Cartoons Humor Quotes

The world isn't fair, Calvin." "I know Dad, but why isn't it ever unfair in my favor?

Welcome to Hell. Here's your accordion.

If your opponent has you by fifty pounds, winning a fight against him is a dubious proposition, at best. If your opponent has you by eight thousand and fifty pounds, you’ve left the realm of combat and enrolled yourself in Road-kill 101. Or possibly in a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

I let out a laugh that sounded more like the yip of a startled poodle. "Superp-powers? I wish. My powers aren't winning me a slot on the Cartoon Network anytime soon... except as a comic relief. Ghost Whisperer Junior. Or Ghost Screamer, more like it. Tune in, every week, as Chloe Saunders runs screaming from yet another ghost looking for her help." Okay, superpower might be pushing it.

Tangled is not a cartoon. Tangled is one of the greatest movies of all time. It's about fighting for freedom and true love.

Tayla cursed under her breath. "I was just explaining to Eidolon that Sin is a Smurfette." Wraith swung his big body around to study Sin with blue eyes that were very different from Shade's, E's. and Lore's. Sin's, too. "Nah. Smurfette is way hotter." "What the fuck is a Smurfette?" Eidolon was seriously getting annoyed now. "There's this cartoon called The Smurfs," Tayla explained, slowly, as though Eidolon were the child here. "They're these little blue people, and they're all male. But one day a female shows up. She shouldn't exist, but she does." Eidolon considered that for a second. "How did she get there?" "An evil wizard named Gargamel made her," Tayla said. "In a lab or something." "So you're suggesting that an evil wizard made Sin?" "Of course not, silly. I'm just saying she's a Smurfette. A lone female amongst males." Eidolon frowned. "Did the Smurfette mate with the males?" "Dude." Wraith grimaced. "It's a cartoon.

All right. Tell me what I'm looking at." From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, "A giant pair of cartoon lips." I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull's glowing orange eye sockets was visible. A big goofy magic nerd!" Bob said.

I don’t need you to explain to me the concept of a magical land filled with fantastic creatures that only certain special children can enter. I am acquainted with the last several centuries of popular culture. There are books. And cartoons, for the illiterate.

Cartooning is preaching. And I think we have a right to do some preaching. I hate shallow humor. I hate shallow religious humor, I hate shallow sports humor, I hate shallowness of any kind.

Saturday morning was their unrestricted television time, and they usually took advantage of it to watch a series of cartoon shows that would certainly have been impossible before the discovery of LSD.

The padlock clicked open. A voice soundingoddly like South Parks's Cartman echoed through my quivering brain. Goddammit!

I happen to have a certain fondness for existing--soda wouldn't have that lovely fizzy feeling if you were dead. Think of all the things you would miss: Cartoons, music, movies, video games, music, art, fingernail growth, sex...well, perhaps not sex, depending on how weird your mortician is.

I have a daughter and she's the greatest thing that ever happened to me. She gives me a good excuse to watch cartoons.

Thanks to my mother, I was raised to have a morbid imagination. When I was a child, she often talked about death as warning, as an unavoidable matter of fact. Little Debbie's mom down the block might say, 'Honey, look both ways before crossing the street.' My mother's version: 'You don't look, you get smash flat like sand dab.' (Sand dabs were the cheap fish we bought live in the market, distinguished in my mind by their two eyes affixed on one side of their woebegone cartoon faces.) The warnings grew worse, depending on the danger at hand. Sex education, for example, consisted of the following advice: 'Don't ever let boy kiss you. You do, you can't stop. Then you have baby. You put baby in garbage can. Police find you, put you in jail, then you life over, better just kill youself.

The cartoon me writes the books cartoon people read in the cartoon world, because they need things to read there too.

I paused in the act of opening the door and looked at him with what were probably cartoon-wide eyes. "Wait a second," I said. "So, you're best friends with a hot vampire chick who likes leather." "Yeah." "And together, you fight crime?" I couldn't help it. I cracked up.

Cartooning will destroy you; it will break your heart.

Shall we go?' he murmured, perhaps regretting his decision to show me his army of plastic cartoon figurines.

Scientists need to invent a way to make DNA work like in cartoons.

In the National Geographic movie of my twisted mind, the lion had just leaped on the gazelle, pinned it to the ground and mounted it from behind. Apparently, the devouring could wait. I should point out that these little flights of fancy on my part often involved extremely improbable animal pairings. I blamed cartoons.

In Hollywood, the real stars are all in animation. Alvin and the Chipmunks don't throw star fits, don't demand custom-designed Winnebagos, and are a breeze at costume fittings. Cruella DeVille, Gorgo, Rainbow Brite, Gus-Gus, Uncle Scrooge, and the Care Bears are all superstars and they don't have drug problems, marital difficulties, or paternity suits to blacken their images. They don't age, balk at promoting, or sass highly paid directors. Plus, you can market them to death and they never feel exploited. I'd like to do a big-budget snuff film starring every last one of them.

