Proctologist

"Dr. Harry Hershey--the jogging proctologist."

Glenn

"Refusing to be pigeonholed as an effete intellectual, Glenn ventures out to the courts."

Glenn does not want to be pigeonholed as an effete intellectual, but he is one (you can tell from the mis-matching socks).

Gladys

"Gladys pauses in her window shopping to remember who she is."

I used to go to Atlantic City and stay at an inexpensive hotel. If you haven't gone I highly recommend it. I have never encountered a place which more vividly displays the absurdity of human existence. On one side the Vast Ocean; on the other, a boardwalk decked out with all manner of cheap tourist shops, and, of course, the humming, jingling casinos and their hypnotized patrons.

During mornings I'd sit outside and watch people drift up and down the boardwalk. I often saw women who looked a lot like this...standing in front of windows and staring on with expressions that seemed both absent and reflective.

Lanza the Futon Saleman

"Lanza the futon salesman prefers not to be bothered by anyone, at any time, under any conditions, whatsoever."

This man used to work In NYC on Broadway, South of Houston, "selling" futons. I put "selling" in scare quotes because he didn't really do anything to sell them. When my wife and I walked into his store, he just stood there staring at us like we were verminous interlopers. I asked him if he could help us find a futon and he just gestured at the futons and said, "There's the futons." We left his store and bought a futon at the futon store across the street.

Mile-o-Minute Mitchy

"Mile-o-minute Mitchy explains how he hopes his new poodle-do will save his act from going to the dogs!!!"

Here are the beginnings of Mitchy's stand-up routine...

Hey y'all! How'ya all doin' t'night? Good? Good. Laughin' a lot? Yeah? That's good. You know what they say? A laugh a day keeps the doctor away. That is to say (raise a knowing finger), as long as you are not in stitches! (Grab abdomen and moan)

Yeah, yeah. Whoah, it's good to be back here in New York. M'wife and I actually had to leave the Big Apple. Yeah... Oh, no, we didn't move to Orange County. But then again, how can you compare? After all, we are talking about apples and oranges!

Oh, yeah. Movin'. It's hard, boy. I've had to leave some good friends. I had one good friend. Great Guy. "Book" I called him. Why you ask? Good question. Well, because this guy knew EVERYTHING! Every time I'd ask him a question, he knew the answer. Unfortunately, one day tragedy struck. He had to get his appendix out. (Raise index fingers of each hand and smile). But there is a silver lining! He still has his table of contents!

Ooh yeah. Big changes. But heck, at least I got to bring my dog. Yeah, how many o'you out there have dogs? Man's best friend! Right? Yeah, I had a dog once. "Bones" I called him. Why you ask? Oh, what an inquisitive audience we got tonight! Well, I called him Bones because he loved bones. Jesus, one day he ate so many bones he started to resemble an umbrella (make umbrella shape with hands)... And it wasn't even raining!!! (Make rain with fingers)

Yeah, Yeah. So as I was saying, m'wife and I left the Big Apple and moved to the Berkshires. Oh! I know what you're thinking! How can a guy like me get his rocks off in da' sticks? Well, I'll tell you: I found a recreation. I hit the lanes. Oh yeah, you're thinking, bowlin's a fat, lazy man's sport, right?! (now reach with your right hand into your invisible holster, and take out your hand shaped as a gun pointing at the audience). Not so fast Sundance! (now blow on the end of the barrel, and replace pistol to holster). As a matter of fact, bowlin's a rough sport. Think about it: if you can't roll a strike, the best you can hope for is da-spare!!!

Oh, I get it. You don't like my material! Oh re-e-e-a-a-lly? Well lemme tell yah something, Einstein. It ain't easy coming up with a good joke. There are three components: an idea, a buildup and a punchline. Well, we all know ideas are a dime a dozen. A buildup? Ah (stick your elbows out and move them up and down like you're pushing your way through a crowd)--it takes a lil' elbow grease. But a punchline can be harder'a come by than a pop in the Sahara!

