The Webcomic List

Hello. This is Blister Keaton. Mr. Alsis wanted me to let you all know that "Ahhhh, Phooey" is now featured on www.thewebcomiclist.com

You should check out the site because it features load of amazing, independent, and frequently updated webcomics.

Thanks again! This is Blister Keaton...not Christian Alsis...he's at work...working...Blister Keaton...signing off...

Turkey.

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Checkmate

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Ingmar Bergman (1918-2007)

Good or Bad? Hair's your answer...

(Click on picture to enlarge)

TGIC (Thank God It's Cynical)

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Simpsons Movie

Prepare yourself for some very unexpected news. The Simpsons Movie is actually good. In fact, it's not just good. It's great! The film is laced with enough in-jokes and subtleties to please any diehard fan, and enough dick/fart/drug jokes to please even the most casual of fans.

The film has been 18 seasons and 400 plus episodes in the making, and many people (including myself) had serious doubts about whether or not the writers could pull it off. Luckily, Matt Groening and Jim Brooks assembled an all-star cast of Simpsons writers, many of whom wrote during the Simpsons' golden era. These writers included David Mirkin, Mike Reiss, John Vitti, and the mother of all Simpsons writers, John Swartzwelder. All in all, this staff room screenplay packed a punch, and proved able to sustain itself over 90 minutes.

The film is beautiful. The film is hilarious. The film...its the Simpsons Movie. Now go see it.

How bad could it be?

(Click on picture to enlarge)

MELVIN #3

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Heisman

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Simon

(Click on picture to enlarge)

'Arry!

'Arry Potter and the Deathly 'Allows comes out tonight.

Are 'Ermoine and Ron gonna kiss?
Is 'Arry going to defeat the Dark Lord?
Will 'Agrid continue to cut the h's off every word starting with the letter?

We soon shall see.

The "Only One I Ever Feared" is the dude who will inevitably run by the Barnes and Noble tonight and scream out the ending.

Seriously, if someone does that, I'm gonna gore 'is/'er ass with my wand.

Awkward Kiss

(Click on picture to enlarge)

MELVIN #2

(Click on picture to enlarge)

I am Me!

"How can your iPod be cool when everyone else's iPod is better?"

This morning on my way to work, the Mark Twain of Suburban Station guitar players ominously strummed "The Sounds of Silence" while corporate drones shuffled silently to their thankless jobs, their iPods being their only shelter from reality, lulling them into a false sense of individuality and self-importance.

(Click on the picture to enlarge)

I wish I could post this without fear of legal action

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Sensitive Guy

(Click on picture to enlarge)

The Last Supper

(Click on picture to enlarge)

SKIDMARKS: An Eddie Fedora Story

Written by Christian Alsis

The lights from oncoming traffic spilled across her face as we made our way down the freeway, exposing for all too brief moments her flawless mug. It was raining hard and I was too drunk to know where I needed to be dropped off. I tried hard to concentrate on the road, but the throbbing member in my slacks was making it all the more difficult. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a woody. Oh, wait, yes I can. It was a couple months ago at the circus. Don’t ask. Truth is, all the whiskey I drink sorta leaves me limper than a polio case.

Her name was, “Martha.” She turned to face me. Shit? Did I say that out loud? I struggled with something to say. “I’m gonna fart, roll down your window.” The dame grimaced, disgusted, but obliged to my request.

I wasn’t going to fart, I nearly was trying to cover up for my mistake. I shouldn’t be thinking this much when I’ve had this much to drink. I felt the cool breeze from the open window hit my face. I farted long and hard, six, then seven seconds passed (as I passed) before I finally was finished. Why not, I thought, the window is down. Martha started to gag which turned me on even more. I just closed my eyes and imagined she was gagging on something other than my fart stink.

I felt the car suddenly veer to the left. I heard a horn blare, and as I opened my eyes I saw headlights. I reached over to jerk the wheel to avoid a collision. “Watch out,” I screamed. The crazy broad was gonna kill us. The expression on her face was anything but comforting. Stoic, severe, as if she was in control of the situation. I looked up at the road but all I found was blackness the next thing I knew was the breaking of glass, the crunching of bones, and then…silence.

