We are not a religious bunch of people. We are barely even spiritual. I’d characterize us each as people who are interested in simply being good, maybe even beyond reproach. Maybe some of the Junior Sneerists just bump along, existing until inevitably dying and turning to dust. That is to say, this was all the case until we discovered some rubble that was once a temple. Within that rubble were complete sketches of how the temple once looked, and mostly-indecipherable texts describing the rituals and beliefs of the worshipers who once populated this place.
The temple may be a metaphor, but the religion is real: Sneerholicism
Get a haircut, ya dang hippie! Really though. Hair keeps growing every single day and it doesn’t even stop after you’re dead, according to popular trivia that might or might not be true. While Amandoll keeps her hair short because she can’t stand the touch of loose hair on her neck, I sometimes can go months, years without bothering. I’m not growing it out for a wig or anything, I just have better things to do.
Every once in a while, however, I reach a point where it’s just gotta go. Or I suddenly have hair motivation and am able to get to a pair of scissors before it fades away again and I become distracted by all of the more interesting things in life, which is apparently almost everything else. I’m even writing this article instead of getting the haircut that I need! Oh well!
We, the writers of Sneer Campaign, are not complete philistines. Occasionally we like to raise our pinky fingers and sip on hot tea while discussing some of the finer things in this world. Sometimes we cover matters of history, other times we may speak at length about books we have read, or scientific breakthroughs that had been brought to our attention somehow. Other days, we sit around analyzing classic artworks — but never modern art because we are not sophisticated enough to “get” it!
Today, we decided to take a look at the Last Supper, by some kid named Leonardo da Vinci. He had his day back in the 1400s, but do not let that frighten you. Those days were not so different than these days we are in now. So take our hands, readers, and appreciate the history of art, religious beliefs, flippant artistic subterfuge, and yes even a little Last Supper Day Miracle!
I have been drowning myself in video games, lately. This is quite unusual as I generally try to avoid them. Modern video games tend to nauseate me with the way they move; even the good ones will give me a mild headache. I am having a mild headache right now, actually. I am on a break from this one game I found in my friends’ old stack of games. It is called “Fable.” I am playing it miserably, and am not good at quests and keeping track of what the plot even is. But I enjoy the ways you can interact with the other people. I started out being very Good, and people would cheer for me as I walked along. But then, my good pal Brian influenced me in terrible ways.
When you’re buying a wine, it’s probably easy enough to get a sort of general recommendation for which wine might go well with a certain kind of dinner. That is… if you’re eating something relatively normal for dinner, or something wine is commonly thought to go with.
But some of us don’t just eat pasta Bolognese and mushroom risotto, wine sites! Some of us eat the glorious American tradition that is fast food, and some of us want a complementary wine to drink while we eat that fast food.
I am not going to mention specific wines, because it’s unlikely that readers could find them across the United States, and even less likely they’d find them around the world. But I will describe the perfect kinds of wines for these foods, based on my 100% expert opinion as someone who hardly drinks wine, but never does not eat fast food.
I am not the most physically strong person there is. It is a struggle for me to do a single push up, and I prefer to generally never do any sort of heavy lifting. You won’t find me running endurance races, or hurtling myself over obstacles. All of my strength is inner strength, which I think is pretty important in the scheme of things. I’m not some great champion of cryptic crosswords, but I can do them, a little. And I’m not exactly brave, judging by my reaction to the last house centipede I saw… Maybe I’m not THAT strong mentally, or psychologically. But I can do one thing. I can sit through unbelievably long YouTube videos of ambient sounds.
Or so I thought! On this particular day, I decided to listen to the soothing sounds of laughter for 24 hours (if I listened to the video twice). After twenty minutes, I was done. I’m not sure if I was already out of balance when I started this experience, but my roller coaster was so pronounced that I began keeping a little journal of my reactions. I did keep adding layers of difficulty to the situation, in an almost self-destructive act. I just wanted it to end. I just wanted it to ALL end.
