I wandered outside to check on the hornet trap (1 occupant, I’ll get to that in a minute), and when I returned to the kitchen Patches was explaining that there were monsters outside.

I came in during the middle of the conversation at a point which he was explaining to Sandra “No, DADDY kill them with a sword.” Well, good. It’s nice that my kids have such faith in me. Like any good monster-slaying hero (or at least any hero with an eye towards longevity), I asked him for some details. Apparently these beasts make a fearsome noise (GRRKKKKH!) and hide in trees with flashlights. Hmmm…

I was ready to dismiss this as a flight of fancy that just happened to feature me as the hero, until Sandra realized what Patches was talking about. “It’s not flashlights. It’s LIGHTNING. He’s talking about thunder and lightning.”

Oh-HO! I’ve got news for you, kid. Your daddy, brave though you may think him to be, just found that a spider had moved into the hornet trap and laid an egg sac, and that tiny little beast gave him a case of the willies that will likely render him unable to APPROACH the trap, much less open and clean it. Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to head out into the next thunderstorm and wave a four-foot length of high-tempered carbon steel around under the trees. Sure, I’ve got a sword. I’ve got three or four that would make very servicable weapons. But these thunder and lightning monsters, like the spiders I’m mortally afraid of, don’t fight fair. If I succeed in engaging one with my blade, that won’t be the “thrill of victory” coursing through my veins.

The next time these monsters make themselves heard, son, your lily-livered Dad will sit quietly with you in the family room and hope they go away. Maybe if we get lucky lightning will strike the hornet trap.

–Howard

The Schlock Mercenary buffer is doing much better. I cranked out two full weeks of strips last week, with a heroic push on Saturday when I pencilled and inked a whole week between 2:30pm and 7:00pm.

I’ve got a week of scripts in front of me, ready for another heroic push Monday morning. And yeah, I need to shoot for two weeks per week until further notice.

–Howard

Me, I think that hairline looks dorky McDork-dork, but it’s the one God gave me, so I drew it right there on my head.

If I can get the hair long enough for a nice, stylish comb-over then I’ll change the icon. 🙂

–Howard

My friend Scotty is a little-league umpire, and he related an experience of his to me. I’ll likely get some of the details wrong.

He was officiating a junior little-league game this last week, where the players were all seven and eight years old. It was tied, 1-1, at the end of the fifth and final inning, so they went into their special “extra innings” rules. Under these rules, the inning begins with a runner on second, so that it becomes much more likely that these poor tired little kids will be able to end the game with someone actually winning.

In the seventh inning, the 2nd-base runner for the visiting team was a six-year-old who had slipped in with a wink and a nod. The batter hit the ball, and the little guy took off. The ball was grounded and thrown to the 3rd-baseman, who fell down trying to tag this six-year-old runner as he rounded third. The umpire called him safe, and the third baseman struggled to get up and throw it home, but threw wide, and the six-year-old crossed the plate.

Scotty, who had made the call at third, was ready to have the pitcher continue the inning when he found a tug at his pants leg.

The six-year-old runner was looking up at him. Scotty said “good job,” and made to give him a high-five, but the boy said “he got me.”

“What?”

“He got me on my foot. You said I was safe, but I wasn’t.”

Scotty called the coaches to the field, and had the boy tell them what he had told him. The boy’s coach was a little taken aback, but knew that much more was at stake here than something as silly as who scored a run.

Scotty said “I know the rules. The umpire calls ’em, and a call like this can’t be changed. At this young man’s request, though, I’m going to ignore that rule. He said he’s out, well, he’s out. The score is 1-1. Play ball.”

I don’t know how the game ended, and I don’t really care. I wish I could be as honest as that kid. I would that we were ALL so honest.

–Howard