Tag slice of life

Flaws and Choices with Smoking in Comics

IS IT A NECESSARY FORM OF CENSORSHIP BY ELIMINATING SMOKING IN COMICS OR A MISSED OPPORTUNITY TO TEACH A LESSON?

“Hey Bub, want a cigar?” – Wolverine

First off, let me say I don’t condone smoking unless you are of legal age, but never has anyone walked up to me on the street and asked me that. Trust me, I’ve walked down a lot of awful streets. I bring this up because something is starting to bother me. Why can’t Wolverine have a cigar anymore? Yes I know Marvel issued a ban on smoking in comics, and Disney doesn’t allow smoking in it’s movies. But why can’t a character be flawed? Have we lost our own abilities to make a choice?

J. Jonah Jameson smoking a cigar never made me want to smoke a cigar. Watching Ben Grimm smoking a cigar never made me want to smoke a cigar. You get the picture. Now, I bet your saying, “Well smoking is bad, and our children shouldn’t see Super Heroes smoking cigarettes and cigars.” Well ok. That’s a great opinion. But when I read Spider-Man starting at 5 years of age, half of the characters in Marvel smoked. Hell, back then they sold candy gum cigarettes that blew sugar out of them to replicate smoke. 

I’m sure at some point I asked my parents what Ben Ulrich was doing. My Mom probably said “It’s a cigarette. Don’t ever do it, it’s bad for you.” Too bad we rarely listen to our parents. Now a days some kids barely have interaction with their parents. Let us be honest here. If kids are looking up to heroes, then should heroes be flawed? Just like people in real life? A person who smokes cigarettes is not a monster just for smoking. Real life heroes can be flawed. We have alcohol consumption, drug use, racism, physical violence, murder, and any other possible crime in almost everything we read. Comics teach what is right and what is wrong every day. So why is smoking the most horrible thing banned from some comics?

Instead of ignoring the issue, take it head on. Have other characters berate the heroes into quitting. Don’t just make it disappear. We, as kids and adults deal with these issues night and day for our whole lives. As a kid who read comics, and related to so many situations with characters growing up, smoking was the least of my worries. Let’s face it kids have it harder every year. Comics can teach some kids more values and decision making than anyone in real life. Smoking in comics can be used in other ways to make a point. So let Wolverine have a cigar with his beer. Let people make their own decisions. Ignoring issues, doesn’t solve the problem.

THIS HAS BEEN DRUNKEN SPIDEY.  UNTIL NEXT TIME, THROW ME A BEER.

Holidays: Memories and Wishes

I WISH I COULD GO BACK IN TIME TO THE HOLIDAYS, AN 80’S CHRISTMAS. I JUST WANT TO FEEL THAT EXCITEMENT OF COMING DOWN THE STAIRS INTO THE LIVING ROOM.

My eyes popping out of my sockets, seeing those lovely wrapped He-Man shaped presents I so loved sitting under the Christmas tree. How many were mine? How many were my brothers? My eyes would dart from one gift to the next looking for my name on one of the gift tags. For example, the gift tags would always read

To: Tiny Tim

From:

Yeah it was just blank. Always left blank. Apparently, if Santa didn’t want to sign his name to the packs of socks and underwear he left us, he felt guilty about signing the toys. He just didn’t want to be associated with any crap gifts on his milk drunken night. Breaking into people’s houses and eating food was where he drew the line on his criminal empire.  

My father always worked nights. He wouldn’t get home until about 9 or 10 in the morning.  Leaving my mother alone at 4am on a Christmas morning, with 3 young kids, trying to sneak out of their rooms across the most squeaky wooden hallways I have ever known. We were just trying to see if Santa came. About 2 steps out of the bedroom my mother would scream, “IF YOU DON’T GET BACK IN YOUR ROOMS RIGHT NOW, I’LL CALL SANTA AND TELL HIM TO TAKE YOUR TOYS BACK, AND I’M CANCELING CHRISTMAS!!!!”  