Just two hours earlier, I met Martha at Sick Lou’s, one of my frequent haunts. We were there to discuss business. I was hoping to discuss more, like, say, what color underwear she was wearing. All Martha wanted to talk about was her husband. A week ago, Martha had hired me to tail him. Tail him I did. It wasn’t hard. You see, Martha’s husband was Leopold Sniff. The Leopold Sniff. The Leopold Sniff that rushed for over 1800 yards in his rookie season with the Jets. Yes, that Leopold Sniff. All I had to do was wait for him to leave practice. After that, it was a cinch. I just followed him around until I got something incriminating. It didn’t take long either.

About an hour after he left practice, Sniff headed toward 53rd and picked up a boy. This wasn’t just any boy, mind you. And this was definitely not a little cancer stricken boy Sniff had promised to score a touchdown for. This was a working boy. I couldn’t believe it myself. The Leopold Sniff. I snapped a few pictures, and lemme just say that Sniff isn’t just his surname, it’s also his kick.

Martha took the news well. In fact, she took it with a chaser. In less than an hour we were both stone drunk. Martha simply stared at the pictures, I simply stared at Martha, wondering whether she had that distinctly feminine smell I love between a woman’s legs. Silently, I farted, and lit a cigarette to cover the smell. A minute later, she was getting up to leave. Was it the fart? Or did the news of her husband’s philandering with young men hit her particularly hard? She face was a stonewall, like that general in the civil war…General Grant. I asked her for a ride home.

“Don’t you have your own car?”

“I do,” I said, “It’s in the shop.” I lied. I threw up in it earlier in the morning and hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up. It stunk something awful so I walked to Lou’s. Martha agreed to drive me home, under one condition: that I not try to rape her. “It’ll be hard,” I slurred, “But I’ll sure try.”

That was then. This is now. Darkness. Wait…nope, still darkness. Ever so faintly, I heard a mechanical whirr. Slowly, I felt consciousness re-enter my body. My eyes opened. The whirr was coming from the car, now upside down. I was laying a good 15 feet from the wreck. Musta been thrown through the windshield. I smelled my own feces, and could feel the weight of it in my pants as I stood up. So close a call, my body thought it was curtains and took care of things for me. Problem was, I was still alive. I pulled off my pants and boxers. Naked from the waist down, gear hanging lazily between my legs, I surveyed the wreckage looking for some trace of Martha. That’s when I heard it.

“Help!” A scream, a man’s scream. I turned around. I squinted into the darkness. Faintly, I made out the outlines of two figures. I ran toward them, and my vision of them became clearer. One was a man, standing, hands up in the air. The other...

Thank God, it was Martha. She was safe. I thought.

I was so overjoyed at the sight of her that my dick got hard. Suddenly, I realized what was going on, and my peter let loose some air. Martha had a gun pulled on the man, and as I looked closer I realized who the man was. Jesus Christ on Broadway, I thought, it’s Leopold Sniff.

“Leopold Sniff,” I yelled, “It’s awfully nice to meet you. What’s going on?”

“I dunno you fuckin’ freak!” He seemed agitated. “All I know is I was walking down the street and all of a sudden I had to dodge this car coming at me. Then when I went to look to see if everyone was okay, there was Martha, gun drawn aiming it at my face.”

“At your million dollar, good for nothing, boy fucking face.” It was the first time Martha spoke and she spoke like she meant it. She had daggers for her hubby that was for sure. “You embarrassed me. You betrayed me. Now gimme one reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your million dollar face.”

Sniff pissed his pants and his eyes gushed tears of desperation. “Because I love you, Martha.”

Martha laughed, “Just like you love those little boys, eh? I bet you’d love me more if I had a fifteen year old dick!” Martha pulled the hammer of the gun back. Sniff began wailing and I heared him shit in fear.

I closed my eyes and spoke to Martha. “Martha, put the gun down!”

“Go fuck yourself, Fedora”

It was looking like I would have to. “I’d rather fuck you, Martha, but if you pull that trigger it looks like I will be fucking myself while you got to prison to rot…or fry. Think about it, Martha.”

My tone was serious, but still, Martha was smart, she could tell I didn’t care either way it went down.

She shot him with a smile on her face.

She shot herself with a frown.

I headed up to the main road, dick swinging all the way. I finally got a hold of the cops, and they came down to the scene. I told them everything, and identified the two bodies.

“The Leopold Sniff,” asked one incredulous cop.

“Yeah,” I said, “The Leopold Sniff.” I was offered a clean pair of shorts by one of the cops, but I refused. My old ones could be cleaned, plus, I hated new things. They take getting used to.

