Those who know me well may have noticed that I avoid using foul language. As a youth I had a standing arrangement with my best friends who knew that if they swore in my presence they were to receive a painful slug to the arm. Obviously that proved to be of benefit to them as they all became intelligent and upstanding citizens who went on to receive fancy business degrees with fancy jobs and fancy pensions. (We’ll just ignore the fact that I have none of those.)

I imagine that some may have formed their own conclusions as to why I don’t use bad words. Maybe Matt is extra religious or something. Maybe he’s too intelligent and too eloquent in his skills of communication to resort to lazy and undignified coarse language. Maybe he doesn’t really get out much and he actually doesn’t KNOW any bad words…

Well the truth of the matter is, you’re all wrong. And now, I will tell you exactly why I do not use bad words.

It all began (as many of my stories do) back in the days of elementary school. I was in the 3rd grade, and was a clever lad, if I do say so myself.

One day, my teacher Mrs. Radwin approached me during one of the math sections of class. We had been studying long division, and apparently I had been long-dividing like a champ, because Mrs. Radwin desired that I might help one of the students in the class who was struggling with this particular math challenge. Flattered that the teacher recognized my supreme intellect, I obliged.

Mrs. Radwin called a young girl by the name of Jenny Jennings over to my desk and requested that the two of us go outside to one of the picnic benches, where I could impart my great knowledge of all things long-division.

Jenny Jennings was one of the cuter girls in the 3rd grade. She was especially fond of using the swing set at recess and achieved great heights there due to her excellent pumping form. But what she was really known for was her absolute, borderline obsessive, boy-crazy puppy love romance for a boy named Robert. Oh how she loved Robert. And she made sure everyone knew it.

Every conversation it seemed, would center around Robert. If you were a girl she would sit and tell who how wonderful Robert was. How smart he was. How he could do the mile run so fast. And if you were a boy she would sit and ask you for your advice on how to get Robert to like her. Never had I seen such devotion in a 3rd grader.

But today, something about Jenny was different. The two of us sat at the picnic bench and I began to teach her how to do long division. Something was distracting her I could tell, but I was under orders to help her in her math skills, so I continued to press on, convinced that she would soon excel in the subject and that it would all be because of my incredible teaching skills.

Finally in the middle of my discourse, Jenny interrupted me. It seemed she had something to tell me, and nothing–not even long division was going to prevent her from saying it.

“Matthew…” she started. (Yes, I went by Matthew back then.) “I have to tell you something.”

“Um…ok?” I responded…bracing for another lovesick monologue about Robert and her undying love for him.

“I’m kind of scared to tell you,” she continued.

“That’s alright,” I said trying to offer my support. “You can tell me.”

“Well…” she began again shyly. “You see…I…um…”

“Yes?”

“I like you Matthew.”

“Oh.”

“I mean I really like you. I LIKE like you.”

“Oh! You do? Me? I thought you liked Robert?”

“I used to. But now I like you.”

“Oh.” I sat there on the picnic bench taking it all in.

“I like you because you’re so nice to everyone. And you don’t say bad words. You know…like ‘#@*%’ and stuff.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I like you because you’re nice. And you don’t say bad words like ‘#@*%’ and stuff.”

I had never heard that particular word Jenny mentioned, but in this context it seemed it was some sort of cuss word I was unfamiliar with.

“Well yeah,” I said, surprised that simply avoiding swear words had won me the affections of this young girl. “I try not to say bad words.”

“Well that’s why I like you. You’re not like all those other boys.”

“Oh. Well, thank you,” I responded.

For a moment we sat there in silence. Jenny sat there and stared at me with a smile on her face, and those big eyes looking right at me. I remember admiring her for her courage in telling me her feelings.

“Well…” I resumed, “about long division…”

I would soon discover that the word Jenny had cited as a “bad word” was in fact not just any bad word, but the mother of all bad words in the English language. I had never heard it before, and it wasn’t something uttered on our young school playground, but in my young 3rd grade mind I filed it away as a word not to use.

I have no idea what ever happened to Jenny Jennings. But since that moment and throughout the years I have tried to avoid harsh language and cuss words. And while it probably ended any chance I ever had at being a successful actor, sailor, or reality TV chef,  I can’t say that it is a decision I have ever regretted.

