Don’t text while driving. Don’t facebook while driving. And don’t check internet web pages while driving…unless of course it’s cartoon raccoon related…in which case you still shouldn’t internet while driving…but at least you’re looking at a quality website.

The post Texting While Driving appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Sometimes writers ruin things. It happens. I’ve come to expect this. You have a perfectly good tv show, and then one fateful day, the writers decide to stray from the formula. It probably begins innocently enough. A group of writers sit around anxiously discussing how to create a more compelling story for their show, when some young up-and-comer strolls into the meeting one day with his heart all a flutter.

“Hey guys! I have this really great idea for our show! It’s really going to shake things up!”

“Ok. Let’s hear it.”

“Ok. What if….you ready for this?? What if our main character discovers there’s more going on than he realizes??”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…like a CONSPIRACY!!”

“Wow, now there’s an idea!!”

“I know right?!?!”

“Where did you ever come up with such an original and novel idea?!”

“It just came to me!!”

“Just like that??”

“Just like that! I was out to dinner, eating my chimichangas, when all of a sudden…BOOM! Conspiracy!! Of course!!”

“That is genius! You sir, are a genius!!”

A season passes, and once again we find our writers sitting around trying to figure out how to make their story more compelling.

“We really need to make our story more compelling!!”

“But how?? The main character has discovered all of the mysteries of the great conspiracy he’s been fighting against! Where do we go from here?”

All of a sudden, Joey the intern leaps up to his feet with a sudden burst of inspiration.

“WAIT! I HAVE IT!!”

“What?”

“What if…there’s an even BIGGER conspiracy under the conspiracy??”

“A conspiracy UNDER the conspiracy?!?! You mean like….A DOUBLE CONSPIRACY?!”

“Forget double man!! I’m thinking TRIPLE– QUADRUPLE CONSPIRACY!!”

“Whoa. WHOA. This is intense. You are blowing my mind man!!”

“Right?!?!”

“We gotta write this stuff down!”

After the above scenario is repeated over and over and over for about 5 or 6 years, and the writers have successfully destroyed any remaining remnants of what was once a totally awesome and compelling show (I’m looking at YOU “Burn Notice,” “24,” “Alias,” “Prison Break,” “Heroes,” etc, etc, etc.”), the writers will find themselves once again, sitting around their room trying to find a way to make their story more compelling.

“I don’t get it man. We keep adding conspiracies and the ratings are still down! It’s almost as if viewers are tired of trying to follow a never ending web of bad guys, working for bigger bad guys, who work for bigger bad guys, who are actually working for that other guy who turned out to be the biggest bad guy of them all!”

“You forgot about 4 or 5 other bad guys in there.”

“My point is, we need a hook. We need some kind of twist.”

“I have an idea! We could have everything up until this point actually be part of an even bigger and more complex and unimaginable conspiracy!!”

“No. No conspiracies. Not this time.”

“No conspiracies?!?! But–”

“No. We need something new.”

“Something new?”

“We need something that’s never been done before. An original idea that will really knock our viewers socks off! Something so different and so unique and so dramatic no one will ever see it coming! “

“But what?”

“What if….”

“Yes…?”

“What if…..”

“Yes….?”

“What if….the main character’s dad didn’t REALLY die?”

“WHOA! WHOA!”

“What if he’s still alive?!?!”

“Oh man, this is incredible! THIS IS HUGE!”

“What if he’s still alive and he’s somehow involved in the conspiracy?!?!”

“Holy crap!! My mind! My mind is– How do you come up with this stuff?!?!

“I don’t know!!”

“You are a freaking genius man! THIS is why you’re paid the big bucks!”

“I can’t wait to get this to the producers!”

Yeah. Sometimes writers ruin things.

The post The Writers Are Bored appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

I’m on vacation!!!!! Back next week!!!!

~Matt

The post I’m On Vacation! appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Once upon a time, as a young teenage lad, I had a driving lesson from a strange man who reminded me of John Travolta. Or fat Elvis. Or both. I was somewhat weirded out by this odd man with his flashy gold chains. Even worse, he made driving a somewhat painful and awkward experience. So I did what any young high school student would do: I wrote about him in the school newspaper.

