CSotD: Beware the Ides of July
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Might as well laugh, because between now and the midterms, we’re going to be hearing more about the communists under all our beds.
Laughter is the best medicine, I read in Reader’s Digest, and I think it’s also a good purgative. The problem is that Ostow’s cartoon relies on your already knowing how foolish the shouts of “Communism!” are, which makes it comforting but not persuasive.
People who believe Mamdani is a communist, and who don’t know The Communist Manifesto from Silas Warner, would just shrug and move on, assuming they saw the cartoon in the first place.
I hate those comedy bits where they interview stupid people on the street, because I’ve (reluctantly) done enough man-on-the-street stories to know that they aren’t representative of very much and you can always cherry-pick the ones that make whatever point you went out there to make.
On the other hand, I know there really are stupid people out there, and we’ve seen adequate proof that they vote. Humor might undercut their beliefs, but even if it just provides motivation for the rest of us to keep going, it matters.
Calls for universal health care are something conservatives call communist, but I think it’s hard to rally people to rise up over something they encounter one-by-one and on particular occasions, rather than regularly, every few days, like the price of gasoline.
However, I’ve sat in department head meetings where the business manager explained the latest hike from our insurance company, and how the only way we could afford health coverage for employees was to whittle it down until it was worthless.
The American system of health coverage is definitely not communism or even socialism, except for the Affordable Care Act, which they assure me is both.
The rest of it was set up and is being protected by people who have far more forks than anybody really needs.
Joe Martin riffs on the names the government gives its military operations. When I was freelancing back at the dawn of time, I had cards made up with a little dog riding on a circus horse and the words “Dog and Pony” to make it look like I was a real business and not just some schlub looking for a quick gig. I had the title “communications consultant” under my name, only I found out that a “communications consultant” is someone who installs telephones.
“Epic Fury” is the name for our war on Iran, but it sounds like the story of a Homeric horse and the boy who loved him.
I don’t know when companies began a policy of “Inflated Job Title in Lieu of Raise,” but, like Lizzie, I don’t care what you’re called as long as you can help. On the other hand, words do have meanings, and while “associate” doesn’t really convey anything about the job, if you’re going to call the help “partners,” you ought to have a profit-sharing plan in place.
And if I’m a customer, I’ll pay for stuff. If you call me a “guest,” I ought to get it for free.
I keep getting emails from Substacks I never heard of, and I think I’ve been pretty careful, when I sign up for one I do want, of ticking off the box to keep me from getting signed up for ones I don’t. When Substack first emerged, I went to see what it was all about and somehow inadvertently volunteered to host one. Lately, I’ve been getting notices that people have joined my Substack and I hope they aren’t too disappointed that there’s nothing there.
Kind of gives me an image of people sitting hopefully on a bus that’s up on blocks.
We don’t have buskers out here in the sticks, but we have plenty of panhandlers. A sign of the economy.
I don’t think anyone is keeping track, but I suspect their take is going down because so many people don’t carry cash anymore and there aren’t a lot of panhandlers who carry card-swipers. And grandmas like the one in this RWO who do have cash in their purses are generally scared to death of strangers on the street.
I always put a few bucks in my pocket when I travel, just in case, and I’ve been known to reward a panhandler with a good rap, just as I’d tip a busker with a good song. Maybe what they’re telling me is a load of bull, but I don’t think the busker on the corner actually saw the Edmund Fitzgerald go down, either.
Sorensen takes a break from serious political commentary to talk about Happy Stench, the ghastly smells embedded in an increasing number of products or sold separately so you can make your whole house stink like artificial flowers.
There was a time when overwhelming perfume was associated with little old ladies whose olfactory senses had diminished with age, but, as Sorensen says, it’s now everybody everything everywhere. Some people are allergic to artificial scents, but you don’t have to be oversensitive to find them repulsive.
Women are more sensitive to smell than men, which is why a guy can get points simply for showering between coming home from work and coming to bed. Maybe the recent growth in incels can be traced to Axe Body Spray, because being stinky not only costs you points but robs you of opportunities to earn them.
Meanwhile, you can buy stuff to put in your laundry to make it smell like linen, but you can also buy neutral detergents and your linen will come out smelling like linen, and, as a bonus, your cotton will smell like cotton.
I would have just thrown him out the overton window.
Edison Lee has invented something that spirited him and his friends back in time, and it’s been fun so far. It started here and I hope it’s the beginning of a new direction for the strip, because it has all sorts of possibilities.
After all, I’m reading Killing Baby Hitler and Audrey Niffenegger is publishing a sequel to the Time Traveler’s Wife.
Time travel is becoming a thing.
Mike Peterson has posted his "Comic Strip of the Day" column every day since 2010. His opinions are his own, but we welcome comments either agreeing or in opposition.
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