Sometimes it's good to be the smartest rat in the sewer.

Did I mention how cute you look in my clothes?" Blushing I just look at what I'm wearing and laugh. "Chicks Dig me? And Sponge Bob boxers?" "Chicks do dig me! And Sponge Bob is a great cartoon in your world.

I change the channel to another movie. An old one, but new to me. And, ironically, a thin, gorgeous blonde—Meg Ryan, maybe—rides her bike on a country road. She smiles like she has no cares in the world. Like no one ever judges her. Like her life is perfect. Wind through her hair and sunshine on her face. The only thing missing are the rainbows and butterflies and cartoon birds singing on her shoulder. Maybe I should grab my bike and try to catch up with Mom, Mike, and the kids. They can't be going very fast. I would love to feel like that, even if it's just for a second—free and peaceful and normal. Suddenly, there's a truck. It can't be headed toward Meg Ryan. Could it? Yes. Oh my God. No! Meg Ryan just got hit by that truck. Figures. See what happens when you exercise?

As for the coyote, he was nothing like his cartoon icon. He was sleek, fast, healthy and apparently without an anvil or Acme product of any kind.

I had gotten hungry for bratwurst and had been walking toward the entrance of one of the four McDonald's franchises in Undisclosed (if you think it's weird getting a bratwurst from a McDonald's, then you're not from the Midwest). I glanced at the cartoon clown logo in the window and let out a scream. Just a little scream, and a manly one. But I still frightened one little girl on the sidewalk so badly that she screamed, too.

CALVIN'S DAD: What story would you like tonight? We can read anything except... CALVIN, INTERRUPTING HIM: "Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie"! CALVIN'S DAD, IN ANGUISH: NO! No Hamster Huey tonight! We've read that book a million times! CALVIN: I want Hamster Huey! CALVIN'S DAD, Nearly Pleading: Look, you KNOW how the story goes. You've memorized the whole thing! It's the same story every day! CALVIN, Screaming: I want Hamster Huey! CALVIN, LYING IN BED WITH EYES OF WONDERMENT: Wow, the story was different THAT time! HOBBES, LYING IN BED NEXT TO CALVIN, ALSO WITH EYES OF WONDERMENT: Do you think the townsfolk will ever find Hamster Huey's head?

I want to write a 500-word book full of colorful cartoons. The target reader will be between three to five years old, or a college basketball player.

58 percent of the questioned residents still trust the police to do "the right thing" while only about 10 to 15 percent trust the government officials and politicians.

The Dallas Times Herald ran a cartoon mocking the [Reagan] administration's position. "We don't oppose the extension of the Voting Rights Act ... but we think the test of discrimination should be intent not effect," a fictional Smith said at a press conference. "Won't that cripple enforcement of the Act?" a reporter asked. "That is not our intent," Smith responded.

When you're watching something on TV that sucks, you change it. So when your life sucks you should be able to change it too. -Butt-Head, of Beavis and Butt-Head; Chicken Soup for the Butt

Many moral advances have taken the form of a shift in sensibilities that made an action seem more ridiculous than sinful, such as dueling, bullfighting, and jingoistic war. And many effective social critics, such as Swift, Johnson, Voltaire, Twain, Oscar Wilde, Bertrand Russell, Tom Lehrer, and George Carlin have been smart-ass comedians rather than thundering prophets. What in our psychology allows the joke to be mightier than the sword? Humor works by confronting an audience with an incongruity, which may be resolved by switching to another frame of reference. And in that alternative frame of reference, the butt of the joke occupies a lowly or undignified status. ... Humor with a political or moral agenda can stealthily challenge a relational model that is second nature to an audience by forcing them to see that it leads to consequences that the rest of their minds recognize as absurd. ... According to the 18th-century writer Mary Wortley Montagu, 'Satire should, like a polished razor keen / Wound with touch that's scarcely felt or seen.' But satire is seldom polished that keenly, and the butts of a joke may be all too aware of the subversive power of humor. They may react with a rage that is stoked by the intentional insult to a sacred value, the deflation of their dignity, and a realization that laughter indicates common knowledge of both. The lethal riots in 2005 provoked by the editorial cartoons in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten (for example, one showing Muhammad in heaven greeting newly arrived suicide bombers with 'Stop, we have run out of virgins!') show that when it comes to the deliberate undermining of a sacred relational model, humor is no laughing matter. (pp. 633-634)

A flat screen television lowered into view. It showed an animated Islamic documentary that focused mostly on the importance of wearing the proper attire. The final prophet was quoted often, yet absent from the feature. “If this Mohammed guy is so great, why wouldn’t they put him in the cartoon?” Kira wondered.

