Culled from my sketchbook is the following sketch for Tuesday…
Apparently I’ve harbored ill-will toward deceased singer-songwriter, Jim Croce, for several years now. I really can’t explain why this fairly innocuous folkie makes me want to take sharpened pencils and jab them into my ear canals and thrust repeatedly. I can’t explain it, but he does.
Is it the moustache? He looks like he should be on a pizza box, but that’s no reason to hate his music. Could it be the songs? Maybe, I can’t takes the hubris of statements like: You don’t tug on Superman’s cape/You don’t spit into the wind/You don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger and you don’t mess around with Jim, da do da do…
I know, I should let bygones be bygones, after all, he is the late Jim Croce. Being dead should be enough, but I just can’t let go. I think less of me for carrying around such distaste for a musician who at least wasn’t launched to stardom on a game show. Cut the man some slack, huh?
I know many of you out there like Jim Croce. That’s fine, people like John Denver too. Some of you may even be reasonable people (although reasonable people don’t click on A News Cafe’s cartoon page). I mean, jeez, Adam Sandler and Will Farrell have movie careers for cryin’ out loud. I can’t control these things. If I could… well, the prospect of me being in control of the world scares even myself. Still, I wouldn’t have that stupid, #$@!!#$% song stuck in my head. Do da do, you don’t tug on Superman’s cape…