And so, if you desire to relive teenage history with me, that particular column is in fact published somewhere on this website. You may read it by clicking HERE.

Be gentle with my simple teenage prose. My adolescent writing skills had only come so far.

The post Driving Lesson appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

There are a few rules that everyone should know about carpooling. Since this can sometimes be a contentious debate among carpoolers, I have taken the liberty of clarifying these rules for you, readers and followers of the internet.These rules will hereby be forever known as laws and must be obeyed and followed from this moment on, as I am the internet, and thus, the final word on every issue of debate. The internet has spoken.

Rule 1:

“Shotgun” (or calling the front passenger seat) may only be done prior to the drive, when outside and when the car is within sight. No other times are acceptable. If you lose sight of the car, then your calling of shotgun no longer is valid. Your shotgun reaches its completion when the drive is finished, or when parties step out of the car, at which point shotgun may be called by any party. Don’t argue with me. I am the internet.

Rule 2:

The driver has final control and veto power of the music and/or radio station. His car, his tunes. That being said, anyone who doesn’t allow passenger’s the right to select some music (when not in conflict with baseball broadcasts), is kind of a jerk. Regardless, the rules are clear.

Rule 3:

If it’s not your car, you owe gas money. Gas is over 4 bucks a gallon here in California. If you’re going on a road trip and your friend is driving his car, you’re chipping in for gas. And if you’re not, you’re getting left behind in one of those creepy middle-of-nowhere gas stations with a gas station attendee who never went to high school named Dwyane. Don’t resign to a life of having to ask Dwayne for a key every time you need to urinate – Chip in for gas.

Rule 4:

Girls get the front seat. Don’t be a tool. Open the door and give the girl the front seat. Trust me on this. You’ll thank me later.

Rule 5:

You are not allowed to laugh at your friend’s car. Even if his old ’96 Saturn is missing a window, or if the mirror is held on by Shoe-Goo, or if the sunroof leaks water, or if the passenger side visor keeps falling off, or if his lovable niece put holes in his roof and now the interior ceiling is held together by massive quantities of duct tape, or if the fan belt screeches excruciatingly loud and wakes the entire neighborhood whenever the car is started on really hot or really cold days– even if (and I’m speaking totally hypothetically here) ALL of these things are true, you are not allowed to laugh at your friend’s car. That’s just not cool man. Not cool.

Remember, I am the great and all-powerful internet, and these rules are law. They are for your own good. Now go forth, and carpool.

You’re welcome.

The post Carpool Rules appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

It’s your fault. That’s right. It’s your fault we’re in this mess. Don’t go around blaming the older generation. This falls squarely on you. You are to blame. Rotten teenagers.

It’s your fault we don’t have good movies anymore. And you know why?? Because your attention spans are the length of a gnat. A GNAT I SAY! You can’t sit still long enough to notice that these movies today cannot legitimately suspend one’s disbelief. You can’t sit still long enough to appreciate the artistic integrity of a beautifully composed shot or piece of writing. You can’t sit still long enough to notice the gaping plot holes in this summer’s latest blockbuster. When the movie is over you can’t tell if it was good or not because you HAVE no attention span. All you remember is a few massive explosions, some hot people kissing, and a bunch of  texting that was done during the film to your BFFs or whatever the heck you call them. I can’t be expected to keep up with your crazy texting teengage slang.

And all those movie people know this. They KNOW you have no taste. So they keep rolling out really really crappy movies with really crappy directors who fill their movies with really crappy story lines, horrendous actors, and massive explosions (-cough- I’m looking at YOU Michael Bay…).

But they don’t care. They don’t care because they’ve just set new records at the box office. They just made more money in week than you and I will ever see in our entire lives combined. And they made it because you’re a classless, tasteless, ignoramus. You uncultured and cretinous moron.

