NEW YORKER CARTOON CAPTION CONTEST EDITION 5G

Welcome to the most meaningless place on the internet: a low-selling author's sporadically-updated blog! Even worse! Bad captions for dumb cartoons! But, hey. We're all on lockdown and it's lasted way longer than I thought it would so why the hell don't you order the Uh Oh Storytime! chapbook! Buy it at 5GKilledGod.com. 

If you're anti-mask and you want the economy to open up: You, my friend, do not have a functioning brain. Just put on a mask. Putting on a mask allows for places to be open. I work at a place that is open! Masks suck! But I wear one anyways. Why? Because it is considerate and seems to actually slow the spread of the virus unlike bitching about masks on facebook. I also have asthma and I love onions on everything! I still wear a mask. It's okay. Even if you think it's a performative ritual in religious celebratory worship of the State (it's not), we can get through this. Just put the mask on and, tell you what, you can frown the entire time you wear it. Or you could just skip the coffee and haircut. 

Speaking of facebook: we left! Do you want a peaceful brain? Do you want to not hate everyone every day? Get off facebook. I don't want to preach but it's been a few weeks and I have never felt better. Instagram and Twitter are the nicotine patches that keep me connected but both platforms are better for me for different reasons. Instagram is more fun. It's visual. You're not getting beaten over the head with every dumb thing your masturbating-in-the-basement great uncle has to say on Instagram. You just see before and after ejac-pics. That's better. I am way less connected to family and close friends on Twitter so the stakes are much lower there. Somebody has a dumb opinion? Who cares. Keep going. 

The lack of socializing hit me pretty hard in the first few months but I am happy to report that I have named all my toes. 

Onward.

This pussy-on-ball play is making me wet.

So... my penis goes where?

Oh, my hat's loud? Look at those fucking shoes!

BUY MY BOOKS AT 5GKILLEDGOD.com

New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: I TALK WITH MY TONGUE STUCK BETWEEN MY TEETH EDITION

I FEEL LIKE SCREAMING. SO I WILL. ON THE INTERNET. AND YOU WILL ALL HEAR ME.

Closers left this place a fuckin' mess.

Somehow I doubt a human's legs would fit comfortably under this table.

Oh, him? He eats dumb bitches.

New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: COVID-19 edition

Ha! Ha! Cough! Cough! Haugh! Cahaugh! Cough! Ha!

It's just allergies, I swear. I'm allergic to eating live possum.

Listen, folks. It isn't eating bats that caused the virus. It's stacking wild animals on top of each other and letting them fuck. God caused this. Blame God. He's the real invisible enemy. Let's kill God! Yay!

Great. The whatever-the-fuck-that-thing-is band is playing the elevator today.

Listen, kid. I can do a trim. I can do a shave. I can do a live de-feathering. But I can't do them all at once. 

Did you have an erection lasting four or more hours? Did you call your doctor? Whom but yourself is to blame, sir?

I believe it prudent to say that the New Yorker contacted me and offered me a job at their not-funny department. I told them I would cooperate. They emailed me back with simply: "coöperate." I haven't heard from them since. Too bad, too. Because I had a bunch of zingers lined up about going to a therapist, and organic free range whatever the fuck. Impeachment, what have you. 

I LOVE RUSSIA. 

Buy my books. Here. Here. Or Here. 

The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest EXPLOSIVE OLIVE EDITION

I've got a story in the new Dark Moon Digest. It's about dentists! Everyone loves teeth horror! Go buy it. 

Blah blah blah, here we go.

Sir! Sir! I can see your dick!

Let them in, Marty. The heater's on. We can have carrots for dinner.

Shouldn't have given that fucking rat brain pills.

The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: My Foot's Asleep Deluxe! Edition!

Please stop inject Mountain Dew straight into the veins of your armpits. 1) it's bad for you 2) it hurts me to think about 3) Mountain Dew wasn't made to do that.

They smell like they haven't wiped their asses in ages.

I sentence you to death.

Doc, this couch is sopping wet.

Hey! There's a new Deerman for Patrons! Click here! Become a patron!

Buy a t-shirt!

Listen to We Shot Mr. Burns!

Watch my cousin and his band mate kick the shit out of this song.

Buy a friggin' book.

Eat a friggin' carrot.

The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: Gone for half a year and something somebody posted me offended me! edition.

Hey, oh! It's the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest! Woo! A contest I never enter, will never win, and will constantly do because I hate its very existence. A friend of mine once called my attempts "derivative" of his attempts but he ignored the fact that I never entered and mine actually made people laugh every once in a while. Take that, punk ass!

Please go until completion. I can probably get a discount for that. 

The winds of change are upon us. HA! HA! It's a Trump joke. Get it? No? Fuck you, Fascist. 

Constantly with the Mexicans and the refugees, too. Ugh. 