So that’s the real reason I don’t say bad words. Not out of any moral decree. Not out of any desire to sound smart or cultured. Not because I want to come off like some saint, and not even because my parents taught me not to use them. But because somewhere back in the 3rd grade is a little girl who liked me because I was nice and didn’t swear. I don’t want to let her down.

Even after all these years I can still see Jenny twist her fingers anxiously as she told me how she felt about me:

“I like you because you’re nice. And you don’t say bad words like ‘#@*%’ and stuff.”

It’s been decades since the 3rd grade. I’ve never said the word once.

The post Why I Don’t Say Bad Words appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

This one is dedicated to all you craft loving, scrap booking, Pinterest obsessed, women out there. As men we really don’t appreciate the time and effort that goes into these artsy little projects of yours. We aren’t up to date with the various Martha Stewart-isms. We don’t understand the importance of mastering the various arts and crafts that you’ve seen online and hope to duplicate in all their splendor. No, we simply can’t be bothered to pay much attention to that sort of thing. But we still like your cupcakes. We’ll always eat your cupcakes. So there ya go.

The post Crafty Women appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

It has been well documented that girls only like guys with skills. So it should come as no surprise then, that women prefer a man who can actually take care of himself in some capacity. I suspect this means a steady job or income, the skill of dressing oneself, and the ability to not run in a frenzied panic and hide under the bed every time a bill arrives in the mail. I can’t be certain, but I sense that’s what women today are hoping for.

And then of course, there is the ability to sustain oneself by eating. I’ve taken a lot of flack for this over the years, given the fact that I frequently eat the same things everyday. Things, which given my skill set in the kitchen, require little to no culinary preparation whatsoever. I don’t really see a problem with it. I’m healthy. I never seem to grow tired of the same foods everyday. I get my nutrients. Most of them. Except the green ones. And I save a whole lot of precious cartoon-making time by not wasting hours in the kitchen when I’m hungry NOW. So I really don’t see the problem. I am in fact, happy with my meals.

Women on the other hand think there’s something wrong with me. They feel it’s important to fix me. They notice my extreme bachelorhood and respond in one of two ways. Either they shake their heads in disdain and frustration at the hopeless man-child before them, or… OR! they take it upon themselves to feed this poor hungry soul. That’s right boys and girls, I have unwittingly discovered the secret to having all kinds of delicious meals suddenly making their way onto your dinner plate.

I didn’t plan it this way. It just happened. All of a sudden, people discovered that I only spend $30 a month on groceries and they started bringing me food. And who am I to deny their kindness?? It’s a way better system than food stamps. Trust me.

Alma makes great cookies (when she doesn’t burn them on purpose), but her real strength is in her shredded beef tacos. Sooooooo good.

Rosie makes these amazing fudge bars, but what’s even better than that is her meatballs. No one can eat just 9.

I have mentioned in past posts about the tantalizing and addictive nature of Kaye’s mint brownies. Never was there a more exquisite brownie made. Seriously. You will lose the taste for all other brownies when once the mint bar has grazed your taste buds. And her husband Bob makes the greatest homemade pizzas ever. EVER.

Laura used to make me strawberry pie when we worked together. But the REAL queen of pie is Sharon. Oh. My. Goodness. When Sharon calls and tells me there is a Lemon Meringue pie waiting for me to come and pick it up it’s like five Christmas all rolled into one. When you bite into a slice it’s like magic. Like wonder. Like magic and wonder. Like pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows. Oh Lemon pie. You are so delicious. Mmmmm….

And of course my mother makes the greatest macaroni and cheese known to man, which sounds silly until you’ve tried it, and your mind, body, and soul are completely blown away by the most perfect and desirable food that has been or ever will be created.

So you see, I actually eat pretty well. Now I know what you’re thinking. I’m a reasonably intelligent person. And you’re right, I suppose I COULD sit down and learn how to actually make these foods myself. But it just wouldn’t be the same. It’s just so much nicer when it comes from the kindness of one of my friends. I think their efforts actually make the food better somehow. Maybe that’s why it always tastes better when you make it.

The post Skills and Foods appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

See this button below? Hit the button. Do it. You know you want to.
If you hit the button, all of your wildest dreams will come true.