Suspended for fighting. It had a ring. Not simply suspended, which could be for any number of inane infractions from skipping algebra to drawing nude cartoons of the principal and his staff on random backgrounds. Suspended ... for FIGHTING! It made you sound like something. Like a real badass dude from way back.

“Do you have any money?” he asked. “What?” He rubbed his fingers together. “Dinero? Cash? Do you have any on you?” Unsure where this was headed, I shook my head. He reached over the counter and grabbed a knife. He cut the burger in half and slid the plate between us. “Here. Don’t bogart the fries.” “Are you serious?” Noah took another bite of his half. “Yeah. Don’t want my tutor to starve to death.” I smacked my lips like a cartoon character and bit into the succulent burger. When the juicy meat touched my tongue, I closed my eyes and moaned. “I thought girls only looked like that when they orgasmed.” The burger caught in my throat and I choked. Noah stifled a laugh while sliding my water toward me. If only drinking it would erase the annoying blush on my cheeks.

As the van door starts to close, Brad suddenly realizes that the instant the doors close completely, the van interior will become the terrifying bland gray space he's heard about all his life, the place one goes when one has been Written Out. The van interior becomes the bland gray space. From the front yard TV comes the brash martial music that indicates UrgentUpdateNewsMinute. Animal rights activists have expressed concern over the recent trend of spraying live Canadian geese with a styrene coating which instantaneously kills them while leaving them extremely malleable, so it then becomes easy to shape them into comical positions and write funny sayings in DryErase cartoon balloons emanating from their beaks, which, apparently, is the new trend for outdoor summer parties.

I suppose that really I had a training or education not so very different from a lot of other artists and illustrators — it’s just that I didn’t have it in the normal order. When I was at school I liked drawing, and I liked anything to do with humor, and I liked writing too. When I was about fourteen, I was lucky enough to be introduced to a man who both painted pictures and drew cartoons for newspapers and magazines, including Punch, the most famous English humorous magazine at the time. He was called Alfred Jackson and every few months I would take him a collection of my drawings to look at. Now I look back and realize these were in fact lessons or tutorials, and what was especially good about them was that he talked not only about the cartoonists’ drawings in Punch at the time, but also about Michelangelo and Modigliani as well.

College students were asked to rate the humor of cartoons from Gary Larson’s The Far Side while holding a pencil in their mouth. Those who were “smiling” (without any awareness of doing so) found the cartoons funnier than did those who were “frowning.” In another experiment, people whose face was shaped into a frown (by squeezing their eyebrows together) reported an enhanced emotional response to upsetting pictures—starving children, people arguing, maimed accident victims.

If we suggest that it is okay to make fun of everything except certain aspects of Islam because Muslims are much more sensitive than the rest of the population, isn’t that discrimination? Shouldn’t we treat the second largest religion in France exactly as we treat the first? It’s time to put an end to the revolting paternalism of the white, middle-class, “leftist” intellectual trying to coexist with these “poor, subliterate wretches.” “'I’m educated; obviously I get that 'Charlie Hebdo' is a humor newspaper because, first, I’m very intelligent, and second, it’s my culture. But you—well, you haven’t quite mastered nuanced thinking yet, so I’ll express my solidarity by fulminating against Islamaphobic cartoons and pretending not to understand them. I will lower myself to your level to show you that I like you. And if I need to convert to Islam to get even closer to you, I’ll do it!” These pathetic demagogues just have a ravenous need for recognition and a formidable domination fantasy to fulfill.

Enjoying the taste of toasted raisin bread or the humor in a cartoon may not seem like much, but simple pleasures like these ease emotional upsets, lift your mood, and enrich your life. They also provide health benefits, by releasing endorphins and natural opioids that shift you out of stressful, draining reactive states and into happier responsive ones. As a bonus, some pleasures—such as dancing, sex, your team winning a game of pick-up basketball, or laughing with friends—come with energizing feelings of vitality or passion that enhance long-term health. Opportunities for pleasure are all around you, especially if you include things like the rainbow glitter of the tiny grains of sand in a sidewalk, the sound of water falling into a tub, the sense of connection in talking with a friend, or the reassurance that comes from the stove working when you need to make dinner.