But that’s not the worst of it. The worst part of it, you like it. You watch these “movies” and then talk about how AMAZING they are. You go on and on about how much you enjoyed it, how thrilling it was, how great the special effects were, and how it TOTALLY should be nominated for an Oscar or something. “Plus the explosions went ‘KA-POW!!‘”

You cringe at the thought of ever watching a movie from before the 21st century. You won’t watch a movie in “black and white.” It pains my heart. Some of mankind’s most perfect films were filmed this way. Heaven forbid you should ever have to sit through a black and white film and discover the horrible truth that EVERY movie you’ve ever thought was any good was actually ripped off from another movie that did it better long before you were ever born.

But that would never happen. You could never sit down long enough to watch one. You have no attention span. You’d go through all kinds of crappy movie withdrawals. Before you even got halfway through you’d be spinning in circles with a bucket on your head and putting tuna down your pants. You have no idea why. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. You just love those shoes. I had a dog once. Oh look a fly!

And thus, we are left with nothing but really crappy movies.

This is YOUR fault. I’m holding YOU accountable. Thanks a lot American teenagers.

YOU are what’s wrong with everything in today’s world.

The post It’s Your Fault appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Drivers’ Ed. I’m not sure you can find a more useless waste of time, then Drivers’ Ed class. Obviously I am in favor of people learning to drive. And obviously I am in favor of people receiving the proper instruction on how to do so. But c’mon. 30 HOURS of classroom instruction??? Driving is about doing. You have to learn how to drive by driving! Not by sitting in a classroom and watching gory accident videos and taking silly tests over and over. Driving is learned out on the open road! Or in a random parking lot.

That is of course, not without it’s risks…

I still remember when my older sister was learning to drive. I was in junior high school and she had just obtained her learner’s permit. I needed to go down to city hall to get a dance card for the local dances that were put on for kids my age (I’ll have you know I cleaned up at those dances. Even then the ladies loved my clever cartoonist charm…-cough-).

My dad decided this would be a good opportunity for my sister to drive. So we piled into the minivan–my father, sister, and my youngest brother who was only at the tender age of 4. In hindsight, I have to wonder about my father’s judgement on this particular day, what with risking the lives of two of his sons and all, but I guess we can chalk that up to the stresses of parenthood.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember too much about the trip to City Hall and back, other than my life flashing before my eyes. Somehow my father managed to remain calm when my sister drove us over a curb, into the wrong lane, and towards oncoming traffic. Somehow he managed to coach her into maneuvering the car so as NOT to kill us, all while my 4-year old brother screamed at the top of his lungs, “SISTERS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DRIVE!!!” Somehow we all survived that perilous day.

And now, my sister drives just fine [almost].

So you see? THAT is how people learn how to drive. Out on the road. With the wheel in their hands and the horns of oncoming traffic blaring in their ears. Yessir. You can’t teach THAT in a classroom.

The post Street Signs appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Teenagers. What a mess. Seriously. What is wrong with those things?? Seems like they’re always in a heap of depressive overemotionalism. Or they’re brooding silently ready to snap at any moment. And you can never tell which it is. Their over-hormoned manic state could erupt at any moment….and no, I’m not talking about acne.

As a rule though, I give teenagers a free pass. A get out of jail free card. You really can’t judge a teenager too harshly. Much like juvenile records and high school midterms, everything anyone ever does in between the ages of 14-18 should be completely disregarded and forgotten.

What’s that? You crashed the car?? Oh. You were 16. I see.

Hmm? You led the student body into a frenzied riot?! Oh…you were a senior in high school. I get it.

What? You robbed a bank by releasing a heard of hungry goats into the vault while perfecting your Rex Kwon Do on the bank’s manager?!? Actually, that’s just kind of awesome.

All is forgiven. I get it. I was a teenager once. I mean, I wasn’t weird or crazy or anything. I was completely normal. I certainly never got in to trouble. I mean, sure there was that incident with the desk…and that other one with the plastic forks…and that one with the water tower and the bow and arrow….

That was high school. I was a teenager. It doesn’t count.

The post Teenagers appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

I have some terrible, terrible news. It’s going to hurt when I tell you. You had better brace yourself. You might want to sit down.

