Festive Violence
I’m Dan Piraro, the creator of the Bizarro newspaper comic, and this is my weekly blog post. The large Sunday comic above is mine, as are all of the comments below. Since January 2018, the Monday-Saturday Bizarro comics have been written and drawn by my award-winning comics 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.
Foldeundertøj, Jazz Pickles. That’s how they say “welcome” in Sundfornuftmark, a country I made up.
It’s a “Scandinavianish” country midway between Scandinavia and the tropics. I’ll be writing in detail about that country in a hilarious and meaningful future article for The Naked Cartoonist, and those of you who subscribe for the absurdly low price of $5 a month will experience hilarity and deep philosophical meaning for less than (what will soon be) the price of a gallon of gas.
But for now, let’s discuss piñatas.
Piñatas are those papier-mâché objects that blindfolded children are encouraged to beat with a stick until they give them candy.
“Papier-mâché is the hoity-toity way the French spell the name of the common children’s art class stuff piñatas are made of. Though the word looks high-falootin’, it means “chewed paper,” another thing that happens in children’s art classes.
Piñatas were traditionally in the form of a donkey or a satellite, but more recently, they are available in the shape of everything from superheroes to risque anatomical objects. (There is metaphorical logic in whacking a piñata shaped like the afore-linked anatomical object until it gives up its contents, but we’ll leave that topic for another writer.)
According to Wikipedia, the basic piñata tradition originated in China (as did the invention of both paper and papier-mâché—I’m not sure if they invented chewing). It then migrated to the Middle East, then Europe, and eventually was brought to the “New World” (same age as the “Old World,” so, not really new) by that heavily armed gaggle of pale-skinned ambassadors who kindly offered to decimate numerous, enormous, complex cultures and rebuild the country to their liking and call it Mexico.
But get this: An extremely similar tradition already existed among the Aztecs to celebrate Huitzilopochtli's birthday, the main god of the inhabitants of Tenochtitlan, the capital of the Aztec Empire, now called Mexico City. (Unlike Foldeundertøj, I didn’t make up that Aztec god’s name.)
To this day, children the world over, even those who cannot pronounce the name of that god, will doubtless have ample opportunities to beat something with a stick until it coughs up its contents.
In the cartoon above, I’ve used a piñata as a stand-in for the famed Trojan Horse, which was not only my high-school buddy Rick’s nickname (earned for his uncanny ability to secure numerous opportunities to use a condom), but also a thing from Greek mythology. Obviously, my comic is based on a combo of the Greek and Mexican versions.
I only mentioned all of that because I wonder if it has been wise to train children for thousands of years to beat things until they get candy. Some children inevitably grow up to be politicians, and some of those seem to still think this is a good way to get what they want.
I’m skeptical of the long-term wisdom of that approach.
On a slightly different topic, Olive Oyl and I are currently spending a few days in Tenochtitlan, and I thought you might enjoy this photo of the My Sweet Jesus restaurant sign. We haven’t eaten there, so we don’t know if it’s as good as the name implies, but I admire the effort.
Had the conquistadors not conquisted the Aztecs, it might have been named My Sweet Huitzilopochtli. A person could work up an appetite just
Let’s shift focus now to my comics partner Wayno’s enchucklicating Bizarro comics from the week.
I am proud to announce that he has once again been nominated by the National Cartoonists Society for their Best Newspaper Panels Silver Reuben Award. Congrats and good luck, amigo!
Maybe he could help around the house by putting away the pipes and eyeballs.
This cartoon brings back memories of how much I hated the third grade. I often fantasized that our ill-tempered teacher was a piñata, and I was first in line for a turn at the stick. Unlike certain eternally-adolescent public officials I could name, however, I grew out of that childish way of addressing my preferences.
I used to work out at a gym frequented by the local NBA team’s players. I felt like Minnie next to them, and did not enjoy the view when they passed me in the locker room on their way to and from the showers.
I wouldn’t care how many of us would fit into his car, I’d rather chase a weasel around a mulberry bush than listen to that damn clown’s song again.
Many are called, fugue are chosen.
If reincarnation is a thing, and I’ve got any choice in the matter, I’m going to ask that I be allowed to wait until humans have evolved beyond their insatiable greed and penchant for violence, as well as their use of fossil fuels.
Thus concludes this week’s journey of joviality, Jazz Pickles. Thanks for dropping by our weekly backyard carnival. If you enjoy our content and that we offer it for free, please consider helping us keep it that way via the helpful links below.
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