I shoot up out of my chair. “It’s Bree. Hide the board!” Everyone hops out of their chairs and starts scrambling around and bumping into each other like a classic cartoon. We hear the door shut behind her, and the whiteboard is still standing in the middle of the kitchen like a lit-up marquee. I hiss at Jamal, “Get rid of it!” His eyes are wide orbs, head whipping around in all directions. “Where? In the utensil drawer? Up my shirt?! There’s nowhere! That thing is huge!” “LADY IN THE HOUSE!” Bree shouts from the entryway. The sound of her tennis shoes getting kicked off echoes around the room, and my heart races up my throat. Her name is pasted all over that whiteboard along with phrases like “first kiss—keep it light” and “entwined hand-holding” and “dirty talk about her hair”. Yeah…I’m not sure about that last one, but we’ll see. Basically, it’s all laid out there—the most incriminating board in the world. If Bree sees this thing, it’s all over for me. “Erase it!” Price whispers frantically. “No, we didn’t write it down anywhere else! We’ll lose all the ideas.” I can hear Bree’s footsteps getting closer. “Nathan? Are you home?” “Uh—yeah! In the kitchen.” Jamal tosses me a look like I’m an idiot for announcing our location, but what am I supposed to do? Stand very still and pretend we’re not all huddled in here having a Baby-Sitter’s Club re-enactment? She would find us, and that would look even worse after keeping quiet. “Just flip it over!” I tell anyone who’s not running in a circle chasing his tail. As Lawrence flips the whiteboard, Price tells us all to act natural. So of course, the second Bree rounds the corner, I hop up on the table, Jamal rests his elbow on the wall and leans his head on his hand, and Lawrence just plops down on the floor and pretends to stretch. Derek can’t decide what to do so he’s caught mid-circle. We all have fake smiles plastered on. Our acting is shit. Bree freezes, blinking at the sight of each of us not acting at all natural. “Whatcha guys doing?” Her hair is a cute messy bun of curls on the top of her head and she’s wearing her favorite joggers with one of my old LA Sharks hoodies, which she stole from my closet a long time ago. It swallows her whole, but since she just came from the studio, I know there is a tight leotard under it. I can barely find her in all that material, and yet she’s still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Just her presence in this room feels like finally getting hooked up to oxygen after days of not being able to breathe deeply. We all respond to Bree’s question at the same time but with different answers. It’s highly suspicious and likely what makes her eyes dart to the whiteboard. Sweat gathers on my spine. “What’s with the whiteboard?” she asks, taking a step toward it. I hop off the table and get in her path. “Huh? Oh, it’s…nothing.” She laughs and tries to look around me. I pretend to stretch so she can’t see. “It doesn’t look like nothing. What? Are you guys drawing boobies on that board or something? You look so guilty.” “Ah—you caught us! Lots of illustrated boobs drawn on that board. You don’t want to see it.” She pauses, a fading smile hovering on her lips, and her eyes look up to meet mine. “For real—what’s going on? Why can’t I see it?” She doesn’t believe my boob explanation. I guess we should take that as a compliment? My eyes catch over Bree’s shoulder as Price puts himself out of her line of sight and begins miming the action of getting his phone out and taking a picture of the whiteboard. This little show is directed at Derek, who is standing somewhere behind me. Bree sees me watching Price and whips her head around to catch him. He freezes—hands extended looking like he’s holding an imaginary camera. He then transforms that into a forearm stretch. “So tight after our workout today.” Her eyes narrow.

Could I have something to drink?" Jake asked. His voice came out sounding furry and nasal. Both his mouth and the tissues in his abused nose were swelling up. He looked like someone who has gotten the worst of it in a nasty street-fight. "Oh, yes," Tick-Tock replied judiciously. "You could. I'd say you certainly could. We have lots to drink, don't we, Copperhead?" "Ar," said a tall, bespectacled man in a white silk shirt and a pair of black silk trousers. He looked like a college professor in a turn of the century Punch cartoon. "No shortage of po-ter-bulls here." The Tick-Tock Man, once more seated at ease in his throne-like chair, looked humorously at Jake. "We have wine, beer, ale, and, of course, good old water. Sometimes that's all a body wants, isn't it? Cool, clear, sparkling water. How does that sound, cully?" Jake's throat, which was also swollen and as dry as sandpaper, prickled painfully. "Sounds good," he whispered. "It's woke my thirsty up, I know that," Tick-Tock said. His lips spread in a smile. His green eyes sparkled. "Bring me a dipper of water, Tilly--I'll be damned if I know what's happened to my manners." Tilly stepped through the hatchway on the far side of the room--it was opposite the one through which Jake and Gasher had entered. Jake watched her go and licked his swollen lips.

