End O' The Year

Today is Christmas. I got some shirts and a trumpet... Badass.

Marmaduke Explained is on hiatus or whatever until shortly after New Year's. First, here's a few things that bear mentioning.

- Thanks to everyone who ordered t-shirts. To everyone who has not ordered a t-shirt, you should order one. They're very neat, and probably give you all kinds of sex appeal. Extra special thanks much to Brian from tikitees.com for the manufacturing and the shipping and the general helping me out, and also my sister Kate for teaching me organization-type stuff and keeping track of things. Be cool and order a bunch of shirts, then allow two to four weeks for shipping.

- Apparently I am going to speak at a convention for internet people at Harvard next spring. Click here to read about stuff.

- There will probably be a couple of changes over the next couple of months. Long story short, my heart sorta hasn't really been in this lately (assuming it ever is, I mean), and I'm going to try and figure out a way to make this blog both better for you folks and more interesting for myself. I found this totally fun dancing baby .gif on my aunt's geocities page; hopefully that'll kick the excitement factor up a couple of notches.

- I am going to make a concerted effort to read everyone's comments over the next week. If you said any nasty things about my mother, you should go delete them now, because that would make me completely angry.

- If anyone's going to Oklahoma to see the Flaming Lips on New Year's Eve, say hi to me. I am going to be wearing a hat, unless I choose not to.

Marmaduke and a bunch of other dogs are Christmas caroling. A man and his wife prefer the dogs' caroling to the caroling of the other Christmas carolers they have seen.

Marmaduke is wearing a hat. He is asked whether the hat means his ears are cold or he is trying to make a fashion statement by his fat elderly neighbor (who is trying to make a fashion statement of his own).

Marmaduke, who has been eagerly anticipating Christmas for a good long while now, opens his front door to find not the bearded red coat-wearing man in a sleigh (Santa) he had been hoping for, but a spindly-limbed alien. Marmaduke runs his preconceived checklist of Santa characteristics by his owner-man, who confirms them. It is anyone's guess as to why the alien was knocking on their door, or why Marmaduke opened the door, or HOW Marmaduke opened the door, or how Marmaduke communicated "Are you sure Santa has a red coat, beard and a sleigh?" to his owner-man, but I wouldn't recommend thinking too hard about any of this.

Marmaduke appears to have been drawn by foot today.

Marmaduke has a habit of fucking poodles around Christmastime. Both he and his latest yuletide one-night-stand have the ability to levitate outside of windows.

CHRISTMAS SHIPPING TIMEFRAME = EXPIRED

Everyone who ordered shirts before midnight last night will receive them sometime next week, just in time to absentmindedly wrap them in old newspaper and hurry over to Grandpa's for the holidays. Everybody who ordered after midnight, your Grandpas are going to have to wait until after December 25th for their cuss-laden t-shirts, unless you want to take a sharpie and write "SHIT" or "FUCKBALLS" or something on a dollar-store undershirt. Totally up to you.

Christmas Beats,

Joe Mathlete

Marmaduke is serving time-out for capsizing his owner-family's Christmas tree. He signals his owner-lady to request if he would be able to serve it with a girl named Billy, but she denies him permission to do so.

In no universe could a real dog actually position its arm like that.

reminder: TODAY IS THE LAST DAY TO ORDER A SHIRT FOR HOLIDAY SHIPPING

I'm using the word "holiday" in the Wal-Mart/McDonald's sense, where it means "Christmas" or "December 25th. But yeah, you've got to order by tonight at midnight (CST) if you want any t-shirts by then.

Also, if you're Canadian and ordered a shirt and haven't gotten back to me, check your email.

CLICK HERE FOR YOUR LAST CHANCE AT THE HOLIDAYS NOT SUCKING

Marmaduke's will is ten percent of property law and has veto power over the other ninety percent.

