160 Years Later
I’m Dan Piraro, the creator of the Bizarro newspaper comic, and this is my weekly blog post. The large Sunday Bizarro comic above is mine, as are the comments below. The past week’s Monday-Saturday Bizarro comics that follow were written and drawn by my partner Wayno. For more fun, check out Wayno’s weekly blog post.
And here’s this week’s ANSWER KEY to my Sunday comic’s Secret Symbols.
Hey, there, Jazz Pickles. Thanks for wandering by.
If you’re not familiar with oceans, you may be asking, “What’s ‘red tide’?” It’s a toxic algal bloom that affects the nervous system of fish, mammals, and birds. It’s a naturally occurring toxic invasion that is bad for living things.
If you’ve been living under a rock, you might be asking, “What’s ‘Gone with the Wind’?” It’s a very famous movie about the American Civil War.
If you’re nursing a hangover, you might be asking, “What’s the cartoon above supposed to mean?” It’s a satirical drawing connecting one naturally occurring toxic invasion that is bad for living things—red tide—with another naturally occurring toxic invasion that is bad for living things: government based on racism, greed, and retribution. Both are red, and one includes hats.
Changing the subject to something much lighter…
Yesterday, my daughter, her husband, Olive Oyl, and I went on an astounding horseback ride through some canyons outside of town. Holy crap, it was amazing!
The ride began in rolling hills, a few hundred feet above a small river, snaking through a breathtaking canyon.
The first part of the ride to the canyon’s edge was fairly easy, with a couple of spots where we trotted, then galloped. I’ve only ridden a galloping horse two or three times, and there’s probably more to it than just hanging on for dear life, but that’s the limit of my current technique. Still, it’s a simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying experience, like riding a speeding motorcycle over a road made of bowling balls. Trotting is even more jarring, similar to what the ball in a can of spray paint must experience when you shake it.
When we reached the edge of the canyon, the real adventure began as our horses carefully found their way down steep, boulder-strewn trails that would challenge Bigfoot escaping from paparazzi. When I could take my eyes off the perilous path my horse was stumbling down, the view was exquisite. The half-hour trip to the riverbed was harrowing if you’re not a goat, and none of us were.
It was around an hour from the ranch to the riverbed, where the horses rested and drank from the river for a few minutes. I was afraid to ask if they’d lost any tourists to those cliffs, but it crossed my mind.
We remounted and galloped again, this time through the shallow water of the river, then sauntered down a path along the bank to a small, rural settlement for a rest stop that included a celebratory toast with a shot of tequila for having made it that far without having to call a medivac helicopter.
The prospect of hopping back onto our horses to climb those cliff walls to the mesa so far above seemed like something a person should probably be a little drunk to do.
Coming down had been alarming, but riding back up required yet another level of courage. As my horse lurched up the steep, rocky trail like a bucking bronco scaling the ruins of an Aztec pyramid, I wondered if I should dismount and crawl up on my hands and knees, and meet the rest of our group at the top.
Miraculously, none of us fell off, and we all arrived back at the ranch at sunset, bones and flesh intact. We were then treated to a delicious meal of rice, beans, and enchiladas, cooked by little old señoras over an open fire, in a rustic cocina from a bygone age.
Adrenaline overload aside, all of us were thrilled to our bones by the experience and would do it again in a heartbeat, as soon as our sore muscles recover.
In the nine years we’ve lived in Mexico, yesterday’s canyon ride was one of the most memorable highlights beyond doubt.
And now some memorable chuckles from Wayno’s week of Bizarro cartoons…
Unless you’re working on your neck muscles.
Literary inspiration can come from anywhere.
A metaphor for real pigs’ lives, too.
This is not much different from my first apartment.
Call those guys from Only Murders on the Sidewalk.
It’s pickleball the way it was meant to be played.
That’s where we’re going to leave it this week, Jazz Pickles. Thanks for dropping by. If you’re enjoying this free content, you can help us keep it that way via the links below.
The Naked Cartoonist…My every-other-week subscription creative writing and comics service.
Bizarro TIP JAR One-time or repeating. Your choice!
WAYNO’S TIP JAR One-time or repeating. Your choice!
My (free) graphic novel in progress, PEYOTE COWBOY
Watch my pitch video and become a supporter of Peyote Cowboy here.
Signed, numbered, limited-edition prints and original Bizarro panels
COMICS KINGDOM SHOP Now with Bizarro shirts, prints, & other crap!