I have come to believe that our culture’s popular understanding of these difficult doctrines is often a caricature of what the Bible actually teaches and what mature Christian theology has historically proclaimed. To Laugh At, To Live By What do I mean by a caricature? A caricature is a cartoonlike drawing of a real person, place, or thing. You’ve probably seen them at street fairs, drawings of popular figures like President Obama, Marilyn Monroe, or your aunt Cindy. Caricatures exaggerate some features, distort some features, and oversimplify some features. The result is a humorous cartoon. In one sense, a caricature bears a striking resemblance to the real thing. That picture really does look like President Obama, Marilyn Monroe, or your aunt Cindy. Features unique to the real person are included and even emphasized, so you can tell it’s a cartoon of that person and not someone else. But in another sense, the caricature looks nothing like the real thing. Salient features have been distorted, oversimplified, or blown way out of proportion. President Obama’s ears are way too big. Aunt Cindy’s grin is way too wide. And Marilyn Monroe . . . well, you get the picture. A caricature would never pass for a photograph. If you were to take your driver’s license, remove the photo, and replace it with a caricature, the police officer pulling you over would either laugh . . . or arrest you. Placed next to a photograph, a caricature looks like a humorous, or even hideous, distortion of the real thing. Similarly, our popular caricatures of these tough doctrines do include features of the original. One doesn’t have to look too far in the biblical story to find that hell has flames, holy war has fighting, and judgment brings us face-to-face with God. But in the caricatures, these features are severely exaggerated, distorted, and oversimplified, resulting in a not-so-humorous cartoon that looks nothing like the original. All we have to do is start asking questions: Where do the flames come from, and what are they doing? Who is doing the fighting, and how are they winning? Why does God judge the world, and what basis does he use for judgment? Questions like these help us quickly realize that our popular caricatures of tough biblical doctrines are like cartoons: good for us to laugh at, but not to live by. But the caricature does help us with something important: it draws our attention to parts of God’s story where our understanding is off. If the caricature makes God look like a sadistic torturer, a coldhearted judge, or a greedy génocidaire, it probably means there are details we need to take a closer look at. The caricatures can alert us to parts of the picture where our vision is distorted.

From an illustration in her "Animals of a Bygone Era": a Leptictidium, an extinct rabbit-like animal who left no descendants, says: "Too bad, because we were really cute.

Khalil Bendib, with a few ingenious strokes of his pen, gets to the heart of the issues of our time. His cartoons are in the greatest tradition of American political humor, with that combination of wit and intelligence so needed in the struggle for justice.

a Yale University psychology professor is developing an alternative SAT. Professor Robert Sternberg calls his test the Rainbow Project—and it certainly sounds like a lot more fun than the pressure-packed exam many of us endured as teenagers. In Sternberg’s test, students are given five blank New Yorker cartoons—and must craft humorous captions for each one. They must also write or narrate a story, using as their guide only a title supplied by the test givers (sample title: “The Octopus’s Sneakers”). And students are presented with various real-life challenges—arriving at a party where they don’t know anybody, or trying to convince friends to help move furniture—and asked how they’d respond. Although still in its experimental stages, the Rainbow Project has been twice as successful as the SAT in predicting how well students perform in college. What’s more, the persistent gap in performance between white students and racial minorities evident on the SAT narrows considerably on this test.

The virtuosity and visual humor of people like A.B. Frost, T.S. Sullivant, and [Thomas] Nast of course, have so much depth and innate humor that I couldn't really resist cross hatching. Later day cross-hatchers like Ron Cobb and Bill Plympton were also early influences. (from an interview in Attitude, 2002)

The self-righteously bitter cartoons that appear in sectarian magazines are fine if all you want to do is preach to the choir, but I believe you can reach a lot more people with humor. (from an interview in Attitude, 2002)

My goal with 'Slowpoke' is to present a solidly-written piece of humor that usually entails some form of social or political commentary exposing distinctly ludicrous aspects of American life. (2002 interview in Attitude)

You won the Herblock Award a few years ago and you said that your job is “worrying about how humanity is destroying itself.” Which is a good line, but do you think that is the role of the cartoonist in some way? I’m doing a lot of worrying about humanity destroying itself these days. I think it is an important role of a political cartoonist. I think sometimes it’s probably more acute than others. It’s something that’s hard to deal with sometimes. Right now I find that these aren’t really funny times. There are ludicrous characters and you can make fun of Trump and these ridiculous nominees, but at the same time I don’t want to normalize him. I find myself not even wanting to draw him. I mean, I do and I will, but I don’t want to treat him like any other President. I’ve been struggling with that. How to be humorous at a time when things are just very serious. I guess what I wind up doing is somewhat darker humor, darker cartoons, and more informative cartoons that say, this is what’s happening, can you believe it? With the Bush administration things were terrible and there were definitely some dark times, but I felt like you could make fun of Bush for being a buffoon and the implications just weren’t quite as grave. It’s a different time now. (Interview with Comicsbeat)

