Archive for the ‘Satire’ Category


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Well, it has been a while, a long while since I posted anything. But, as they say, posting is like learning to ride a bike, you always land on your face. No, that wasn’t it. Maybe it’s like driving off a cliff on a bike with a rocket engine on it.  Anyhow, in the last few months I’ve been busy launching a new portfolio site, which you can find on Tumblr, The Art and Illustration of Scott Brothers. It’s all kinds of swanky, and has all my latest personal illustrations as well as work from my professional career in games. Who knew you could have a professional career in games? And I thought Pitfall was just some really cool game you could play on the Atari 5200. Stop by and look around, won’t you?

I’ve also joined multitude of amazingly talented artists over at Planet Pulp. If you’re not familiar with this particular blog, they host a new online gallery show every month revolving around an icon of popular culture. This month’s show is dedicated to non other than the Man of Steel himself, Dick Cavet! No actually, that’s Superman, the working man’s Dick Cavet. Deciding what to do was fairly easy, even though I realized I haven’t drawn Superman since I was a wee lad (yes, I just befeifly became an Irish street urchin from James Joyce’s The Dubliners). I love the various Superman spin-off series from the 50s and 60s, like Jimmy Olson and Lois Lane. The covers were always the most amazing part of the comic book, alluding to some ridiculous scenario inside that never really was as good as the cover. Below is my take on those spin-offs, with the little known Superman’s Beatnik Neighbor Daddy-O. I think it only ran for a few issues.


And in even cooler news, I’ll be apart of Planet Pulp’s gallery show called RED. It will be at the famed Hero Complex Gallery in LA opening July 5th. If you’re in La La Land during this time, drop by and take a look, there will be some amazing pieces on display. I’ll have more info on this as the show gets underway in a couple of weeks.

And finally here is a comic ad I did for the mobile game I was art lead on, Samurai vs. Zombies: Defense 2.


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I joined the French Foreign Legion to avoid talking to my boss. Our yearly evaluations were fast approaching and I was anxious about my possible future with MicroBio Nicotine and Ice Cream Flavoring, Inc. While I am usually a reliable and productive employee, I’m not sure my boss appreciated the mannequin-cum-soap-box-derby races through the halls of the main offices which I single-handedly devised as a way to ‘boost morale’, or my well-intentioned, however ill-timed observation/comment/joke regarding the whereabouts of his wife at the recent company picnic and ‘did she divorce him for another man’ (which I later found out was partially true; she had run off with a man 20 years her junior to become part of a magic act in a traveling circus that sells Tupperware on the side). I have no stomach for confrontation and try to avoid it whenever I am able to, so, instead of enduring the inevitable bad review, or possibly the humiliation of being fired and having to walk through the halls with the proverbial box of personal belongings tucked awkwardly under my arm for all to see, I didn’t come in to work that day and decided instead to sign up for the French Foreign Legion at the local branch office. The forms that I had to fill out were thankfully brief, and smelled faintly of lavender and fresh bread. The entire process of entering the Foreign Legion was amazingly streamlined, nothing like my last trip to the DMV which lasted several days after becoming lost while in line (I was found several days later by a couple of brave DMV rescue workers near the computer road test stations, slightly dazed, having survived on a packet of half-eaten Tums I had in my pocket). Within one week the elite of the French army had trained me to become a part of one of the and best dressed fighting forces in the world. I learned how to fill a puff pastry at 100 yards, disarm a dancing bear and grow a mustache that would curl nicely at the ends when properly waxed. I was ready for adventure!