Today’s topic: How to get out of a speeding ticket. First, I should probably disclose that I’ve gotten “a few” speeding tickets. I should also probably disclose that up until the most recent time I was pulled over I had never actually gotten out of a speeding ticket before. So apparently that makes me an expert on how NOT to get out of a speeding ticket, which is basically the same thing as being an expert on how TO get out of a speeding ticket. Obviously. I’ve heard it both ways.

Here are some popular methods that are worth attempting:

Being polite: Once I tried being really polite. It didn’t work, and the cop was kind of patronizing. So while I never recommend NOT being polite, it would seem that this particular strategy isn’t enough on it’s own to warrant getting out of a speeding ticket. Being polite success rate: 0%

Acknowledging your wrongdoing and taking responsibility for your actions: I have often heard others say that if you readily accept responsibility for your speeding antics, the police officer will often find it so refreshing that he will reward your commanding grasp of accountability by not giving you a ticket.

I’ve tried it. It didn’t work. It seems they are all too ready to give you a ticket if you suggest it. Accepting responsibility success rate: 0%

Being a policeman: My cousin, who is a police officer once told me he gets out of speeding tickets by having a gun in his car.

Wait. You probably don’t want to try that one. Let me rephrase that.

He gets out of speeding tickets by showing them his permit to carry firearms, which is a good segue into his being a police officer, which is a good segue into them letting him out of his speeding ticket. Obviously, as I am not a policeman, I cannot attest to this personally. Being a policeman success rate: -unknown- as I do not have a gun. Or a badge. Well…at least not a real one.

Crying: Given the fact that I am strong, masculine, he-man of rippling muscle and mighty stature, it would likely be impossible for me to cry my way out of a speeding ticket. I prefer to keep my man-card, thank you very much. Crying success rate: -NA- Because I’m much too studly to cry.

Speeding to the next available exit, driving down a backstreet, turning off your engine and hiding under the dashboard: This idea just seems ludicrous. Who would ever try such a thing?? Obviously I cannot in good conscience encourage such reckless behavior. Speeding to the next available exit success rate: I plead the 5th.

Being a San Francisco Giants fan: The first time I got pulled over (in Nevada no less), the officer took 15 miles off my clocked speed simply because it was clear I was a Giants fan. That’s got to be worth half a point or something. The most recent time I got pulled over was coming back from San Francisco on the greatest night in the history of the universe. Since I was only high on the majesty of triumph and the euphoric nirvana of victory that comes with being a fan of the greatest baseball team in the universe (and not anything ELSE from San Francisco), the police officer felt no need or desire to give me a ticket on that particular evening. That’s right folks. I’ve been pulled over more than a few times. The only thing that’s ever worked, is being a Giants fan. Being a Giants fan success rate: 75%

There is of course, one more strategy to getting out of a speeding ticket…

Being a beautiful woman: I know girls who have never received a speeding ticket in their lives. Girls who drive so carelessly and so fast their Christian Louboutins must be filled with lead. But they remain ticketless. They think it’s because they’re so nice and friendly. It’s not. Being a beautiful woman success rate: 100% (unless of course you’re a dude).

The post How To Get Out Of A Speeding Ticket appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Readers!! It is the end of the month!! Today is your LAST day to enter our Jan 2012 contest for a chance to be featured in an upcoming Raccoon Toons comic strip!! Don’t procrastinate any longer!!! Enter NOW! Before it’s too late!!

Official Rules and entry instructions

The post Friend Or Date? appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

For some time I have been thinking about the post I would write with today’s comic strip. For weeks I have been formulating various thoughts in my mind, trying desperately to piece them together into some kind of written structure. So many different topics came forward: true friendship, inner beauty, social anxieties, objectification, self worth, etc.

I have since chosen not to supplement this comic strip with any further analyses or additional writing, but rather to let the comic strip speak for itself. I’ve decided that it’s probably worth more to the reader to interpret it as they wish and draw their own conclusions.

Although I usually fight the impulse, I have discovered that portions of my comic strip are, on occasion, somewhat personal. As I worked with this particular story line I found myself looking inward, observing many of the aspects and actions of my own life, and evaluating how I treat people. It has been a worthwhile experience for me, one that I hope will make me better.

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Readers, you have only FOUR days left to enter the  “Who Wants to Be In a Comic Strip?” contest! The winner will be featured in an upcoming Raccoon Toons comic strip! Don’t wait! Enter today!