When I first started out I wasn’t even really political. I just wanted to do surreal R. Crumb-ish comics. In the early days, I wanted to be as weird as possible. In the late nineties, in alt-weeklies, it seemed like we lived in times that allowed for absurdist humor. That would feel a little more frivolous now. Over time I feel like I have a greater sense of urgency to make a point and to tell the truth. Hopefully in an amusing way. I’m not trying to be as weird as I possibly can. I think I’m trying to make things a little simpler now, and more accessible. (Interview with Comicsbeat)

Q: What do you think will be the future of your field? There’s too much pessimism about the future for political cartooning. I think the future’s very bright. You see more and more sites like Politico that aggressively deploy cartoons on the homepage. I think the media is becoming increasingly visual… and increasingly made to match our shrinking attention spans. The business model for cartooning is going through a rough transition now, but in the long run the thing we cartoonists do—-deliver simple-minded political messages in short easily digestible bites—-is the direction the media in general is heading. We’re living in a media landscape that seems to get more infantile and politically simple-minded all the time—-look at the huge popularity of Glenn Beck…and I saw someplace recently that Jon Stewart is now the most trusted man in America. The clowns seem to be taking over the circus. This may be bad for governance, but it can only be good news for cartoonists. The interesting part will be what the platforms are going to be, cell phones, iPads, the iChip in my forehead, whatever it is, I’m sure the combination of visual metaphor and incisive humor you find in good cartoons will adapt and evolve and really thrive in the future. (Interview with Washington City Paper)

Q: Why do you like to do cartoons? How long have you been in this activity? Cartoon is the fun way to express opinions and communicate, that's why I like it. When I illustrate textbooks I also try to make them have humor...I've been publishing professionally since the early 90's, I was lucky enough to get to work in a newspaper and that was a great school, like a second university. (Interview on irancartoon.com)

Christmas Field Guide: Holly: Varied plants of the genus Ilex. Typically only female holly plants bear red fruit, and only if a male is within an unchaste 25 foot radius.

OOoooOOoooowwwwwww, Aaaaaaaagghghghgh” he cried out suddenly. Stopped in midair and slowly spinning, the problem revealed itself. As he was descending, a big tuft of his large, fluffy red beard had been sucked into the ‘biner break. Ever so irrevocably, the rest of his face appeared to be sucking into it too.

By 1987 I had a stack of cartoons. That summer, stormbound on Mount Sir Francis Drake, while bailing the tent like it was a canoe shot by a cannon, I told my friend Dave Harris about the work. David was a graphic designer and his wife sold printing for a large print shop. “Do a comic book!” he said. So, with ginormous help from the both of them, I did. Three hundred copies of Lies and slander from a demented little corner of the coast range were printed up and sold for five bucks each. And then, the following year, Dave helped me do Volume 2.

Holy everything that’s holy and even some not-holy things thrown in. There were no words for how vast this big rock of El Cap was. Or that big rock—there was Middle Cathedral Rock. Or that one over there— Sentinel, the Prow, Half Dome. The hugeness of the place ate my brain. I plopped down right there in El Cap Meadows and, mind exploding and now a believer in The Valley, I let it all soak in.

OOoooOOoooowwwwwww, Aaaaaaaagghghghgh” he cried out suddenly. Stopped in midair and slowly spinning, the problem revealed itself. As he was descending, a big tuft of his large, fluffy red beard had been sucked into the ‘biner break. Ever so irrevocably, the rest of his face appeared to be sucking into it too.

Give a man a beer, the remote and a La-Z-Boy and he’s a happy camper! All Things Caveman humor cartoon book will help you understand that hairy guy beside you.

The thing about being a screenwriter, scriptwriter, or scenarist, You get to have multiple personalities and not be charged!