My first assignment however, was not the sort of gallant undertaking I had envisioned, least of all did it resemble one of the scenarios that had been pictured in the Legion’s colorful brochure (dropped into combat against a horde of plainly dressed Lithuanian accountants or pitted against a cult in Ohio that worships the tangerine, for example). My particular unit was sent to the south of France to guard a 100×75 ft. piece of Brie that was to be hauled across the countryside by dozens of groundhogs ropes cinched tightly around their furry torsos. That summer the government of France was staging a particularly obscure episode from the French Revolution which mostly involved barnyard animals and maître d’s of certain social breeding and temperament. The reenactment, Le Voyage De Fromage, is mounted every ten years, or whenever a piece of Brie of this magnitude is available for transporting. Due to the vulnerability of this moveable production at the hands of various bands of robbers, who often make off with segments of the Brie, the Foreign Legion has been assigned to protect the colossal cheese from the predictable assault for the last five decadal reenactments. Our unit walked alongside the groundhogs in the profuse, stifling heat for days, sometimes moving only a few feet in a span of several hours. We frequently stopped to rest, exhausted from pure boredom, sipping brandy or whiskey from ornate flasks that we had secretly stowed in our boots. The groundhogs dragged the immense cheese over the lush topography of southern France, the increasingly flaccid and fetid Brie slowly making its way up the side of steep hills, the spectacle of which in previous reenactments had become the focus of documentaries and films ( see: Achtung!: Brie!, directed by outstanding German eccentric, Werner Hertzog).

Then, a few weeks into the pilgrimage, a gaggle of French chambermaids fell upon our haggard unit. They gleefully surrounded us, purring like kittens at the sight of a large bowl of milk. They tickled us with well placed feather dusters, leaning us back, gently prying open our mouths with perfumed fingertips and tucked mints under our tongues ever so carefully while the rest moved around to the back of the cheese, out of sight, absconding with chunks of the Brie which is known for its curative powers, in addition to being delightful when spread over a cracker. The chambermaids giggled like French chambermaids are known to do, then disappeared into the countryside.

Finally, a few days later, we arrived at the end of the march, exhausted, our uniforms badly in need of ironing (this is one of the points stressed in the Legion Code of Conduct: all uniforms must be expertly pressed, at all times; you never know who you might see in battle) and the rear of the cheese, the rind, almost entirely gone. We were reprimanded by our commander and sent to bed without dessert.

* * *

After this first tour of duty was completed I was then assigned to the latest installment of The Conquest of Algeria (staged sporadically). Finally, I could prove that I was made for the scathing ground of battle, not the Berber carpeted halls of my languid office existence!

This year, The Conquest of Algeria, for reasons of budget, was staged in Trenton, New Jersey in the parking lot of the Ramada Inn near the airport. The Algerians were played by the Trenton Mime Theater Group, Local 204, a jovial bunch even for mimes. Our unit mostly milled about in the hotel lobby or bar, occasionally grappling with the Algerians/mimes when we ran into one another, the abridged face-off always ending with the mimes creating an invisible box to hide in. The mimes proved to be unworthy adversaries and I found myself loitering around the hotel’s breakfast buffet in the mornings, just to occupy a few stray hours. I drank copious amounts of terrible coffee and gorged myself on uniformly voluptuous and over-frosted Danishes, tasteless and rubbery from their lengthy residence beneath a heating lamp. I watched local TV weather reports in my hotel room, switching between stations frequently to see how they differed from one another. One weather person had a hair piece while the other was simply bald. I noted the difference.

* * *

On the last day of the Conquest, I was approached by one Reginald Wittenbaum the Third, rabid entrepreneur and manufacturer of innovative gadgetry including the steam-powered vacuum cleaner and nose hair removal system. He was in town attending the local Scientific Inquiry and Gadget trade show sponsored by Intel to present his latest invention, a small contraption that harvested anti-matter and transmuted it into a delicious marmalade suitable for bottling. He was looking for someone to run the device, to test its limitations, a dangerous endeavor according to Wittenbaum. I must have appeared somewhat reliable in my uniform, even though it sported a few errant coffee stains and the occasional Danish crumb dangling precariously from a lapel like a climber hanging from a cliff face. I was in doubt as to my future with the Legion; the previous assignments had proved to be tiresome and I subsequently developed a slight case of French Legionnaires’ disease, characterized by sudden bursts of ennui and cravings for monogrammed handkerchiefs. The offer was intriguing. Wittenbaum was surely mad; however he did have nice trousers. A person with trousers that nice can’t be all that bad I reasoned, and I readily agreed to abandon the Legion and join him in the pursuit of scientific enlightenment.

We were about to board his unicycle-powered flying machine, when I thought of my goldfish, which I had purchased some months back in a spontaneous burst of responsibility. I had never owned a dog because I knew that I would forget to feed and walk it. I never acquired roommates, because, at some point, I would forget to pay the rent or my half of the cable bill or clean up discarded toenail clippings in the living room. This was also why I was never able to commit to anything beyond dating; marriage was a giant warship of responsibility that I was unwilling to board, much less co-pilot. Fish, however, seemed fairly straightforward; they could be my own small attempt at commitment.

