Hey guys,

As you're probably aware by now, Fuzzy and OJ ended last month. It had a great run for 3 years (with some breaks). Fuzzy was basically me, and OJ was my friend who drew the comic in the beginning. He left after a year to pursue matrimonial vagina. The comic lay dormant for a few months and then I started it up again with me as the "artist", in addition to the writer. Thankfully, Laura jumped aboard last year, and unlike both me and OJ, she actually has a DEGREE in art, so she knows what she's doing.

To stick to the original theme, I felt we should make a comic with Fuzzy and Elly loosely based on the writer and artist respectively. Also, this comic is a fresh new idea, which will be funnier and more enjoyable for readers. Rather than the one-off comics like in F&O, Fuzzy and Elly will be a continuing story. This should make the characters and story more likable, and the comic a bit more meaningful. Let me know what you think! We already have 4 comics up and plenty more coming.

Check the damn thing out already! It's www.fuzzyandelly.com

~Fuzzy

Halloween is great. All the women dress like sluts. It doesn't matter if it's 10 below and there's an epidemic of flesh eating virus going around. All the girls will wear at most a bra and vagina and say "I'm a [fill in the blank]". Blank is irrelevant.

Neighborhoods in your town will very quickly get divided up on Halloween night. There will be the epicenters, were hordes of drunken, screaming, vandalizing young adults will tromp around in "costumes" while puking onto sidewalks. Then there'll be the ring around that, where people are coming and going from these hellish puke-pits in various states of consciousness.. And then you have quiet candy-heaven neighborhoods with cheerful children running around singing with joy while their parents glance about fearfully. Whether it's candy, alcohol, or being a whore, everyone's satisfying an addiction.

Lest you think I'm uncommonly intelligent and above these self-destructive activities, I can assure you I'm not. I did indeed go out, wearing an absurd hat. When anyone asked me what I was, I wordlessly pointed to my hat and just stared at them, as if they were meant to gain sudden comprehension. I had liquor bottles hanging out of my pockets, because I felt this was somehow classier than carrying them down the street in my hands. The festivities were a vague blur but at some point I was surrounded by raucous women who were taking turns shooting my shotgun. This was a dangerous activity to be enjoying in my bedroom.

I awoke sometime in the afternoon stinking of cigarettes and sex. I asked the woman lying next to me if she smoked and she said "no." I then asked where I met her and she said the last thing she remembered was expunging the contents of her stomach and then falling asleep in an alleyway. I guess "picking up women" took on new meaning.

~Fuzzy

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Here's the original script for Monday's comic, more or less.

~Fuzzy

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Laura actually did finish the comic. I just decided to flip and rearrange the panels and then write a totally different caption for it, one which made her seem like a capricious artist. There wasn't even an especially good reason for it. I am just occasionally an asshole, and she needs to be reminded of that sometimes (pretty often actually).

In case you're an uneducated lump, oozing out of the confines of your chair, what the comic does is "break the fourth wall." In this case, it means the characters are talking about how they're in a comic. In the case of a movie or a play, the characters would talk to the audience. I occasionally get the altruistic urge to rescue you from your ignorance, by teaching you knew and interesting things. I also have nothing else to write about.

Characters talking to the audience can be a little disconcerting. It's like watching a puppy playing with a stick, and then it suddenly looks at you and says, "I'm just playing with a stupid stick; it really isn't that cute." I had this happen once and realized I had to stop drinking. Actually, it would be useful if animals and other things did point out useful tidbits to you. For example, I would love it if cupcakes could say, "don't eat me. You're fat. Put me down fatty. Now waddle away."

Don't you wish you had looked at some porn instead?

~Fuzzy

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Laura draws comics far more regularly than I ever did, or even OJ. I mean, we could always go back to "comics" about a dolphin or David Hasslehoff, separated by a luxurious 6 month break. Or you could quit whining for a week and wait for Laura to grow a new foot (or whatever). Maybe this will be a good chance for you to write your local congressman and tell him to stop raping you in the ass repeatedly.