Observe my tribulation below. Click on it, if you have to. You can see it better that way.
Nursery rhymes are a staple for most of us as we grow up. They are age-old classics from yester-century, usually, with some modernizations and updates so that we aren’t teaching children about drowning kittens in wells like it’s just a thing boys happen to do, so here’s a cute little rhyme about it. Or, oh here’s some nightmare fodder about the clumsy egg man who died.
It seems that Mother Goose lived sometime in the 1800s, made a collection of poems for children, and that was that. No one ever tried again because why mess with perfection, I assume they thought. Well except for modern day poets such as Andrew Dice Clay, who I understand modernized nursery rhymes in a more ribald sense. But that is of no use to anyone, anymore.
Luckily for us all, we at the Sneer Campaign have unearthed some “new” versions of beloved nursery rhymes, which the sophisticated children of the 1920s and 1930s enjoyed and learned from. Their lessons were timeless and universal, so children of today will benefit just as well. In fact, the children of today will benefit even more because modern kids have not a lick of urbanity or savoir-faire. So have their nannies and au pairs strap them down and force them to recite these poems. It builds the right kind of character that the world desperately needs!
As we sat peacefully in our Sneer Studio on this sunny late October afternoon, a terrible thing happened. The ground began to shake and a writhing, wriggling column shot up through the floor, causing many thousands of dollars in damage, both to the HQ and to our delicate psyches. The peak of the living mass formed a mouth and bleached hair, and after carefully placing some coolguy sunglasses, raspily whispered, “immortalize me” with a voice of a thousand cicadas rattling at once. Science is more horrifying than any horror fiction, boys and girls, and it is a known fact that for each and every human being on this planet, there are 40 tons of insects. Except for the celebrity, Guy Fieri, who IS 40 tons of insects along with some incredibly unhealthy foods (which are themselves comprised mostly of insect parts).
Although I am a devout disciple of Mr. Rogers, the kindest, gentlest soul to grace the world with his presence in our lifetimes, I am only human. I am flawed. And I strive every day to not be 100% horrible. I really try to be only half horrible at most. I swear! I even read Mr. Rogers’ quotes every single day because I have a Daily Mr. Rogers’ Quotes Calendar! But on days when I am struggling, I have friends who help me. Or sometimes they encourage me to be awful. But on the day of this comic presented to you, AlexT was in a beatific mood and bestowed upon me (and all of you now too) magnanimous wisdom. Because he is nice.
Sometimes I think of this advice on my own, when I am alone in my struggle. Sometimes I even give this advice to other people, when I am at my best. And now you can print out this comic and hang it next to your mirror at home, and look at it every day as a reminder to be good.
Hello, I am an artist. Actually, that isn’t exactly true. I am a person who has artistic ability, and am skilled in illustration. I have never really felt like an “artist,” even though it is my sole source of income and is practically “”my career”” I guess. I don’t really relate to the term, though. I always say it like it is an absurd claim. I don’t think it is because I feel like an impostor. I generally feel confident that I can do an art, if commissioned to do so. But I never use art to express myself.
I think I have always thought an artist is supposed to create because they are compelled to do so. They will JUST DIE if they do not take what is broiling inside of them and release it onto a canvas or some clay thing, or whatever they are into, artistically. They have these emotions and then use something to portray the emotions to a receptive, sometimes critical audience. Meanwhile, I will like draw a series of frowny faces if I am sad, or if I am angry I draw a scribble mark. Whee!
I don’t really feel saddened by this. I don’t feel like I have a block that prevents me from expressing myself. Sure, I occasionally worry that it is because I am some sort of soulless ghoul that doesn’t feel, but then I remind myself that that is my whole life goal, and anyway I do have emotions! Way too many of them! I just weep in darkness, or confide in one of my few friends, that’s all. I have no need to make a picture to feel better. Or at least that’s what I always thought to be true. But then I joined an app thing called Miitomo.