Speaking of the Sahara, I've been doin' a little travelin' lately. And boy, I gotta tell yah, what's with these stewardesses, right? Last week I was on a plane to Boca Raton, stewardess comes along, says: "Excuse me sir, are you hungry?" Well, I said, as a matter of fact I am. "Oh?" she says, "well what would you like to eat?" Well, I said, what may I ask do you have? "Well," she says, "we have Yoplait." Oh really! I said, well lemme tell you something, lady, I don't even WRITE plays, let alone EAT EM!!!

Yeah yeah. It's true, of late I have been trying to expand my horizons. So I figured I'd learn French and go to France. Birthplace of impressionism. Or is that just my impression? Gotcha!
So anyhow, I've been taking French. Night school. Great class. My professor--oooh, what a number! M'amour. Ma chere, right? But, boy she can be tough. Jeez, just the other day she made me step up to the board and move my vowels in front of the whole class. I guess you could say I made a stink!

Yeah, yeah...I suppose I've always been a bit of an over-achiever. Heck, I'll never forget my third grade teacher, Mr. Johnson--fluffy hair, pencil mustache. Heck, one day he told us to hit the books...I took up karate!!! (make karate chop hand and pretend to chop a pile of books). Ha-a-a-y-y-y-a-a!

And don't even get me started about girls... Jeez, in high school they called me the human compass. You get the picture. Irony was, every time a girl came around, I'd lose my sense of direction! So there I was, bumping into lamp posts, falling into garbage cans... I guess you could say I learned the hard way!!

Forsythe the Atrophied Scholar, with Pet Bunny Panama

Given that I am now in a graduate program (studying for a doctorate in analytic philosophy) one might imagine that Forsythe the atrophied scholar is based on a real person. This is not the case. In fact I drew this character long before I entered my graduate program. Indeed, when I drew this character, I had no interest at all in academic studies and was quite certain I would never set foot in a classroom again. A few years later I read a book called "The World As Will and Representation" by the great Arthur Schopenhauer and everything changed. Now I am deep in graduate study. In fact, I've never worked harder in my life. I am mostly interested in questions of free will and identity. I hope one day to write a dissertation comparing the relative merits of the views of David Hume and Immanuel Kant. I say "I hope one day" because, as I mentioned before, one just never knows. In any case, I have not met any "atrophied" scholars. Most of the scholars I have met are quite healthy and bunny-less.

voyeur

"The Voyeur"

I have always been fascinated by the psychological dynamics at play at "Burlesque" clubs--and have been especially struck by the faces of the men who stare on in what appears to be a fathomless stupor.

tracy

"One Legged Tracy, with pet bird, McGaffeney, anxiously waves good-by to parents before she hops off to college."

Of all the Misfits characters, One Legged Tracy appears to provoke the most controversy. Some find her delightful and inspiring, others disturbing and depressing. I am solidly in the former camp; indeed, I honestly don't understand why some people take offense at her.
As far as I can tell, Tracy appears very hopeful and happy; she is off to college--which must be very exciting--and she has a faithful companion. "Buy why does she have to have only one leg?" people ask, as though to suggest that I, her author, derive some sadistic satisfaction from "depriving" her of one leg. But this isn't the case at all.

Lego Thom

"Lego Thom walls out the world."

Lego Thom was no doubt inspired by my old master teacher Greg Lum. I worked with him over the course of a semester while acquiring my single subject teaching credential in San Francisco the '90s. He was a great teacher, much loved by his students. He introduced me to the writing of Elias Cannetti and the music of Arvo Part and Henryck Gorecki. We used to talk a lot about Kafka. There was something very playful about him (hence the Legos) and also something very private (hence the wall of Legos). He'd gotten hit by a car while crossing the street and so was in a good deal of pain and walked with a cane. His pain was not only physical--he'd also watched his best friend die of kidney failure, and had never gotten over it. Eventually it all got too much for him and he opted out.