfette and Hefty and Jokey. But do you recall the most famous smurf of all to take both a bullet and controlling interest in his town’s sanitation and highway maintenance sectors? Perhaps the most colorful resident of Smurf Village (and certainly the only one to sport an olive complexion), Paulie always had one hand on a stogie, the other on his crotch and a third buried somewhere in his backyard, the result of a business transaction gone horribly awry. Quick with a joke, a sizeable loan or a threat so cold and calculated it could drain the blood from Azrael’s face, Paulie was blessed with many associates but few friends on the NBC network staff. His low-brow, high-body-count antics often put him at odds with television censors, family advocacy groups, anti-defamation leagues and, none too surprisingly, both the Yakuza and Russian mobs. In the end his image and voice track were excised from every surviving episode of “Smurfs,” preventing future generations from not only enjoying his routinely profitable hijinks but also from hearing his once-famous catchphrase, “Hey, Gargamel! I don’t go down to where you work and slap the dick out of your mouth, do I?!”
Costume includes green body paint, double-breasted suit and an assortment of steaks and chops “for tips.”

2. High School Drama Department Barbie (AKA “Spooky Girl”): Remember the girl who always wore a boa, even during swim class? The one who when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up replied, “Nora, from ‘A Doll’s House’.” The one who liked to sit alone in the front of the bus and gyrate rhythmically to the music of the Cocteau Twins, even though she wasn’t wearing any headphones and the driver’s radio was tuned to the sports station? Well now you, too, can recapture the look of that one classmate who spent her lunch hours developing provocative back stories for each one of her french fries. Brash yet bereft of social skills, High School Drama Department Barbie likes to imagine the whole world is her audience, not realizing that most people don’t even like attending the theater for free. So when it comes to your costume the operative word is “commanding.” Best to dress up in an assortment clashing patterns and color combinations that would shock a Missoni boutique owner. Don’t simply walk but stride into the party as if the foyer to Fiddler’s Green Pub was a catwalk and the drunks by the “Golden Tee” video game machine were paparazzi from Vogue Italia. And, most important of all, when talking to guests don’t look so much at them as through them, as you imagine what they must be imagining you’re currently thinking. Then, to cap it off, come prepared with a long, feathery pink boa, if only so you have something to dramatically toss around your neck when you suddenly bolt upright and exclaim, “Renaldo awaits!”

3. Lucky Charms’ Less Fortunate Cereal Mascot Brother, “Screwed”: With two girlfriends knocked-up, a job that fails to provide medical coverage not to mention a fixed office address and a rash that actually seems to spread upon contact with Bactine, Screwed would like to think he’s seen better days but, frankly, this constitutes an upswing. As the spokescharacter for the only children’s cereal to be recalled in Mexico and to sport the tagline “I swear, I’m good for the money,” Screwed requires nothing more for a Halloween costume then an open can of Natural Light and an expression that would make a hyena cry. Possessing neither his brother’s unique sartorial flair nor undying passion for emerald green, Screwed instead prefers white tank tops, unbuttoned flannel shirts and—should the mood strike—pants. So if you’re looking for an inexpensive outfit this season—and have recently lost your job, your significant other or maybe just a toe in a bet—surely Screwed is the costume for you.

4. President William Henry Harrison: Granted, he may lack the familiarity of Washington, the gravitas of Jefferson or even the serene idiocy of Reagan, but what do you expect from a man who died less than a month in office, not from a sniper bullet but from “the sniffles”? But his loss is now your gain! Since almost no one can be expected to have a clear recollection of what a President who barely had time to unpack—much less have an official portrait painted—looked like, you’re free to interpret his image any way you damn well please! While prudent costume designers would strongly suggest you avoid Ben Sherman high-tops and a Puma track jacket, who’s to say the ninth leader of the free world didn’t like his morning jog? And who’s to say what kind of sunglasses he wore, Oakley or Tag Heuer? And can anyone here present documented proof that President Harrison didn’t just like to “chill” in an old pair of Diesel jeans and a CBGB shirt from Urban Outfitters, cell phone at the ready? Well, probably no one at the party you’re attending, so be creative! The only limit is your imagination and your guests’ collective knowledge of 1840’s American society.

Happy Halloween from The Forths!