Ms. Marjorie and the Major

By Christian Alsis

This is the heart-breaking story of a woman. Her name was Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell, and she was known to all her acquaintances to be the most frigid woman they have ever encountered. I am careful to say “acquaintances” because “friends” would most certainly not be the right word. In fact, Ms. Thomas-Maxwell considered “friends” to be a savage accessory of the working class, and certainly not something to be had by a woman of her wealth and stature.

Ms. Thomas-Maxwell grew up the daughter of General and Mrs. Robert Thomas-Maxwell, the only child, and sole heir, to the Thomas-Maxwell fortune which was commonly known to have been gleaned over the course of many years by respectable, old-fashioned war profiteering. Ms. Thomas-Maxwell lived a privileged life with all the frills, and if Ms. Thomas-Maxwell discovered someone living with more frills than she, the General and Mrs. Thomas-Maxwell made sure that her frills would be increased amply.

Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell never spoke a kind word to anyone save the few remarks she made to herself every morning looking into the mirror. “Looking decent,” she would say, “No one could be more matronly than I, no doubt.” She regarded make-up whorish, and so she never wore any. An avid believer in social Darwinism, she regarded wasted food as a crutch for the poor, leaving no morsel uneaten. Finally, she despised men, regarding them as dogs responsible for all the evil in the world, and, so, Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell proclaimed that she would never marry.

Let it be said to all those liberal minded folk out there who say Ms. Thomas-Maxwell could, indeed, love another woman that Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell regarded women to be vile, slutty trollops who were no better than their apple-munching ancestor, Eve, who had destroyed Paradise for us all.

Our story begins, however, when Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell met Major Maximilian Thompson. The setting for their chance meeting was at a soirée thrown by the General and Mrs. Thomas-Maxwell to commemorate Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell’s thirtieth birthday. The Major congratulated her on completing thirty years as a human being without experiencing death.

“’Tis quite an achievement,” said the Major.

“’Tis,” said Ms. Marjorie.

The two exchanged thoughts on such exhilarating subjects as famine, servants, and the proper way to ignore a beggar. The latter of which turned into an interesting and stimulating debate.

“One must ignore not just the beggar’s existence, but also the existence of beggar’s to begin with,” said the Major, and he demonstrated his point by completely ignoring a servant who offered them a tray of miniature beef Wellingtons.

“No, no,” interjected Ms. Thomas-Maxwell, “One must not ignore the beggar, for your ignorance of their existence simply spurs further agitation. One must assert, not their ignorance toward the beggar, but their hatred of the beggar. Physical contact helps.” Ms. Thomas-Maxwell demonstrated her point by kneeing the servant in his testicles with all of the force her 240 pound person could exert.

As beef Wellingtons tumbled toward the ground, the eyes of Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell and Major Maximilian Thompson met, and Ms. Thomas-Maxwell felt a tiny rumbling in the pit of her bowels. “Gas,” she wondered? But, no, it was something else! Something new to Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell. As she stared into the Major’s eyes, she discovered for the first time what it was like to care for someone other than her glorious self. Could it be that she was falling in love with another human being?

Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell and the Major talked through the night, and into morning about things they loved, but mostly about things they hated. By the early morning hours, Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell and Major Maximilian Thompson were brutally in love. Throwing caution, and manners, into the wind, the Major and Ms. Thomas-Maxwell decided that their emotions would best be expressed through vaginal intercourse. After exchanging their thoughts on how barbaric intercourse was, the two undressed taking careful time to fold their expensive attire.

The Major called his soldier to attention with an efficiency that Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell could only admire. The Major’s soldier fell into line, and Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell felt something else she had never known in her life – pleasure. Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell was in a state as she listened to the Major vocalize a particularly regimented style of love-making.

“And one, and two, and three, and four,” said the Major as he thrust his shrapnel-laced lower half into that of Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell. “And one, and two, and three, and four,” he continued.

What he did not notice was that Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell was becoming increasingly shocked, unable to tell what was going on with her body. Was it lack of sexual experience? Or was it that she had never before now known what it was to love, to feel, to experience pleasure in the fullest sense of the word. Before this night she had only known the pleasure of being wealthier and more ruthless than anyone she knew. Before this night she had never loved, and the pleasure, my God, the pleasure was just too much. As the Major’s troops plunged deeper and deeper into Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell’s territory, Ms. Thomas-Maxwell came to a climax, but it was too much for her to handle. She had never known this feeling, of goodness, of ecstasy, of love, and her body could not take it.