T-Shirt Update

Number One: The deadline for domestic Christmas shipping is midnight, December 12 (that's Central Standard time, on account of I live in Houston and I'm not gonna stay awake an extra couple hours just so someone on the west coast can get their shit together). Click here and give me your money (in exchange for material goods)!

Number Two: If you're from Canada and are planning on ordering a shirt, please read this.

Number Three: If you're from Canada and have already ordered a shirt, check your email (the one that's hooked up to your PayPal account).

Number Four: Can you believe I haven't been sued yet? I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for well over a year now. I hope I'm not tempting fate by acknowledging this.

Marmaduke's doghouse has a garage. Get it? It's a doghouse, with a garage! Nobody knows why Marmaduke needs a garage, but he has a garage all the same. What a strange thing for a doghouse to have! So outrageously wacky, so deliciously absurd-- quintessential Marmaduke.

Marmaduke is a little behind in his bone burying. His owner-man incorrectly postulates this is because the ground is frozen while serving Marmaduke a bag of Barfoo-brand dog food. The reality of the situation is that Marmaduke has been drinking too much to get around to his bone burying, but Owner-Man is too wrapped up in feeding him to notice the spent beer cans scattered around the premises.

Marmaduke is gloating about his family's wealth, despite the fact that their house appears to have significant foundation problems.

Marmaduke's owner-family went to Piney Tree Farm, which allows you to pick ur own tree. Their decision strategy consists of waiting to see which tree their Great Dane urinates on.

Marmaduke destroyed his owner-family's mailbox (and probably a number of other things) during his afternoon walk with his owner-man. Owner-Man makes light of the mailbox situation to his wife, yet another example of how the bulk of their communication is a numb, disconnected and empty series of weak jokes and ironic understatements deployed in order to distance themselves from the horror and futility of spending their lives as the prisoner-slaves of their powerful, self-serving ogre of a dog.

Capitalism strikes again: T-SHIRTS NOW AVAILABLE

Three shirt designs, a variety of colors, choice of swears or no swears, high-quality Hanes cotton blends, and remember: ALL SHIRTS ORDERED BY DECEMBER 12 WILL SHIP IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS. I think that about covers it.


Click here to get funky (with commerce)

T-Shirts: TOTALLY AVAILABLE WEDNESDAY!

They would be here today but Paypal and html are once again conspiring against me (so, "technical difficulties").

HOWEVER, I can announce with astonishing certainty the following:

- There will be three shirt designs for sale, each one radder than the last

- Each shirt comes in three different color schemes (no more "white ink on black and to hell with you if you're not down with that")

- Some of the shirts contain absolutely no cuss words whatsoever, meaning you will be able to wear them in front of your grandpa without offending him (though he may find it somewhat confusing)

- Each shirt is available in a "girly tee" design, perfect for both ladies and skinny dudes with breasts

- Those of you festive enough to order your shirts by WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 12 will receive your shirt just in time for Christmas

Tune in tomorrow to get your commerce on, as well as witness the unveiling of the secret (and super-cool) third shirt design. I'll give you a hint: it's about Marmaduke.

Marmaduke fetched his owner-man's newspaper but mangled it badly in the process. Realizing that his gigantic dog not only shredded his paper but stole the free sample of ecstasy included within, Owner-Man chastises Marmaduke, who responds by grinning widely, staring blankly into the middle distance and thinking about how he loves things that make him happy.

Guess who has a bootleg copy of Photoshop?

Marmaduke is staring intensely at one of his owner-lady's houseguests, interrupting the ladies' conversation and showing little regard for etiquette or personal space. Depending on the level of anthropomorphization one wishes to assign to Marmaduke, he is either being extremely rude, extremely threatening, a dog, or some combination thereof.

For the first time ever: JOE MATHLETE RECAPTIONS MARMADUKE!

"Marmaduke, what are you doing?"




"Marmaduke, stop it!"




"Marmaduke, shut up!"




"Marmaduke!"




"You're an asshole."

EXCITING ANNOUNCEMENT: T-SHIRTS ARE BACK!

