Just what the on-line world needs, another Joe Linker site. But while The Coming of the Toads blogs onward, I continue to doodle, and the results often suggest cartoons. A perfect cartoon is one that needs no words. Thus my new site, titled “Cartoons at Joe’s,” promises: “The less said the better, but there will be captions.” Interested readers, anyone looking for a smile, can find “Cartoons at Joe’s” by clicking here. It’s over at Substack.
The set up for “Cartoons at Joe’s” is minimalist, the writing sparse. And the readers few – so far 3 subscribers. Subscriptions are free, but at the cost of yet another email in your inbox. But the reward of a smile hopefully defrays that cost. But you can also check out “Cartoons at Joe’s” anytime you want with a Google bar search, or by saving the link, or a thousand other ways well paid programmers have come up with. I’ll be sitting at the bar, where there’s no wait.
You might have seen a few of the cartoons before, elsewhere, here, in fact, maybe. That’s ok. Watching reruns of classics is a perfectly acceptable use of your time. And I’ll always be doodling for new cartoons.
After the fall before it was all over knowing all along wrong from the start belief belittled after awhile persistence paid well and the interlude did not feel like a slump who sat still felt trapped and everyone all worked overtime all the time along the line here and there a smile a smell a breeze even if the windows wouldn’t open not there not in that building which like a fortress ship full of pink dresses tight collared pinched and pitched swollen with wariness almost fearful slow not quite sure diagnosis acute nervousness jim-jams and on pajama day all asked who sits here without benefit of knick-knacks pics of all the kids the stout spouse keeping house and at the all sporting game asked in all seriousness why do you all do what you do and all could answer the question without already all knowing the answer plainly clearly concisely in the land of milk and honey hidden behind partitions attached to all the others in confetti filled aisles tolerable hours what a waste they all said their baskets full of bread but in the end the trends the lines of best fit all fell it was all about math all along days numbered fell they all fell and in falling looked for a place to land without breaking in pieces some fell up some fell down the ones who often played the clown cried and claimed all fell and all broke in the office of the one doomed it was like after a war all fallen astrew forced hands held together with screws.
His metaPhone (Q 1) holstered on his belt and boasted like a pearl-handled spatula a fine tweezer feature purest in the kitchen but as a mycophagist on vacation he was slow to get the picture: he should have left the phone at home.
She skiffed his phone like a stone across the stream and it smacked the face of a rapid rose to the lip and flipped onto the river rocks where it slipped like a fish and caught between silly and sorry mess
while the water ebbed aback and swirled about him he dove again and again for the mother-of-pearl case for his applications and poisonous twins and recipies his personal algorithms and desserts
calendars his files and messages tips and notes settings and cameras and his unfinished Joy of… his meals his awards medals commendations his secret usernames passwords fundamental
identities his capabilities capacities radio interface multi-mode banking signaling his data to Universe. Drown rather than lose his cell. They were supposed to be on vacation, but he was on his cell phone
and while he was on his call stung was she by the venomous double away they swam leaving him and his phone in the hot sand where he smelled the world at his feet.
Now we must close our caper of the nose before the plot thickens the dickens to play for a meal is saga but a poem mere snack one is shared the other kept under the hat.