Ethan slumped on the bench in the change room, ignoring the ribald behavior around him after yet another foregone win. A hard slap on the rear of his head roused him and he whirled, his lip curled back as he growled menacingly. “Don’t you dare show me your teeth,” Javier warned with a dark look. He ran his hand through hair, already tousled and sweaty from the match. “What the fuck happened out there? I passed you the perfect shot, and instead of grabbing it and scoring, you crashed into the g**damn arena glass. What are you, a rookie? Been watching too many Bugs Bunny cartoons?” Heat burned Ethan’s cheeks in remembrance of his mishap before dejection— along with a large dose of disbelief— quickly set back in. “I missed. It happens and besides, it’s not like we needed the point to win.” “Of course we didn’t,” Javier replied with a scoffing snort. “But it’s the point of it. What the hell distracted you so much? And, why do you look like your best friend died, which, I might add, is an impossibility given I’m standing right beside you.” Javier grinned. “I think I found my mate,” Ethan muttered. A true beauty with light skin, a perfect oval face framed by long, brown hair and the most perfect set of rosebud lips. Javier’s face expressed shock, then glee. “Congrats, dude.” Javier slapped him hard on the back, and while the blow might have killed a human or a smaller species, it didn’t even budge Ethan. “I know you’ve been pining to settle down with someone of the fairer sex. You must be ecstatic.” “Not really.” Although he should have been. Finding one’s mate was a one in a zillion chance given how shifters were scattered across the globe. Most never even came close to finding the one fate deemed their perfect match. His friend’s jovial grin subsided. “What’s wrong? Was she, like, butt ugly? Humongous? Old? Surely she can’t be that bad?” “No, she appears perfect. Or did.” Ethan groaned as banged his head off the locker door. “I am so screwed.” A frown creased Javier’s face. “I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to find the one, you sick bastard. Settle down and pop out cubs.” Ethan looked up in time to see Javier’s mock shudder. “Me, I prefer to share my love among as many women as possible.” Javier mimed slapping an ass then humping it with a leering grin. Ethan didn’t smile at Javier’s attempt at humor even if it happened to be the truth. Javier certainly enjoyed variety where the other sex was concerned. Heck, on many an occasion he’d shared with Ethan. Tag team sessions where they both scored. Best friends who did just about everything together. Blowing out a long sigh, Ethan answered him. “I do want to find my mate, actually, I’m pretty sure I already have, but I don’t think I made a great impression. She’s the one they took out on the stretcher after the ball I missed hit her in the face.” Javier winced. “Ouch. Sucks to be you, my friend. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure she’ll forgive you in, like, fifty years.” Ethan groaned and dropped his head back into his hands. Now that I’ve found her, how do I discover who she is so I can beg her forgiveness? And even worse, how the hell do I act the part of suitor? Raised in the Alaskan wilds by a father who wasn’t all there after the death of Ethan’s mother, his education in social niceties was sadly lacking. He tended to speak with his fists more often than not. Lucky for him, when it came to women, he didn’t usually have to do a thing. Females tended to approach him for sex so they could brag afterward that they’d ridden the Kodiak and survived. Not that Ethan would ever hurt a female, even if his idea of flirty conversation usually consisted of “Suck me harder” and “Bend over.” If I add “darling” on the end, will she count it as sweet talk?

It's impossible to get worse at something you do every day.

List your ten favorite comedians and humorists, and search for jokes, tweets, or quotes by each of these individuals. After you amass twenty jokes, identify the subject or target of the joke, and explain why you think the joke is funny. This exercise will help you become aware of the format of successful jokes and provide you with insight into your own comedic preferences. Collect ten to fifteen cartoons or comics. As you did with the jokes, identify the target of the humor and describe why the cartoon is funny to you. You may find it helpful to continue building a file of jokes and cartoons that appeal to you. In addition to building a joke and cartoon file, you’ll need to find new material to use as the building blocks for your humor writing. Most professional humor writers begin each day by reading a newspaper, watching news on TV, and/or surfing the Internet for incidents and situations that might provide joke material. As you read this book and complete the exercises at the end of each chapter, form a daily habit of recording odd and funny news events. Everyday life is the main source for humor, so you need to keep some type of personal humor journal. To facilitate psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud had patients complete a dream diary, and he encouraged them to associate freely during therapy. To be a successful writer and to tap into the full potential of your comic persona, you should follow an analogous approach. Record everyday events, ideas, or observations that you find funny, and do your journaling without any form of censorship. The items you list are not intended to be funny, but to serve as starting points for writing humor.

I was staring at one of the most famous images of Santa Claus of all time — one by Thomas Nast, from Harper’s Weekly, 1881.

I try to take one day at a time, but lately several days have attacked me at once.

Sometimes I get letters from non-Natives who have called me racist and insensitive to Natives untl they realize that I am Native myself. Non-Natives often walk up to me and say, "I didn't get the cartoon today," and I reply, "That's ok, I don't get the cartoons in The New Yorker either.

This is a wonderful read-together book that might encourage little ones to wash up, and settle down for a cozy bedtime story with their loved ones and caregivers. Beautifully written in rhyme, with bright and vibrant cartoon-like illustrations, this book will become a bedtime favorite for children and adults alike.

As we inched by Worli Naka Monita screamed and pointed to a hoarding above us. I peered out of the window, almost bumping my head against the roof of the cab. It showed a chubby girl cartoon with wildly curling black hair standing nose to nose with a dark, scowling boy cartoon in India cricket blues. The girl was smilingly offering a slice of buttered bread to the boy. The line on top advised, 'Don't skip her breakfast, Skipper,' and underneath it a legend read, 'LUCKILY, BUTTERLY DELICIOUS - AMUL!