So I said, "Look! If you're going to wave that thing of milk-potatoes at me, at least take me out to dinner before you bend me over and poop in my butt!

And for my next trick, I unshred a document.

This motherfucker forgot to order drinks.

Listen, bitch, if you keep doing that I'm going to have to call your mom. 

This is a really dumb place to live. 

The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: The Totally Whacked Out on Weirdo Stuff, Really? Edition!

Welcome to another edition of the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: The Totally Whacked Out on Weirdo Stuff, Really? Edition! Cool!

Let's dive right in before the earwig in my brain starts shitting.

We should really stop fishing into the ceiling. 

Derivative.

My wife tells me the clown isn't there but the longer I stay on the job, the more real he feels to me. I can feel him breathing down my neck waiting for me to fuck up. Do you hear what I'm saying, kid? We're all in a prison of our own making. And you're going down. 

New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest! Totally multiple podcasts edition!

Fear shall consume the planet and New Yorker cartoons is all we will have for humor. We will prefer fear!

"Of course you're offended."

"I hope that guy who eats the bus isn't on this one."

"I told him to wear a fucking seat belt."

So many cool things are happening. 

First! Trey Hudson and I have started a new weirdo-genre zine called the Cockroach Conservatory. Check it out right here.  If you're a writer - submit! 

We're also planning a 24 hour live telethon in the summer to raise money and awareness for our cause. Watch this website to get the skinny. 

Deerman is progressing chaotically and that's the way we like it! Meet the Deerdad in the latest episode! Consider donating via Patreon here or via Paypal here. Buy a shirt here!

Max Booth III and I started a new Podcast called The Taco Summit! Check it out here.

Holy God! More podcasts! The Book Boizzzzzzz interview Lucas Mangum. Check it out here. 

New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: Please define chode edition

It's that time that nobody waits for, nobody desires, and nobody yearns: THE NEW YORKER CARTOON CAPTION CONTEST! It's a contest that is open to the public that I never enter but I give you my captions as if you don't have better things to do with your life!

Yeah, I'm just watching some guy try to prove how much he hates God by taking a shit on a church. In a way, his non-belief in God and his dedication to it is its own religion. He has erected a throne to nothing and participates in public displays of zealous devotion to nothingness. I hope he dies. 

Dude, this day fucking sucks. 

This is just traditionalist propaganda trying to get me to accept the notion that I must escort some stupid fucking kid across the street as if I don't have better things to do with my life like LISTEN TO FUCKING DEERMAN. 

Thank you for suffering through that with me. Yesterday was ninety degrees. Today it's sixty. I'm sneezing my taint away. I needed this.

Oh, hey! Joe Lansdale, my hero, retweeted the most recent Inbetweener episode with Zach Chapman. Give it a listen. We talk about Joe Lansdale some.

Support the Deerman project on Patreon if you're so inclined.

New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: Oh My God, A New Yorker Is Our Overlord edition

So much of life is stuffing words down cartoon characters' mouths and pretending anybody cares! Huzzah! Onward to the place where people who say 'huzzah' are dragged into the street and beaten!

"This place was great before the chef accidently tweeted his dick on a customer's pizza. Where the fuck is our pizza?"

"My son called me with an existential crisis that is somehow solved by me throwing money at him. This time I was just like, 'Nah, fuck it. I'm buying a workplace hammock.' "

"If you call me one more time I'm going to swing hard right and fuck both of us up."

"I like how the new furniture begs to be free."

"Hey, Nancy. The fucking dweebs you ordered are here."

Catch up with Deerman!

Buy Invasion of the Weirdos or anything else!

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New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: Steve Bannon Is A Sexual Gymnast Edition!

Oh, God. Here we go again. This one might have a repeat but I am unsure because I'm too lazy to sift through my old posts. Look, I'm not Steve Bannon. I'm not sitting around trying to stuff a banana into the orange lodged up my ass, okay!?

They say they want to turn our town into a destination.

It's kind of weird that we gentrified all around this one guy's taco cart.

Now that I've killed your children in a display of my awesome power, I want you two to sift through my litter box again.

As a matter of fact, my dick DOES hurt.

My serialized audio saga, Deerman, is now live! It's about a guy who becomes a deer but now he's struggling with what it means to be human.

New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: Contest of Captioning Cartoons Edition!

Ugh, it's a tradition around these parts.

Ugh, it's like standing up and saying the national anthem when you're a kid. You don't want to do it but you also don't want to be thrown into the gulags, either.

It's like not wanting to support Chick-fil-A's abhorrent politics but your family always gets platters of their nuggets for Christmas, so you don't want to ruin Christmas either.

It's like a goddamn Alanis Morissette song. Who would've thought? It figures.

I swore to your father when we got married that I'd never let you go hungry. Well, honey, now all we can afford to eat are Italian leather briefcases. 

Pool's closed. It's just a little too gay right now.

You probably shouldn't have worn your birdseed suit out today, dear.