As it turns out, life isn’t always fair. Whoa. Hey now. Don’t get mad at me! Believe me, this came as a shock to me too. As it turns out, life doesn’t always turn out fair, and it isn’t always like the movies. I know how you must feel. I was deceived too. I really thought that at any given moment the 2nd or 3rd acts were going to kick in and I was going to somehow get that lucky break and have success fall right into my lap, while both winning the girl and giving the haters their comeuppance. But somehow, life hasn’t played out like the movies. Maybe it’s because I don’t live in a big city with a strange and impossible, yet somehow sustainable method of earning an income. Maybe it’s because I’m not having NEARLY enough “meet-cutes.” Or maybe it’s because  my odd and/or plucky yet endearing side-kick-friends are not providing enough comic relief. I’m not exactly sure. I need a script doctor.

Regardless, it would appear that the movies have lied to us. The movies are not real life. Such injustice! Great. Now what are we supposed to do?? If this isn’t a movie, than there’s no script for us to follow. And now I’m left without any idea of what’s supposed to happen next. I can’t tell if this is a comedy, or a drama, or romantic chick flick. It’s certainly not an action movie…at least not yet… Maybe aliens will show up tomorrow and then I can go all unassuming hero on them. Yeah. That’s probably it. It must be. We’re just still doing backstory… Now it all makes sense.

-Whew- For a minute there I thought this wasn’t a movie. What a relief.

The post Such Injustice appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Once upon a time, I used poor judgement. I know that may come as a shock to many of you on account of my excellent and spotless record over the years -cough- but I must confess, I have not always been the exemplary pillar of valor that I am today.

It all went down in the 3rd grade. 3rd grade was a weird year you see. The teacher to which I had been assigned was on maternity leave. As a result, the teaching responsibilities for all of the 3rd grade classes were divided up between a host of different teachers. When it finally became obvious to everyone that the absent teacher was enjoying her maternity leave far more than originally anticipated and would NOT be returning to her teaching duties at any point during the school year, the district finally got their act together and hired an additional teacher. The result, was Miss Brooks.

Miss Brooks was young. Likely the youngest teacher at our elementary school. Her figure was thin and attractive which set her apart from all of the other elementary school teachers. She wore her hair in a pony tail that whipped around whenever she turned her head. In truth, Miss Brooks was kind of hot. I desperately wanted her to like me.

But instead, she hated my guts.

Before I plead my case, let me first explain that as an elementary school student, I was a really good kid. I’m not being clever or sarcastic this time. I WAS a REALLY good kid. I was quiet and good-natured. I never got in trouble. I got along with most everyone. Boys liked me because I knew a lot about baseball. Girls liked me because I could draw and didn’t say bad words. I always raised my hand. I was a good kid. I can provide character witnesses if need be.

But for reasons that still baffle me to this day, Miss Brooks hated my guts. She began her tenure by instructing some of the classes on Fridays. Every week I tried so very hard to please this beautiful and attractive women. And yet, she always treated me with harshness. Her responses to my questions were cold. Her patience continually wore thin with me. My trademark Matt Taylor charm was rendered useless on her. More than once I found her muttering unkind epithets about me under her breath. I couldn’t understand it. I was a good kid! I KNEW I was a good kid! Teachers always liked me! How could this teacher not like me?? I felt like she had somehow gotten the wrong idea about me and I was continuously trying to prove to her the kind of student that I was.

But no matter how hard I tried, this young and vivacious teacher persisted to hate me. I suppose now that I’m older I shouldn’t be surprised that a beautiful and attractive women was capable of treating someone with such disdain for no particular reason, but as a young 3rd grader I had not as of yet experienced these things and it was the source of much anxiety in my young and troubled 3rd grade life.

And then one dark and fateful day, there was the incident…and any remaining hope of moving into the graces of this young and vibrant teacher were forever destroyed.

On that particular Friday, our school had been invited to attend the local theater to see a play. These field trips were always welcome distractions. We would board the school buses and make our way across our little town and watch whatever performance was being displayed for our amusement.

As we piled into the noisy theater I took a seat next to a fellow classmate and we anxiously awaited the beginning of the performance. But before the house lights dimmed, Miss Brooks walked by. With her evil and twisted glare she looked at me and the classmate to my right.

“You must remove your hats inside the theater,” she exclaimed.

Politely, we protested. No other teacher had ever made us remove our baseball caps in the theater before. We had been attending these plays for 3 years! She had been at the school for nothing more than a few weeks!

