I believe comics can be educational without being educational comics, and today’s Rubes (Creators) brought to mind a visit to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo when my boys were about three and seven.
We had a family membership and visited often, and I think the boys learned something every time, but never so much as the day we were standing outside the hippo enclosure and Mama Hippo let fly in a fabulous spiral that, thank goodness, missed us but absolutely painted her baby, who was standing just behind her and to her right.
It was the topic of conversation for several days. I think they’d have been impressed anyway — I know I was — but the baby having been in the midst of the maelstrom struck them as the funniest thing they had ever seen.
For all I know, it still holds the title.
If you go to YouTube and search for “hippo poop” you may find more videos than if you’d searched for “Elvis” but in any case, this one makes the point that they do, indeed, turn their water toxic.
Now you know, and knowing’s half the battle.
The other half is standing clear.
Big Nate (AMS)’s current story arc raises an older memory: My high school class — ’67 — was an unusually good group of kids. We were economically and socially diverse but had the benefit of mostly liking each other and being able to think for ourselves before that became fashionable.
We caused some headaches for the faculty but one thing I remain proud of was that, when the yearbook staff was asked if we wanted to do superlatives, it didn’t even spark a discussion: We rejected the idea immediately as elitist, cruel and stupid.
I wish it had established a trend, but at least we were good to each other.
Juxtaposition of the You-Know-What
Kids in Britain might learn nasty facts of life at the zoo, but they may not be learning them in school much longer. One of the MPs explained “As a mother of a primary school age child myself, I do not want him or other children to learn about sex full stop,” which sounds like she objects to teaching abstinence, but isn’t what she meant.
The first time we discussed sex in school — in class, that is — was biology class sophomore year, which was already too late for some of us and certainly no revelation for any of us.
I recall, however, being very young and, in the middle of some TV documentary the whole family was watching, piping up to say that I understood all about dominant and recessive genes but couldn’t figure out how the man’s genes got in there in the first place.
Great consternation followed and my dad took me into the kitchen for a quick and somewhat superficial explanation.
Which is a funny example of the futility of hiding information from kids, but what isn’t funny is the number of Irish women who tell of how they once thought they were bleeding to death because nobody had prepared them for puberty.
Juxtaposition of the Day #2
Sneaking in a couple of political rants on a comedy day because they both made me laugh and shake my head, though Dr. MacLeod also put me in mind of a Suzy Creamcheese quote about marketability.
La Cucaracha is mostly joking, since even the bought-and-paid-for SCOTUS would have trouble upholding a state’s overturning of the 19th Amendment, unless they invoked their phognus-bolognus “original intent” principle. Everyone quotes Abigail Adams imploring John to forget not the ladies in writing the Constitution, nobody quotes his reply which amounted to an indulgent chuckle and a pat on the head.
Still, there is a trend among conservatives to take us back to the days of “literacy tests” and other artificial barriers to voting, while, as for misogyny, Dr. MacLeod is absolutely right on.
After a season of frabjous calloohing and callaying over Taylor and Travis that put little girls in red 87 jerseys, one of his idiot teammates spoke at Benedictine College’s commencement with drivel that included this:
Then he added some homophobia and additional faux-Christian hate speech, which got a standing ovation at the school, since that apparently is what the place exists to teach.
Did the ensuing uproar undo all the benefits of Taylor and Travis? Hard tell yet, but if Benedictine’s entire student body went to a Chiefs’ game, the stadium would be 97% empty. Taylor could overflow it.
And a little more political humor from Madam & Eve, this also with a sports-oriented punchline.
I don’t get to feature Madam & Eve here very often because most of what they do is centered on South African politics and politicians and nobody here would get it.
By contrast, one of the disadvantages of being a world power is that the stupid things our leaders do can induce giggling halfway ’round the world. Either direction.
The joke in this Jeremy Banx cartoon is that, if A.I. could be programmed to generate non-formulaic TV shows, it would be an abject failure because it would go against the nature of successful programming.
I have an idea of saving talent costs by hiring a repertory company of actors who would perform all the programs in each format: Comedies, detective shows, whatever. They’d have different costuming and names in each show, but they’d do well because all the roles are essentially identical, including the wise ass little kid, the detective who does things his way, the gorgeous woman married to a schlub, etc.
That last role brings up a mystery. I understand that Danny Williams was a successful nightclub performer, so his having a hot wife made a little sense, but how on earth did Chester Riley merit Peg? That’s as unlikely as having a dumpy UPS driver married to … well, you see what I mean.
None of those roles required Streetcar-level acting chops: One beautiful woman could have played all three.
Quick! Watch this before the season ends!
I haven’t watched the NHL since they expanded from six excellent teams to multiple mediocrities in places where genuine ice never happens, and I lived nearly three decades within media reach of Quebec, so Roch Carrier’s classic tale strikes several responsive chords:
Cheyenne Mountain Zoo has always been comedy gold. On vacation with my mom, aunt, and cousin in the ’60s, we stopped at the zoo. My aunt was ogling an orangutan, seated buddha-like behind the bars of its enclosure. When my aunt got as close as the barricade allowed, the orangutan sprayed her with a mouthful of water that he had been holding patiently, waiting for a victim to get close enough to surprise. What a hoot.
Jackie Gleason was insistent that Alice actually look like somebody married to a Brooklyn bus driver. Audrey Meadows finally got the part when, after her rejected audition, she sent a picture of herself taken right when she got up, in old clothes with no make-up.
Sex “education” in my seventh-grade class (in 1955 Arizona) consisted of the teacher saying he’d been told to teach the subject: “So, does anyone have any questions about sex?”.
One student timidly asked, “What is the belly-button for?”
Much laughter.
No answer and no further “education”.
I wonder if much has changed in Arizona.
The hippo bath made my day. I witnessed one at the San Diego Zoo back in the seventies. Surprised everybody, especially zoo goers peering over the fence at the moment of the discharge. Everyone laughed except those poor souls.
Also good to know that Suzy Creamcheese is still remembered.
Thank you.
The fact that so many parents think it’s their job to ensure that their kids are never exposed to the real world is terrifying.
If schools can’t teach kids about sex, I’m sure there’s plenty of websites out there that will do it for them…
I’ll be waiting for Laura Ingraham to tell Harrison Butker to shut up and kick.
I doubt many will go back to this article to read this. But, I must say it:
The repugnantcant party is a hippo pond!