This middle-grade graphic offering is the first in a proposed series (with a promised second volume entitled Tater Invaders). Writer and illustrator Fremont’s animation background is highly visible here, with fast pacing, quirky characters, and ample silliness. Driven by its jet-fueled plotting, young readers careen from one side-splitting scene to the next as the simply wrought, full-color cartoons rocket sequences along. ...those who want their humor to have a fast and furious velocity should be right at home here, making this perfect for fans of series like Chris Schweizer’s The Creeps or Jarrett J. Krosoczka’s Lunch Lady." -Kirkus Reviews

One great thing about subbing is that if I go to a different school every day I can wear the same outfit all week.

Walt Disney can take over television any time he likes. Yesterday afternoon, in a special holiday show at 4 o’clock over N.B.C., he momentarily relaxed his ban against television appearances by Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Pluto and the Seven Dwarfs. The result was one of the most engaging and charming programs of the year, an hour of make-believe that was altogether wonderful. As will surprise nobody, Mickey and his friends in Disneyland are perfect for TV. It’s not just that the cartoons reproduce superbly on the small screen of television. But after several years of video puppets, it is heady wine for a television viewer suddenly to partake of the imaginative fantasy and enticing humor which are the stamp of Mr. Disney’s genius. From 4 to 5 o’clock yesterday all ages could relax and laugh together.

I could spend the rest of my life writing and drawing books for kids and be a very happy man.

His office was on the third floor of the Humanities & Social Sciences Building, just down the hall from the interview room. On the office door was a Peanuts cartoon of Lucy in the psychiatrist's booth with the little DOCTOR is IN sign. Professor Mitchell, a man on the cutting edge of humor.

Maybe I'm some sort of perverted cartoon-sexual.

I am disappointed that you have replaced some good, old-fashioned and humorous cartoons with distasteful ones. For example, "The Far Side" by Gary Larson is not funny, just lacking in good taste. "Calvin and Hobbes" by Watterson could be more acceptable if made less offensive (at times). "Doonesbury" and "Bloom County," I suppose, reflect our times. Far better for our newspaper to be working to change what is so unacceptable to us all in these times. Many other cartoons are funny, likable and reflective of the real and good in our country. -- Mary Kohler, Yonkers (letter published in the Herald Statesman, Yonkers NY, 11/12/86) Quoted in /The Bloom County Library/

By classifying cartoons according to type of humor, we are not plucking them up with a tweezer and inserting them into specimen jars to be put on a dusty shelf for exhibit, like a nineteenth-century taxonomist at a natural history museum. That would kill the funny.

The consensus in the cartooning world is that a great drawing won’t save a weak gag, but a great gag can survive mediocre artwork.

The difficulty of producing a successful cartoon increases enormously when the cartoonist can’t rely on a caption, sign, speech balloon, or words of any kind.

Cartoonists see life through a comedic lens that enables them to imagine a cartoon, just as comedians can turn an everyday experience into a comedy routine.

Basing a cartoon on a well-known character, whether fictional or historical, quickly draws a reader into the joke.

I feel that the cartoon should involve something happening that could not possibly happen, but which has a kind of truth to it. There should be a give-and-take between the truth and the implausibility. If those two things are going on at the exact same time, and they’re both equal in weight, then the brain has a conflict that it has to resolve, and it can only resolve it through laughter.

I propounded a theory that The New Yorker purposely included in each issue one cartoon that wasn’t funny at all, so that the reader would assume that he must be witnessing “subtle humor beyond his power of perception,

Just as music courses enhance our appreciation by dissecting melody, rhythm, and harmony, Funny Stuff accomplishes a similar feat for gag cartoons. - Bob Mankoff, Funny Stuff: How Great Cartoonists Make Great Cartoons

The creative process doesn't begin with humor. It begins with subject matter.

I dream [a cartoon] into being by imagining how I want it to be. I lead with my imagination and, inevitably, the brush follows.

I saw that my drawings had to be of a simplicity that would match the idiocy I was seeking.

One of the greatest, most wonderful things about cartooning is that it's so much up to the person doing it and how they want to do it. There's no one way.

Cartooning for me is my art. I take it very seriously. It's highbrow, it's Daumier.

[My compulsion to create] is like a mental illness that I work out in cartoons.

It is nice to get your cartoons accepted, but if you can get past that and just draw for yourself and just try not to give a s***, which I know sounds arrogant, but that's how you have to be.

[Sam Gross] had some very interesting words of wisdom, one of which was 'Just remember, any minute it can all turn to s***.' That is sort of my general mindset, that all sorts of different anvils can fall out of the sky at any time.

Just as music courses enhance our appreciation by dissecting melody, rhythm, and harmony, Funny Stuff accomplishes a similar feat for gag cartoons.

I feel that the cartoon should involve something happening that could not possibly happen, but which has a kind of truth to it. There should be a give-and-take between the truth and the implausibility. If those two things are going on at the exact same time, and they’re both equal in weight, then the brain has a conflict that it has to resolve, and it can only resolve it through laughter.