The news spread like wildfire, and reporters from all around flocked to the hospital where Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell, the wealthy daughter of the General and Mrs. Thomas-Maxwell, was laid up from the first orgasm induced coma on record. Day in, day out, for roughly one half of one year, the newspapers, as well as radio and TV stations, reported updates on the condition of Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell. The reports were always the same. She was still in a coma.

Thirty years and three primetime specials later, Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell woke up.

Upon waking from her coma, the first inclination of Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell was to congratulate the Major for such a successful bout of love-making; however, she was given a shock when she realized she was in a hospital bedroom. She was easily more startled when she caught the reflection of an old woman in the television set from across the room. “That woman is sitting where I am sitting,” she pondered, “How dare she! She must not know who I am.”

“Excuse me, wretch,” squawked the frail voice of Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell now close to sixty years old, “I did not give you permission to be in my presence!”

With that, Ms. Thomas-Maxwell stopped. The reflection had moved just as she moved. She was that woman! She screamed, very unladylike, but very necessary in this case. Her screams attracted the attention of the nurses who were just as startled to find the infamous coma case revived and shrieking.

The head nurse wasted no time in preparing a needle full of sedative, and Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell’s last words before being tranquilized were, “Try and inject me with your narcotics and I’ll clean your clock, hussy.” The rest of her verbal abuse was no doubt well thought out, but came out as a series of mutters and spurts of saliva.

She was soon after brought up to speed on what had happened. On how her utter hatred and frigidity toward the human race in her first thirty years did not prepare her for the rush of pleasure that came with falling in love and experiencing sexual intercourse. She also found out that the Major, grief stricken about being responsible for her coma, had chopped off his soldier so it could do no more harm, but it was the fact that he had passed away ten years prior to her waking up that was most devastating for Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell. For she had never loved another man, another person even, and her hateful attitudes before meeting the Major were responsible for the fact that they could never again hold each other in love’s tender, warm and promisingly human embrace.

And so ends the heartbreaking story of a woman, Ms. Marjorie Thomas-Maxwell.

Take a propaGANDER at this

This is something I found on the subway, and felt compelled to post. The state of discourse in this country has hit a new low. I really can't help but think, "What if that was Jr. Pac-Man?"

(Click on picture to enlarge)

Old X-Mas Comic

Its Christmas in July, and I thought I would post an older comic. This one is based on true events.

(Click on picture to enlarge)

POSSIBLE HARRY POTTER SPOILERS!!!

I'm pretty excited over the fact that the newest Harry Potter film opens tonight at midnight. It seems that most critics think this installment is the weakest in the series. Personally, I don't think it can be weaker than the first two Chris Columbus films. Azkaban is still boss. I'm not surprised though because Order was definitely my least favorite book in the post-Azkaban era. All in all, I am still excited to see it, but not nearly as excited as I am to read the 7th book. In fact, I'm so excited that I trolled the internet for possible spoilers. Here are some of the more interesting ones that I came across:

-Vernon Dursley is diagnosed with diabetes.

-As an act of reconciliation, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, shows Dumbledore how he came to have such a name.

-A scandalous tryst with Buckbeak forces Hagrid's resignation. But was he framed?!?!

-1,000 points to Gryffindor!!!

-Harry and Ginny's relationship takes a serious turn when Harry buys her a strap-on for Christmas.

-Draco Malfoy continues to be an asshole.

-Hermoine misses her period, but Ron refuses to believe it is his. Hermoine takes Ron and Victor Krum to the Maury show for a paternity test.

-Neville Longbottom finally gives into fate, and uses his namesake to become the highest paid wizard porn star in history.

-Voldemort kills Harry.

-J.K. Rowling makes an appearance, described as a "laughing woman rolling in money."


I question the veracity of some of these; however, who am I to doubt anything on the internet?


P.S.- SNAPE KILLS DUMBLEDORE! SNAPE KILLS DUMBLEDORE!!!

BUSH/CHENEY '08!

(Click on picture to enlarge)

MELVIN #1

Hello. Welcome to my blog. I am a filmmaker, writer, and cartoonist.

Below is a strip in a series I call, MELVIN THE CONSPIRATORIAL ANTI-CAPITALIST. Let me know what you guys think. I'll be posting more cartoons and bits later.

(Click on picture to enlarge)