There's been a lot of whiny bullshit in the news lately about H1N1. It's a flu, except it kills way fewer people than regular flu. In order to counteract this disappointment, the media has spun it up to be the most goddamn epic disease since the Black Plague. Now THERE was a harbinger of mass extinction. Unfortunately a couple humans survived that, so they could sit around on their fat asses today and whine about getting a sore throat and a sniffle. Oh boohoo, some kid in Mexico died because it was living in a six foot deep pool of pig manure. So your kid who lives in Mt. Perfect and snorts sanitizing lotion twice daily is going to suffer the same fate. Grow a dick. I've punched more people to death than this mild shit.

Our lives are so easy and lazy today that we have to invent reasons to fear for our survival. It used to be that there was a horde of fur clad brutes in pointy helmets in every direction hurling axes at you while you planted turnips in the morning. Now the most dangerous thing we can expect is to spill green soda on our keyboard while going on an "epic raid, lolz". The funny thing is, kids today and kids from a thousand years ago both may have talked about, "fighting off the horde." Of course, the difference stops there. "My dad gave me his sword as he lay dying with his spleen oozing out his side. I guess you can say I leveled up that day." Ah good times. I'm sure glancing fearfully at your coworkers in the off chance they're carrying a couple germs gives you the same thrill.

~Fuzzy

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You know as well as I do that nobody uses Myspace anymore, except to look at blurry pics of hot chicks who claim that "you're really interesting and I'd love to strip naked in front of a camera for you!"

Thankfully, Fuzzy and OJ is on Facebook!

~Fuzzy Hugeballs Fuzzacious

EDIT: That link totally doesn't go anywhere. But just search for "Fuzzy and OJ" and join the group.

Parties are popular places to make a love connection, or at least a genital connection. The conditions are perfect. You're drunk, she's drunk, you're both drunk. There's no need to worry about compatible personalities, whether she's allergic to your dog, or if she's a raving psycho. All that matters is she's hot (at least you thought so for the split second your eyes could focus) and you're horny.

But there lies a challenge in sealing the deal. Where do you go? Ideally it's a place you can get to QUICKLY. Because love is a fickle and short-lived thing. It lives only as long as you're both trashed. Any more than a couple of minutes and she may sober up enough to realize that you're not her boyfriend. Or she may get an urgent text message from her friend ("I just realized my purse doesn't match my shoes! We have to swap purses NOW, or else I will cry in the bathroom for an hour!") The logistics are rife with disaster. You have to think on your feet and get her naked as FAST AS POSSIBLE.

If you're at a house party, the best option is an empty bedroom. But assuming you're not the best-looking guy at the party (and by assume I mean know), you probably won't have first dibs on empty rooms, or even empty cupboards. That leaves you with the shower stall, the large couch in the living room, and the big bush in front of the house. Ideally, you want to pick a spot where your friends can surreptitiously watch, otherwise you will have no proof that you didn't just pass out and dream the whole thing up. If there's photo evidence involved, that's even better. Pretty much the more humiliated the girl is by the experience, the more "mad propz" you will get from your friends. Play it safe. Set up a hidden camcorder.

~Fuzzy

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Well here it is, the long awaited conclusion. After the all the laughs and tears, the twists and turns, the bumps and bruises, we have come to the exciting end. Click now, and your life will be fulfilled*.

The ending of many a movie, book, or story seem a little weird to me. That's because I know that the characters would continue to live long afterward (unless they all get hacked to bits or turned into zombies). OK, so what's wrong with that? Well let's take some examples. The hero cop stops the evil villain, saving countless lives. The movie ends. Hooray! What then? The hero cop gets written up for destroying property, operating outside of his jurisdiction, and a bunch of other shit. You know his boss wants to back him up, but Internal Affairs doesn't care that Mr. Bad had to be stopped at all costs ("Did you really have to smash a helicopter into a building? Couldn't you just have called backup?"). Hero Cop spends all of his money defending himself. His girlfriend/wife (whatever hot chick he ended up with at the end of the movie) leaves him. Eventually they let him stay at a shitty desk job where he won't cause any more property damage. He retires, bitter and alone, and due to department cuts, no pension. He and an ancient Neil Armstrong are seen arguing at a Subway. "Don't you know who I am?"... "No! Don't you know who I am?"