Of course, it had been almost two months since I had abandoned my job and joined the French Foreign Legion. I wasn’t overly familiar with goldfish, but I was reasonably positive that they wouldn’t last that long without food.

As Wittenbaum and I took off from the parking lot of the Ramada Inn, I knew that I wasn’t quite ready to settle down, to fully embrace the routine of leading an average life. I just wasn’t that sort of fellow. It was adventure that I was seeking!

Besides, I could always buy more goldfish.

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All month-long illustrator Belle Dee has been hosting a tribute to The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. The Lost Skeleton is a hilarious homage to B-movies and is directed by Larry Blamire. What sets it apart from the standard-fare genre spoof which has spawned some truly terrible (and not very funny) films in the last decade or so, is Blamire’s deep affection and admiration of the movies he’s lampooning. He gets every detail right, and none of it feels forced or disingenuous. There’s a reason films like The Beast of Yucca Flats (1961) and Astro-Zombies (1968) endure, and Blamire understands that reverence.

My contribution to the tribute is a poster that pays homage to the B-movie poster itself, especially those promotional campaigns that belonged to the master of brilliant self-promotion, director William Castle.


If you’ve never seen The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, check out the trailer:

And be sure to check out the rest of Belle’s blog, Doo Wacka Doodles. Her Rondo-Award winning illustrations are a loving tribute to old horror movies and pulp magazines.

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What could be better than an entire comic book illustrated by Jack Davis? A gold bathtub full of 100 dollar bills? Armenian spider monkeys trained in the deadly art of Yoga? The entire run of The Mike Douglas Show played on a loop while you are rubbed down with scented oils by Russian supermodels who may or may not posses the ability to travel back in time? Nothing, of course.

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1 out of 4 Americans believe something bad will happen to them if they sneeze.

4 out of 5 doctors recommend eating a diet low in carbs, high in bran and Styrofoam, extremely low in grass-roots organizing and middle of the range in tofu that resembles the President of the United States.

Percentage of Americans who favor the white candies in a box of Good ‘N Plenty over the pinks: 60%. Percentage who favor the pink over the whites: 30%. Percentage that have combined the pink and whites into one super candy in their basement laboratories: 10%.

According to 8 out of 10 marriage counselors, the best way to avoid loneliness is to marry someone who shares your fear of loneliness. Divorce is statically unavoidable in these situations, about 1.6 trillion to one, but at least you can say that you were married once.

Percentage of Americans who can engage in a meaningful conversation regarding the fact that the space/time continuum is currently caught in an endless loop: 7%. Percentage of Americans who can engage in a meaningful conversation regarding the fact that the space/time continuum is currently caught in an endless loop: 7%.

Rank of injuries―fork plunged into hand, hot coffee thrown in face, nagging feeling that you’ve “made a mistake” which over several years develops into a crippling feeling of regret―among those sustained after ending a long relationship with the following sentences: “I love you, I’m just not in love with you.”, “I guess I was never really in love with you after all, it was just bad indigestion.” and “I’ve been transferred to Siberia.” while sitting in a booth at a crowded Bob’s Big Boy: 1, 2, 3.

Number of scientists surveyed at the annual Science Extravaganza in Cannes, France who agree that dinosaurs did not die out 65 million years ago, but actually retired, migrated from the Earth in extra-large Winnebagos and are now living in spacious assisted living communities on Mars: 100 out of 100.

Half of all movie stars who make over five million dollars per picture report that they are not satisfied with their lives and believe that Llamas are happier, more productive individuals; except, of course, Julia Roberts, who recently announced in a press conference that she is in fact a Llama pretending to be a movie star.

At one time 85% of physicians in this country concurred that swimming on a full stomach was dangerous. This conclusion was then revised; 90% of physicians advising people to swim on a full stomach. More recently however, 79% of physicians strongly recommend that you eat a full meal, begin swimming and then induce vomiting while swimming, especially if you are in a pool belonging to a neighbor that you despise.

