Bizarro | Naked Cartoonist

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Kong Monarchy

I’m Dan Piraro, the creator of the Bizarro newspaper comic. Each week, I post my Sunday Bizarro comic, then a short essay, then the past week’s Monday-Saturday Bizarro comics written and drawn by my partner, Wayno whose weekly blog post I recommend highly.

Here’s the ANSWER KEY to this week’s Secret Symbols in the Sunday comic, above.—————————————————————————

Welcome, Jazz Pickles. Thanks for pointing your see-balls at my page today. In this week’s epistle, I will discuss some of the bold fashion choices I have made over the years which now induce in me shame and/or nausea.

I like to think that everyone looks back at old photos of themselves and cringe at their fashion and hairstyle choices but that’s an exaggeration. Some people are simply not bold enough in their sartorial choices to regret them later. A guy who wears Dockers and Polo shirts can get away with that for decades. 

But those of us who approach our hairstyle and wardrobe more liberally are often left wondering what temporary psychosis caused us to leave the house looking like x. I find that publicly having a laugh at myself will often exorcise the embarrassment.

We begin at the beginning.

When it comes to fashion, I learned to swing for the fences at an early age. According to my mother’s handwriting, I was two years old. On my left is my identical twin sister, Karen. She was (and still is) 18 months older than I. 

With my 7th- and 8th-grade yearbook shots we skip ahead to middle school in the early 1970s. This is what happens when a kid with naturally curly hair tries to look like a Beatle.

By the time I was a sophmore in high school, I’d given up trying to domesticate the beast and allowed the full afro to blossom. I often accessorized this arboreal style with what was called an “afro fork,” which was a big, black, plastic comb with a fist protruding from the handle. It was meant to represent “black power.” As you can probably tell from this photo, I did not possess a great deal of this power despite my coif and my pimpin’ platform shoes. I’d also draw your attention to the collar on my shirt which could cause a person to lift off the ground on a windy day.

Now we’re getting somewhere. This is my dad and me when I was a high school junior and that’s an insanely itchy, skin-tight, metallic-thread T-shirt I’m wearing. I wore it quite a lot and became convinced it was designed by self-flagellating medieval monks. I’d like to be able to say this photo was taken when I was on my way to a Rocky Horror Picture Show midnight movie but, no, this was just an average Wednesday afternoon and I was at the age where I was too cool to dress comfortably.

By my senior year, I had abandoned the afro and was wearing my hair down and curly like Roger Daltry, lead singer of my favorite band at the time, The Who. I am also sporting a turtleneck sweater and a vinyl leisure jacket. In complete contrast to my current hairdo, this one worked wonders on the ladies, if you know what I mean. (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)


Jumping ahead a decade, this is an early publicity shot of mine for Bizarro. I don’t recall the concept (if there was any), I was just trying my best to be bizarre, I guess. That’s my Italian Greyhound, Bruno, and he was not a fan of modeling but stuck it out like a real trooper. I was about 30 years old here and I’ve always thought I look like a drug addict trying to trade a dog for heroin.

My next publicity shot a few years later was no less disturbing. Pub shots are what your syndication company sends to client newspapers to use with articles announcing your addition to their comics section or with interviews. I was interviewed plenty of times but nobody ever used my pub shots. Sissies.

Here’s the “Awww” snapshot of the bunch. It’s from a book signing I did in Tulsa back in the early 90s and this lovely lady was a big fan of my cartoons. I can’t remember her name now but I don’t think she’s any longer in a position to be offended by that. She and I were email buddies for a good while after this.


This is another Bizarro publicity photo of mine. I am posing as Frida Kahlo, of course, and I still use this photo online for various avatars and stuff. None of this is Photoshopped: I painted the background on a board and attached it to a box with a frame on the front of it, into which I stuck my head for the photo. The banner across my chest is a painted piece of foam core board. This came from a Halloween costume I built the year before, which is the next shot, below.


The Frida Kahlo costume in its entirety except for the sandals (not shown).  As I recall, the costume party was a lot more fun than one might assume based on my facial expression.


Years later, the long hair was gone but I had a couple of vintage BMW motorcycles (which I still miss!) and I was working on my second Dalí-inspired mustache. I believe this may be the first photo Olive Oyl took of me when we started dating ten years ago and we had just returned from picking it up from the previous owner. In retrospect, I question her judgment for getting on the back of this guy’s bike but I’m glad she did.


Once my second Dalí mustache took off, I thought I was hot shit until I ran into this guy on the far left at a charity event in Los Angeles. He said he was that year’s mustache champion in the “Musketeer” category. I thought he might be bullshitting me but I looked up the National Beard and Moustache Championship for that year and sure enough, there he was! Super nice guy but I can’t recall his name. The dude in the middle is David Silverman, the original and primary director of The Simpsons. We used to hang out from time to time when I lived in the U.S.


The nice thing about a Dalí mustache is that it goes nicely with almost any accessory. Here, I’m rocking it with a hot pink wig and striped sport coat at one of the annual National Cartoonists Society conferences.


This shot is from a little dinner party Olive Oyl threw for my 30th anniversary of Bizarro in 2015. I had settled into a more cohesive look by this time but soon after, I wandered off into the weeds again. Somehow, I always do.


That brings us to just four years ago at Olive Oyl’s and my wedding. This is a lovely picture of our happy selves but that beard is godawful! My outfit is a bit eccentric, yes, but it’s the beard that makes me want to change my identity and start over in a new town.

I started with a short beard (as biology dictates) and that was fine, but like a drifting part in one’s hair that grows into a bad combover, it progressed so gradually that I just got used to it and never realized it was taking over my face. I love long beards, but mine is too curly (read: bushy) and starts too low on my chin to look good at this length. It looks like an afro chinstrap or a moss-covered sloth living on my neck, and I wish our wedding pictures weren’t rife with it. And here’s the happy couple with the groom’s pet.

Again, I don’t mean to criticize my wife, but what was she thinking marrying that guy?


My final shot is of Wayno and myself at the last National Cartoonists Society annual thingy. This was a few years ago but fairly accurately represents what we look like now. My beard is grayer and shorter than that these days and I have lost that hat (which was my favorite!), but I still wear that vintage cowboy shirt. I know I dress like a clown sometimes but I’m an artist—people expect a little lunacy.

Now let’s find out what lunacy Wayno perpetrated on the comic-reading world in the week’s batch of Bizarro comics…

Human-sized rats are even more disturbing in clothing than they would be naked.

She may be pissed that you stole a crucial part of her trademark look.

If you see this cartoon on any other website, including Wayno’s blog post this week, you’ll see 9 as the Secret Symbol number. A reader pointed out the error so I changed this version to 10. It’s a tricky one and it even fooled its creator. Thanks, reader!

In the next episode, he removes a telltale bunion and buries it under his floorboards.

Resenting one’s coworkers can happen in any profession.

He is still advertising Viagra, however. (not shown)

That’s the totality of this week’s cartoon nudist camp, Jazz Pickles. Thanks for hanging around until we ran out of sunscreen. If you like the groovy vibes we’re laying down and would like us to continue to offer them for free—without paywalls, clickbait, or pop-ups—please consider helping us keep it this way via one or more links below. We’ll run naked in the streets in thanks for your generosity.

Until next week, put some sunglasses on that Jesus painting if it’s creeping you out.

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