Frazz by Jef Mallett for August 24, 2018

Wait, Jef the Cyclist? Steph the Motorist??

Holy Schnikes, it’s a Pearls Before Swine shout-out!

When cyclists say “share the road” they mean “Get out of my way, peasant!”

I’ve only seen Pastis do these shoutouts regularly! First time I’ve seen Jef mention Steph!

now waiting for Pastis to respond as it were… :-)

A refrigerator magnet actually does not have infinite magnetic power. It has only the weight of its own mass to utilize in creating any external effect. But try telling that to the magnet.

It is 5 feet in Ann Arbor Michigan .

So when will we hear from Ernest the Electric Car Driver? Or Freddy the Frutarian? Or Victor the Vegan?

Caulfield nails it again. This scenario could apply to any number of divergent viewpoints.

Whether on foot or in a car, I make it a point to not argue with anything that outweighs me by more then 2,000 pounds.

Auto vs. bike. Doesn’t matter who was right. We know how it always turns out.

Nice that she calls them both “dorks.”

Besides being a PBS shout out, this is a great strip! Love it, Jef!

Yield? Around here most cyclists treat stop signs as suggestions.

In California a motorist must allow a 3 foot buffer unless the cyclist is named Jef with one F. If the cyclist is Jef and the motorist has the last name of Pastis, then the buffer is legally a minus 6 inches.

Frazz

15 hrs ·

http://www.gocomics.com/frazz/2018/08/24Flying a bomber in World War II was usually a short career with a bad ending. But once in a while, you might catch a break and somehow fly over the target, drop your load and fly back home with minimal or no enemy resistance. Such sorties were called “milk runs.”

We in the Cartoon Corps don’t have it as rough as the pilots, though we occasionally do bomb. Even still, we welcome the rare milk run, when the world does most of your writing for you and all you have to do is aim.

For today, my fellow citizens of Pleasantville did the bulk of my writing. There’s a kind of mini, hyper-local Facebook-type social media platform called NextDoor. It’s nice for catching up on provincial news, nice for locating youth clubs and teams looking to pick up your empties for the deposit, and nice for calling attention to lost pets, found pets and pets that need adopting. But it’s also a hilarious rant platform. And one guaranteed string of endless rants is when either a motorist complains about bicyclists or a bicyclist complains about motorists. Okay, true, it’s disturbing if you let it be. But it’s also hilarious. The writer is always right, the previous writer is always wrong, and no one has a bloody clue just how self-centered they all come off looking. I was reading one such string of rants in NextDoor Pleasantville exactly one deadline cycle ago, and wanted to write in, “for a bunch of people so obsessed with who does what at a yield sign …” and then thought, nope. I can let these Bozos waste my time, or I can let them do my job for me for a few minutes. Sure, I was tempted to add to the rant-o-sphere. But I did not yield.

For those who rail against what they perceive as the hugeness of Mallett’s ego, please note that in this strip he is calling himself a dork.