Around 6 a.m. my mom would let us come out of our rooms. We could go downstairs, but not touch any presents under the tree. Leaving us just staring at our names on each present. Just waiting for the front door to open and see my Dad walking through, added to the anxiety and excitement. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on those wonderful toys. Eventually Dad would get home, and Mom would pass out the presents.

This is an example of the 80’s. That’s me in the bottom left. My brother, sister, Mom and Dad are also featured. I have no idea who the kid is in the Raggedy Andy outfit.

It’s very disturbing right now that I might have a lost sibling right now, homeless wearing that ridiculous outfit. You know what? Let’s not go back to the 80’s, tis a silly place.

We didn’t always have a lot of money growing up. But there was always one solid thing I can remember, and that was Christmas.  Some how, no matter how many jobs my Mom, and Father worked, or how tight money was, we always had presents under the tree. It made the Saltines with peanut butter and jelly dinner nights all worth it.

The older I got, the more I realized that the holidays aren’t about Toys, Comics, Video Games, clothes, it’s about those mushy things some people have that they call feelings.  So sit back with your egg nog, beers, and glasses of wine and remember all those nostalgic moments of your youth.  Try not to kill your siblings or any other family members and remember how fortunate you are to be there at that moment.  If all else fails, just keep drinking egg nog. I know I will.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS! THIS HAS BEEN DRUNKEN SPIDEY. UNTIL NEXT TIME, THROW ME A BEER!

I’m an Essential Worker but I’ll get to that in a moment. It’s 10pm on a Tuesday. My neighbors text me that my sprinkler has been running for about 5 hours and my lawn looks like a puddled mess. Oops.

Yeah, I know. How awful of a problem to have. I left my fucking sprinkler on. I am guessing some of you are thinking, “At least you have a lawn.” Yep, I absolutely do. Well, eat shit. Having a lawn sucks, especially in a neighborhood that has some kind of lawn cutting competition.

Perhaps you can tell, I am not a fan of my lawn. I don’t care if its diagonal, horizontal, or vertical. I just cut in a damn circle until I get in the middle. Job is done, time for beer. Except yesterday, I hit a ground nest of fucking bees.

It’s so great to have a lawn that fights back. I took 3 hits to the head and 2 on the wrist. My hand swelled up like a head of a penis getting laid for the first time. This is a picture after I had ice on it for a hour.

Sorry, for the dirty dishes. If it bothers you come fucking wash them with a swollen hand you can’t close, because your dishwasher broke last year. Yes, last year. Just because I have a lawn, doesn’t mean I live in luxury.

Back to my original story.  Being an essential worker during Covid19,  Corona virus, bat digestion disease, (what ever it is this week.)  is a personal challenge.  I walk outside and all my neighbors are outside in one of the garages, (ooooooh, you have a garage too.)  pounding down beers.  Apparently I am the only one who is working in my neighborhood.

Alright,

Out of pure spite, or jealousy, (pick one) I snarled inside. I have a minimum 10 hour shift in the morning, and the cigar smoke and the sound of beer cans opening, will challenge any functioning alcoholic. Seeing me outside triggered some kind of celebration, as everyone rushed over to watch me turn off the sprinkler.

“You, want a beer?”

“You, want a beer?”

Of course I want a fucking beer. But, by sure willpower alone I refused. My inner responsibility kicked in to the human race. The world needs me! I shall not have a beer! I am an essential worker!

Night, after night for almost 6 months now I watch the night parties.  Absolutely, I am jealous. Day, after day I see people missing at work, for Corona virus testing. When will it be me? I long for a quarantine. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the threats upon man kind. Which, is why I get up and go to work. But damn, 2 weeks off minimum would feel great right now. I know, I am not alone in my thinking, essential workers are beyond exhausted. Party on you lucky fucks.

Unfortunately, with great power, comes great responsibility.

This has been Drunken Spidey. Until next time, throw me a beer (As long as I have off the next day.)!

P.S.  Thank you, all “Essential” workers. Especially the ones who aren’t getting hazard pay.  You are not alone.