The post -sigh- appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Once upon a time, I dated a girl. She was quite attractive, despite the fact that I have since decided she was most assuredly the spawn of Satan.

At the time, men were constantly drooling over her and showering her with compliments of how attractive she was. One day while spending an afternoon together talking, she said something to me that I thought was very telling and which I have remembered to this day.

“I hate it when people tell me I’m pretty.”

Confused, I questioned why on earth she would refuse a compliment such as that.

“It’s just such a stupid compliment. ‘You’re pretty.’ It’s what you tell someone when you can’t think of anything else to say about them.”

As much as I hate to say it, Spawn of Satan had a point. When I looked at it that way, it really was kind of a hollow compliment, especially since it was so often cast about by men who were only interested in outward appearances and physical entanglements.

And yet I couldn’t help but feel like I was also one of those shallow men. Heck, I’m STILL one of those shallow men. Looks matter to me, and I was dating this girl in part, because she WAS pretty. It had been the first thing I noticed about her. It wasn’t the only reason why I liked her (hey, I’m not COMPLETELY shallow), but I couldn’t deny the fact that if she hadn’t been so pretty, chances are I wouldn’t have asked her out in the first place.

And so I resolved that I would try to compliment her on other more profound matters. I would prove to both of us that I didn’t just want her for her looks, and she would see how different and non-shallow I was compared to all the other men chasing her. I resolved not to call her “pretty.”

Oddly enough, she dumped me just a short time later. Girls…they’ll really mess with your head.

The post You’re Pretty appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

e·piph·a·ny [ih-pif-uh-nee]

a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.

Who are your friends? Your true friends? People you can really count on through thick and thin? Maybe I use the term too narrowly, but in my own mind I’m pretty selective about who I consider to be my “true friends.” It isn’t that I don’t like a lot of the people that I associate with. There are lots of great people in my life. It’s just that for me, it takes a real bond of loyalty and trust for me to consider someone a “true” friend. And I don’t just throw that moniker around carelessly. True friendship is earned, endures through the ages, and is not cast aside by the changes we encounter in life.

So maybe by my definition I don’t have a lot of “true friends.” But the ones I do have, are there forever.

The post Friends appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

“Your boyfriend is such a tool. Seriously. Just look at the guy. That stupid face. That stupid hair. I bet he pops up the collars on his polo shirts. Who does he think he is? Anyone with half a brain can see that the guy is a total tool. But then I guess you don’t have half a brain do you? I mean, if you did you OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t be dating him. Man…I can’t believe I was such good friends with that guy before he started dating you. It’s so weird that I had no idea he was such a tool until now…

“We’re all probably better off now that you’ve both removed yourselves from the dating pool, at least until one of you gets tired of blank stares and moronic conversation. You two really deserve each other. So yeah. Enjoy your tool boyfriend you ditsy brain dead twit.

“And…call me if you break up any time soon…”

The post Life Of Party appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Self control is important. We all need to have self control. Take your job for example. There you are, sitting at your super enticing desk, with your super enticing paperwork piling up around you. That paperwork can be oh so enticing. I know you’re just DYING to jump right in with reckless abandon and get crazy with all that paperwork. And yet, here you are. You’ve somehow managed to muster up every ounce of self control that you posses to resist doing that paperwork for just a little longer while you do something that’s REALLY important— namely look at raccoon cartoons. I have to say, I’m really impressed. Your self control is truly inspiring. Inspiring to us all.

You know what else is really important and truly inspiring? Entering this year’s “Who Wants to Be In a Comic Strip?” contest! The month is coming closer and closer to its end, which means you only have a limited time left to enter the contest for your chance to be featured in an upcoming Raccoon Toons comic strip!! Don’t wait a moment longer! Enter the contest today! It’s FREE and it’s SO easy! Just:

1. Like on Facebook, or follow on Twitter, or Subscribe to the RSS feed.

2. Pick out your favorite comic strip or post and share it!

3. Tell me what and how you shared. Did you post it? Tweet it? Email it? I need to know! Leave a comment on the site or on the facebook page, or just send me an email or something. If you don’t tell me, I won’t know to enter your name.

4. Eat a cookie.

That’s it! You’re done! How simple is that?!?! So show a little self control and enter the contest today!!

The post Why Do I Do That?? appeared first on Raccoon Toons.