Nearly 57 % of all urban legends are completely untrue. The rest have some basis in fact. And, by the way, that phone call you received a couple of minutes ago advising you to “check on the children”, it was coming from inside your house! Get out, get out of there NOW!

Number of times that Dick Clark’s clone has hosted “Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Years Eve” since Dick Clark’s death: 12

Approximately 1/2 of all Americans over the age of thirty still believe in the boogeyman, while 3/4 of American children under the age of 12 no longer believe that the Dollar can compete against the Yen.

9 out of 10 survival experts polled suggest that if you’re on a camping trip in the Pacific Northwest and are approached by Bigfoot, that you not run, or act erratically. Rather, you should remain calm and consume a standard automotive spark plug. If none are available, redirect your stated goals in life to include more interaction with those you loathe/pity/desire. Play hopscotch. Bathe in pickled herring. The latter options will also work in the event that you are approached by the Loch Ness Monster or any reality TV star.

96% of people surveyed agree that you should never look a gift horse in the mouth because they’re liable to bite your face off.

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Harvey Kurtzman knew funny. As a cartoonist he keenly deployed slapstick, parody and satire in ways that were not only hilarious, but groundbreaking as well. In addition, he was a gifted ringleader, someone who could harness the best talent from the grindhouse that was the comics industry at the time. With fellow artists, Will Elder, Jack Davis, Al Jaffe, Wally Wood and Arnold Roth. Kurtzman created some of the most innovative humor magazines of the last century: Mad, Humbug, Trump and Help! These artists were his bullpen, the cartoonists he went to again and again for various assignments over many years. Although, all of the latter magazines failed (except, of course, Mad) they were bold experiments indeed, their influence still felt today. Would there be a National Lampoon without Help!? Probably not.

Kurtzman also help “discover” countless other talented individuals, many of whom worked with him on his numerous publications over the years; Robert Crumb, Terry Gilliam and Gloria Steinem to name a few. Before they made a name for themselves they all worked under the tutelage of Kurtzman’s expert editorship. And there were still others, comedians and the like, who starred in his series of Fumentti stories for Help!; Woody Allen, John Cleese, Jackie Gleason and Henny Youngman.

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After their successful pairing in the hilarious and light-hearted Lucio Fulci film, Zombi 2: Electric Boogaloo, Zombie and Shark decided to have a go with their own television variety show. This was not the first time a famous duo attempted to solidify themselves among the pantheon of memorable variety shows; Frank Sinatra and Fidel Castro, Albert Einstein and Phyllis Diller, The Wolfman and Frankenstein are just a few of the pairings that failed stupendously. But Zombie and Shark were confidant. America was ready for a primetime variety show hosted by the undead and a deadly shark. 

They pitched the show to CBS and the next fall, The Zombie and Shark Musical Variety Hour Which Sometimes, Very Rarely Mind You, Has a Cooking Segment at the End of the Program, Show premiered to the highest ratings in the history of CBS,  a record which was previously held by the televised launch of the first monkey in space. The nation was collectively smitten with the charismatic duo. Frequent guests included Harvey Korman, Carol Bernett and the man who invented processed cheese spread, Charles Gouda.

Zombie and Shark were the toast of Hollywood until The Smothers Brothers burst upon the scene with a retooled version of their old variety show. Initially called Mr. Bagorium’s Fantastique Ice Cream-A-Torium before it was changed the title everyone remembers, Now We’re Gonna Sing At You, the show was an instant hit for the Smoothers Brothers. Zombie and Shark were hastily removed from the spotlight.

Today, Zombie and Shark spend their sunset years in a retirement village in Florida, recreating their memorable match-up from Zombi 2 in the community pool every day at 3:00 with an evening show at 5:30. The audience, consisting entirely of retirees from surrounding communities, couldn’t be more pleased with the two minor celebrities.

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You Have Been Selected

Congratulations (place Government Work Program ID number here)! You have been selected in an extremely important and highly rewarding mission that will lift the spirits of this country while at the same time forwarding our government’s encroachment into outer space. If you are reading/inhaling this Informational Pamphlet /Nasal Insertion Pill (IPNIP) you are already on your way to Mars, strapped in your Gravitational Fun Chair and no doubt preparing for the task which awaits you. As you read/inhale this pamphlet, please, feel free to consume one (1) delicious Mutton Shake, compliments of the folks at Goodtime™ Mutton Shakes.