Or will be back soon, like next week or so maybe once I figure a couple things out.

HOWEVER:


Not only will this fine beauty be available for commercial consumption once again; I will also be offering additional designs somewhat more appropriate to wear in front of your grandparents. Stay tuned this week, and make sure to get overly excited.

Joe Mathlete is going to not do this for a week

Next week: EXCITING ANNOUNCEMENT!

This week: NAPS!

Marmaduke destroyed or disturbed nearly every item in the house for reasons still at large. His owner-lady offers several hypotheses for the rampage that vary wildly in probability, failing to touch upon the most likely and obvious explanation (Marmaduke felt like it).

Marmaduke's fat, elderly neighbor has been huffing paint thinner again, which does not mix well with his Alzheimer's.

Marmaduke, in an exquisitely ironic bit of comical juxtaposition, is being disobedient on the way to obedience school.

Marmaduke's owner-man and owner-lady are not going to let him watch any more Fred Astaire movies, as they give him horrifically violent seizures.

Marmaduke is licking his owner-girl's mouth because it tastes like strawberries. Though it makes perfect sense for a dog to do this, I still find something about today's Marmaduke vaguely upsetting.

Marmaduke's owner-man, is taking Marmaduke out for a walk. Owner-Man asks Marmaduke to slow down, implying that their walk is a competition rather than exercise. Marmaduke invites Owner-Man (who appears to be suffering from mild cerebral palsy) to kiss his ass.

Marmaduke dug a large hole under his doghouse (the interior of which I could have sworn was supposed to be disproportionately enormous, but asking for continuity out of Marmaduke creator Brad Anderson is like asking your 100-year-old grandpa what he had for dinner last Thursday). Marmaduke's owner-man and fat, elderly neighbor, who tend to have absolutely nothing better to do than lean on their backyard fence and make wisecracks about what Marmaduke is doing, lean on their backyard fence and make wisecracks about what Marmaduke is doing.

Marmaduke is fetching the paper for his owner-man. Marmaduke's concept of "fetching" is limited primarily to the act of getting something and chewing on it; fulfilling his owner-man's wishes is not really part of the process.

Marmaduke is being affectionate to a stranger in order to ruin his owner-man's day. Their relationship is complicated at best.

Marmaduke is a member of the Boy Scouts of America, despite being a large dog rather than a boy. He has developed the sole shared characteristic of all Boy Scouts: the compulsive need to help old ladies across the street, even if it means dropping everything you're doing (like being walked by your owner-man) and physically harming the old lady (in this case, by biting a chunk out of her arm).

Marmaduke's Owner-Man vainly attempts to exert control over the situation by doing a racist World War II-era impersonation of Hideki Tojo.

Marmaduke is flying.

Marmaduke is hugging his owner-man because the lawn mower is about to hibernate.

Joe Mathlete Explains Today's Marmaduke: Now with comments

As some of you have noticed, I have never allowed comments on this blog. I have a number of reasons for this, but recently I have found a number of reasons to go against my initial stance:

1. I keep getting a lot of emails asking me to allow comments

2. People often leave comments related to this blog on another blog I do

3. The people leaving comments, and especially writing the emails, are almost uniformly friendly and thoughtful (or at the very least, not stupid)

4. I don't have to read blog comments if I don't want to, and I sure as hell don't have to respond to them if I don't feel like it

5. Eh, what the hell

That last one was by far the most important. So: eh, what the hell, comments are enabled. I totally reserve the right to yank this feature if I decide this was a bad idea.

Beats,

Joe Mathlete

Marmaduke, who is skateboarding, knocks over a man in an ill-fitting suit who had previously seen everything but a skateboarding dog knocking him over.

Marmaduke stole his owner-man's car keys, which he used to steal his owner-man's van. Owner man is too busy wearing a fedora to realize this.

Marmaduke ate his owner-children while they were making sandwiches, but now finds himself overcome with remorse. The reality of the situation has not yet hit Marmaduke's owner lady, who so far has only noticed her giant Great Dane weeping into her children's backpack.

