Man-children get so excited when they open their gifts. Usually the joy on their faces outweighs the destruction they cause, but this year may be different as Leatherface spins ecstatically around the living room with his new chainsaw. Power tools are always a poor choice of present for the mentally deranged.
Is this finally the end of Grandpa Sawyer, wheelchair-bound patriarch of the murderous family of Texas cannibals? And he hasn’t even unwrapped his new hammer yet. Fortunately, Gramps can move that chair when he needs to. Hopefully when the smoke clears no one will have suffered any permanent damage and the family can sit down to a nice Christmas dinner of human steak and sausage.
Speaking of family, I’m busy hosting my own this week (and cooking tonight, mmmm…), so this will likely be the only cartoon this week. Check back next week for a special New Year’s Eve edition of Grinsane, after which I plan to resume my regular Friday postings. Happy Holidays!
I came up with the idea for this cartoon after spending a week with my 10 year old nephew. I know he loves his family, but these girls drive a hard bargain. Unlimited video games for all eternity? Chances are my own 10 year old self would have been right there in the room with them, and this would have been during the golden age of Atari when games were slightly, um, less sophisticated.
I had never heard of Fortnite before my nephew showed up my house last Spring and showed me YouTube videos of gamer celebrities annihilating one another with virtual machine guns and rocket launchers. Now I know who Ninja is and even have my own Fortnite account so I can play on the iPad (username withheld – I totally suck). I’m not too worried about slipping into the throws of video game addiction, however, since my day job + making cartoons already puts me in front of the computer way too long. I play a game every day called Fking Adobe.
Thanks for reading! Grinsane is wrapping up its first year of comics – stay tuned for another couple of episodes before the doors clank down on 2018. If there is something you would like to see me explore or parody for 2019, shoot me an email or leave a comment.
I just learned about “manspreading” a couple weeks ago, and knew I had to draw an emergency cartoon on this important subject. I found out about it while reading one of my favorite comics, Bizarro, which did a cartoon on “mansplaining” and, since people no longer know what war is, were tearing one another to pieces in the comments section of the cartoon as if the fate of the free world were at stake.
In the process of mansplaining, femsplaining, and Mickey Spillaining the meaning of meaning of mansplaining to one another, the topic of manspreading came up. In case you don’t know, manspreading refers to dudes who spread their legs too wide in public places, taking up too much space. On the subway, it means riding the train like a horse into battle instead of being nice and sharing with other people.
So yeah, manspreading is really a thing, so much so that the City of New York has signs on the subway telling people not to do it (as well as condemning other acts of space hogging rudeness, like primping ones hair and swinging on the safety pole like a stripper).
Obviously people are pretty upset by this kind of thing, or the New York Transit Authority wouldn’t take precious dollars away from their graffiti removal fund to make signs telling dudes to keep their balls properly tucked. And some women are extra pissed because manspreading represents yet another way in which men attempt to dominate the world by swinging their equipment around. Meanwhile, the ice caps are melting while people fight about this stuff. Welcome to America, 2018.
Personally, I’m not too worried about manspreading. I live in one of the most unpopulated states in the country for exactly this reason. I don’t want to be near your aerating balls, and I don’t want to get a ticket if mine need to breath. Frankly, the fact that New York City has a sweaty nard problem makes me even more glad I live on the edge of a barren desert that has more coyotes and jackrabbits than people.
So allow me to manposit for a moment: if a guy can’t even cool his nuts without generating signage, and a woman can’t get a seat without being ball blocked, are we maybe living a little bit too close together? I was just in New York City, and that place is way too crowded. I mean, we’re talking Koyaanisqatsi numbers of people stumbling over one another, breathing one another’s farts like air, and being squeezed like Tetris blocks into ever shrinking spaces. I went to a restaurant and was literally sat at a table with complete strangers. This is one of those things New Yorkers probably chuckle about and consider charming but, sorry, no thanks, I came for the food not the extra company.
Thankfully, everyone at the table kept their nuts properly pinched between their knees. If they didn’t, my fork was going into action.
By the way, elephantitis of the nuts is a real thing. Do not Google it. Do not. I’m not kidding. You’ve been warned.