As you are well aware, the Earth and the Moon are no longer able to sustain the rate of growth in both population and industry that we have promoted over the last century. Since becoming the focus of a furious media blitzkrieg back in 2004, the Red Planet of Mars has been viewed as the next great suburban frontier, and, subsequently, the government has diverted billions of dollars from many useless public service programs to fund FLUMP’s (formerly NASA) excursion into the cosmos. To this end the American government, along with other coalition forces including the Mega Country™ Russia-Europe, recently incorporated America Part 2 (formerly Canada) and Cuba, have sent terraforming teams to Mars in order to establish an initial operational foothold. It is now the proud task of selected civilian/military government contractors and thousands of manual labor workers to build a massive infrastructure which will include a multitude of Terrestrial Housing Developments, Emotion Dumping Receptacles and McDonalds. You may be wondering, “What about robots? Why can’t they do this job? What’s wrong with them?” Firstly, that’s too many questions and secondly the notion that robots would be able to fulfill these posts by this time is the stuff of science fiction and popular fancy. Robots are designed for civil service employment, low-level management positions, and as dealers in casinos, not manual labor. Put that idea out of your mind. By the way, we can read your thoughts, so we’ll know if you really put that idea out of your mind.

Who then will be building this mammoth infrastructure on Mars if not robots?

That is where you, (place Government Work Program ID number here) come in. Thankfully the repeal of child labor laws in 2012, AKA Ross Perot’s Second Coming, means that no child will be left behind in his/her usefulness to our program. You can now join our government in charting the next great chapter in this nation’s history: American Colonial Usurpation, Phase 3 AKA I Can’t Believe It’s Not Earth. You will work along side prisoners, unskilled immigrants, animal/food hybrids, reality show contestants and other such individuals without regular employment/self-worth, in creating hospitable living conditions on Mars. Be advised, (place Government Work Program ID number here) this will be a difficult undertaking. You must overcome your size, your need for constant attention and nurturing and any residual attachment to your parents that you might have. You must understand your weaknesses and systematically neutralize them. Just think: human children can fit into spaces fully grown adult humans cannot; deep ground holes, sewer lines, duct work, air vents; use this to your advantage! Do not be discouraged by the fact that you have tiny limbs, or that your immune system has not completely developed, or that the recently discovered Martian Flesh-Eating Virus, which wiped out the first wave of development teams, has mutated into at least five other strains that we know about. Be emboldened by the knowledge that your diligence and hard work will pave the way for your fellow citizens to enjoy a more spacious, Mass Produced Entertainment-filled life on Mars.

Upon your arrival at the Martian Labor Corps base of operations, you will receive the following:

1.) Two (2) Meta-Terrain Oxygen Masks, with internal time release Strawberry Bubblegum Air Freshening Devices®, for work and leisure.

2.) Your choice of one (1) of the following Animated Nasal Insertion Videos:

a.) “Barney and the Martian Flesh-Eating Virus”, b.) “Popeye vs. the Old-Timey Martian Flesh-Eating Virus”, c.) “You’re Not My Martian Flesh-Eating Virus”, d.) “The Effects of the Martian Flesh-Eating Virus on the Human Anatomy and You”.

3.) One (1) Location Identifying Micro Pin, AKA/FYI “Monkey On Your Back”, that will be embedded at the top of your brain stem.

4.) One (1) Digital Music Nasal Insertion Disk of John Philip Souza’s greatest hits.

Any questions you might have after the disintegration of this Informational Pamphlet/ Nasal Insertion Pill, please direct to your nearest Ground-Level Field Supervisor. If you cannot locate one, one will find you. And don’t pick your nose. It’s disgusting. Remember, we can read your thoughts. We heard that. No, you’re a jerkhead-fart-brain.

In closing, if you are ever unsure of your own value in this vital operation, simply recall the words of expert marksman/child actor, Gary Coleman Clone 3, officially endorsed spokesperson for the Martian Labor Corps, “Whatcha talkin’ ’bout (place Government Work Program ID number here)?”

Good luck, and on behalf of President Arnold Schwarzenegger Clone 2, thank you.

Stewart Redgrave, Government Work Program ID Number: 98911132-2137888-12 Operations Manager, Martian Labor Corps

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