How about that romantic comedy, huh? They always live happily ever after, right? You just know that the best way for a hot player guy to stay attractive forever is to suddenly turn into a huge pussy at the end of the movie. "I know you were really attracted to me because I was such a challenge, well guess what! I'm not a challenge anymore! You have me forever! Wait, where are you going?" And of course the guys in the audience are thinking, "but I'm always a huge pussy! Any girl who wants me can have me! They don't even have to work for me! Stupid rich handsome actors." But in any case, you don't get to see the part after the movie ends where the relationship becomes really boring and complacent. Then they cheat on each other, have a furious shouting match, and then go meet their *REAL* soul mates (rinse. repeat.)

Maybe in the next Disney movie, after the credits have finished rolling, they can show the adorable puppy getting hit by a truck. Oops. That's one fewer real life lesson parents will have to teach their kids. It's bad enough they have to explain that Rover can't make witty remarks (or any remarks at all, for that matter).

~Fuzzy

* Life fulfillment not guaranteed.

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Here's the second part of this three part series. You are another 33% closer to knowing how this stupid story ends! That's an approximation of course. There's no guarantee that I'll be 100% sober next week and able to put up the comic. Hell, there's no guarantee that I'll be even 33% sober.

Movies tend to have really ridiculous villains with ridiculous plans. In real life, if a guy is crazy, he just buys a gun and goes nuts. But in a movie, they have to drill a fucking hole in the earth and stuff it with exploding frogs. Or lasso the moon and yank it out of orbit. Or dump several billion tons of pudding mix into the ocean and turn it into delicious chocolate pudding (but what about the fishes! Oh nos!). There's always only one guy who can foil the villain's plan. Every single other police agency in the fucking world is too incompetent to notice several hundred kilotons of TNT, or to notice a rocket getting launched from someone's backyard ("No, we can't just blast it out of the sky! We have to risk the lives of 7 billion people so our suave spy can first rescue a chick in a bikini!")

Of course, when the hero finds the villain, he's always outgunned and outnumbered. But that's ok! The villain doesn't bother just shooting the hero to make sure he doesn't foil the villain's plans. Oh no! He superglues the hero to an angry dog and then surrounds him with rabid ducks. Surely the hero who has single-handedly (remember all law enforcement = incompetent) found and confronted the evil villain will be defeated by a clever rube-goldberesque trap. Occasionally, to make things a bit more realistic, the villain will say, "fuck the kiddy pool of sharks, I'm just going to shoot you myself," but then he talks for another 20 fucking minutes while the hero fashions a grenade out of shoelaces and a piece of gum.

Seriously though, we should just have an 800 line directly to Bruce Willis or Sean Connery.

~Fuzzy

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We're taking a trip down a new avenue here. Part 1 of this three part series is here for you to munch on. The conclusion of the story should leave you delightfully satisfied, but you'll just have to wait until then.

The Roaring Twenties was a tumultuous time. It introduced some great things, like knee-length dresses (look at all that naked skin!) and Felix the Cat. It also introduced some not-so-great things, like making alcohol illegal, and giving women the vote. You win some; you lose some. There were quite a few cultural changes at the time. Best of all, the Roaring Twenties provided a host of easy Halloween costume ideas. I can put on a pinstripe suit and a fedora and say "I'm from the twenties," which is way more exciting than, "I'm going to work."

This period of fast growth and easy living came to a crashing halt on October 29, 1929. A lot of people seem to miss the obvious parallel to the modern day, or at least they choose to be oblivious to it ("Everything will be awesome forever! I don't need a job or money!"). But then, the fact that we enjoy exciting stories of daring and debonair detectives shows that we at least wish we could be plucky in the face of hardship. There's not much pluck in hanging out in your mother's dripping basement, counting the number of weeks until your unemployment runs out while your jaundiced children eat cereal out of a bag. Who doesn't want to run out into the night to beat up baddies while scoring with hot buxom dames? Hmm, I've never considered pretending to be a detective while doing that.

There's a lot more charm in cruising down to the local speakeasy in your Model T than cruising down to the local dive bar in your beat up Toyota. Although perhaps 80 years from now people will find even that to be adventurous. They'll complain how there's no excitement in, "flying down to the beer suppository factory in my beat up hover-car." But then, 80 years from then, people will say, "there's no excitement in turning up the 'drunk' knob on my forehead." I'm sure by that point, they'll be telling stories about Al Capone battling George Bush on a dinosaur.

~Fuzzy

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