She insisted. We pointed to the literally COUNTLESS other boys in the theater who were wearing baseball caps. To make matters perfectly clear, this was immediately following the year in which BOTH of the professional baseball teams in our area went to the World Series. As a result, literally EVERY boy came to school wearing a baseball cap.

But she didn’t care about what all the other kids were wearing. We would remove our hats, or she would remove them for us.

Begrudgingly, we removed our beloved baseball caps and set them on our laps. Proudly, Miss Brooks marched down the aisle like some kind of baseball hating hat-nazi and sat at the other side of the theater.

Let me pause here for just a moment to reiterate something that should already be clear to you. 3rd grade boys wear baseball caps. They wear them everyday. And a boy’s baseball cap is his identity. It’s like his soul. You don’t ask a boy to remove his soul.

And so like clockwork, as the play was about to begin the theater lights dimmed. And when the room was dark, each and every one of us took our baseball caps from off our laps, and placed them proudly upon our heads once more. It was not an act of defiance. It was an act of honor.

When the play ended the lights came on. Miss Brooks immediately walked in my direction. We had removed our hats once the lights had come back on, but it was to no avail. Miss Brooks snatched the hats from our grasp.

“I saw you put your hats back on as soon as it was dark! You’ll have to get these from me later!”

Words do not express the horror of the situation. Even now, the very thought of that abrasive woman stealing my beloved Giants hat away from me causes me to tremble. It was truly traumatizing. I should probably seek therapy.

For the rest of the day I had to endure a hat-less day of misery and hat-hair. My identity was missing. My soul was lost.

I waited anxiously through the course of the day. I thought for sure she would eventually return my hat to me. But the end of the day arrived, and my head remained bare. I saw no other recourse, but do timidly approach Miss Brooks after school and ask for my hat.

Terrified, I arrived at the classroom. She opened the door, her cold, icy stare piercing my poor child-like frame. With all the 3rd-grade humility I could muster I asked for my hat to be restored.

Blatantly, the woman refused.

I pleaded for her to see reason.

With a sort of twisted sense of satisfaction glowing deep within those burning, vengeful eyes, she refused again. My hat would remain in her custody over the entire weekend, and perhaps longer, until she saw fit.

The thought of being without my hat for a whole weekend or perhaps longer sent me into a frenzy. Frantically, I searched my mind for a way to restore my beloved baseball cap. I saw no answers. I saw no appeal to reason. There were no amount of pleasantries or charm that would melt this woman’s complete and utter hatred for me. It was at this darkest moment, when I was left completely without options, that I did something that I am not especially proud of. I hope that you will not judge me too harshly considering the nature of these circumstances.

As she stared at me with all of her bitter spite and animosity, I realized there was only one thing I could do…

I admit it. I pretended to cry.

Never before had I managed to command a well of tears so quickly and in such abundance. The waterworks poured over my face with tears streaming from my eyes like torrential rain. I knew what I was doing was wrong. But this was the only answer to her injustice. My hat—my identity, my very soul, was on the line.

Panicked, Miss Brooks ran into the classroom. In a sort of exasperated and reluctant huff, she thrust my beloved hat into my hands with a mixture of anger and fear.

“Fine. Here’s your hat.”

I still remember the moment in which I held my baseball cap in my arms once more. It seemed to emanate love and admiration for my sacrifice in its behalf. I felt as if I had been reunited with a long lost friend. I was myself again. I was whole.

Tearfully, I offered the sincerest “thank you” to Miss Brooks that I could. But in truth, it was all an act. No longer was I trying to seek this woman’s approval. Inside I was mocking her. Laughing that she had believed my performance. What an actor I must be! When at last I had my hat, I turned from her classroom and placed it proudly on my head. I wiped the crocodile tears from my face and literally laughed to myself as I walked away, a devious grin stretching across my face.

“Hahaha!” I laughed under my breath, so that she wouldn’t hear as I walked proudly across campus. “Stupid fool.”

I plead guilty your honor. I throw myself upon the mercy of the court.

The post Poor Judgement appeared first on Raccoon Toons.