Marmaduke ordered a dumptruck and a dumptruck's worth of bones from Ace, a guy who sells ridiculous bullshit to dogs.

Marmaduke sold the naming rights to his doghouse (to Cave's Meats).

Marmaduke is inspecting his owner-boy's backpack. Marmaduke's owner-boy tells two identical twins standing thirty inches to his side that Marmaduke is inspecting his backpack, and he will have to wait until Marmaduke finishes until he can meet them where they are.

Marmaduke is suffering from agoraphobia.

Marmaduke is getting an early start on his Christmas wish list.

Marmaduke punishes an elegantly-dressed houseguest's lack of specificity with a sly lapful of frottage.

You stop for a ball?

You stop for a ball?

You stop for a ball?

Marmaduke's hubris prevents him from conceding defeat to his echo.

Marmaduke's breath should smell good because he ate his fat elderly neighbor-lady's scented candles and now his breath should smell the way that candles smelled (good). All we can tell for certain is that Marmaduke is full of sparkly magic fairy dust.

STOP

STOP IT

JESUS CHRIST STOP IT

THE MOONWALK GOES BACKWARDS

THERE IS NO HOPPING INVOLVED

NONE

BRAD ANDERSON WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

WHAT ARE THE DOGCATCHERS EVEN TALKING ABOUT AND WHY IS THEIR TRUCK FLOATING

MARMADUKE LOOKS SO HORRIFYING

JESUS FUCK STOP IT

I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU

WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS

EVERYTHING YOU CREATE IS CANCER AND MADNESS

HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE

Marmaduke is having a staring contest. Marmaduke's owner-lady does not know what some things, like staring contests, are called.

Sunday Edition

I think it's almost enough to just post Sunday installments of Marmaduke without comment.

"Lazy" and "senile" are not satisfactory excuses; you would have to be missing a chromosome to create this and think you have just crafted an acceptable comic strip. Having said that, I do like how Marmaduke's owner-man is drawn wearing a puffy chef's hat while grilling steaks in his backyard, thus eliminating any potential confusion as to what he is actually doing.

Fuck this shit

First of all, it's called "The Blog of Hilarity" (www.blogofhilarity.com). Strike one and strike two and strike three.

Second of all: "Marmaduke Monday."

Someone brought this to my attention this weekend. The guy who writes it seems to usually stick to by-the-numbers religious intolerance, Pavlovian fratboy misogyny and sports, so it's not something I really keep up with. But the fellow turned out to be a bit of a risk-taker, and he took it upon himself to venture into the exciting and uncharted territories of Exactly What I Do Here.

And then did it again. And again.

I'm not particularly vain or anything; seeing somebody else to secretly usurp my Marmaduke Explaining throne or whatever the fuck is going on there (more likely scenario: he's just really unoriginal and incredibly dim) isn't so much a threat to my ego as it is a sharp reminder as to how stupid this blog really is (to be honest, I'd be surprised if I had another six months in me; barrelfish hunting gets tedious after awhile anyway). But also, y'know... Guy's kind of a douche, huh? Regardless of "Marmaduke Mondays" (currently, his most popular article is "That NYPD cop that got shot has an f-able girlfriend") but especially in light of it.

Anyway, whatever. I'm taking a break for at least a couple days. If you're bored, I fixed an episode of a terrible television show over here; go watch it if you like. Or just read all Blog of Hilarity entries tagged with "fatties gets no love" if you're thirsting for a dose of clever, forward-thinking parody "as seen on ESPN, Slate, Deadspin, Gawker, AOL and more."

Marmaduke wants some 7-bone roast from "fresh MEAT," a local butcher shop. Marmaduke's owner-man goes through the motions of trying to prevent Marmaduke from doing so, creating the illusion of attempted control that will serve as his alibi for when his enormous and unstoppable dog inevitably destroys the store and everything in it.