Like this outpost!



This is one of several posts and this is about posts.
More to come in the next few weeks and unlike many, the drawing here has absolutely nothing to do with this text.

I am constantly amazed that anyone comes to these pages but looking at the stats plenty do.It hopefully has something to do with the images and the words which in the main are crafted by my lad Joe, a thinker and erudite wit, who’s musings always amuse me.

I hope you can find the time to look at our other site:

But for the time being, thanks for visiting, and if remotely amused by this stuff, then let us know.It keeps us off the streets.

Like this post!

Like this post!

The joy of blogging. Been working on a series of like this post cartoons and this is one of them. Like it if you like! This is a rough and the final one will be done soon, hopefully, the last one of my posts with the long haired bishop hit the editing spike!

Long haired bishop.

Long haired bishop.

This is part of a drawing worked on tonight.I’ll publish the full drawing when it’s all finished so come back later.I don’t have anything against religion or bishops but those outfits are manna from heaven for a cartoonist.Excuse the pun.

‘Unlike me!’ by Joe Davies

There are things that should just simply not be written down, virtually the entire contents of Facebook. It is truly a catalyst for tedium. Status updates that people I know and thought that I liked; punctuate cyber space with insipid quips, sharing their location and how much they enjoyed the pencil museum. Nobody asked but now, now we all know how much fun David and Sarah had at 14:07pm GMT, and that the tour guide was delightful. Nobody asked! I used to think David was alright, we played doubles together, not gay, tennis. HE SEEMED OK!! But, he has lured me into his own personal online segment of banality. De-friend him, I hear you say, ah but no. This is not possible, he may well take it personally, feel disenfranchised by society and go on what could only be politely described as a spree involving firearms and a busy supermarket.

Steve and Katie had a smashing time at Lincoln Christmas market. Sandra Marie-Baxter is pleased, and asked if it was busy. For some reason these friends actual, real, official friends, friends I have requested to accept me, and who have confirmed that yes , I am a friend and in addition they have determined  which category I fall into, ‘close friend’, ‘Friend’, ’school’ ,’Best friends … these particular individuals feel that it is fine to use actual human energy to tap on a keyboard and produce these dull words about normal things which perhaps before the time of online social networking, may have been confined to a small paper diary in the bedside table. It would have been a record for those who could possibly, one day, for sentimental or historical purposes, feel the need to give enough of a flying nut sack to re-read it.  Instead thanks to this global phenomenon, everyone everywhere has to read about everything in two word sentence. Tom Stratford Status update: ‘ace day’ …smiley face of course …obligatory, photo of family picnic / mud-wrestling / swimming with dolphins.

I have finally decided that I actually unlike some of these people more than I like them, some I unlike so much it could be said that I unlike them with a passion, and often get up early in the morning so I can unlike them some more. I unlike them so much that I don’t unfriend them so I can wait until they unlike me more than I unlike them for abstaining from their cuddly digital banter, creating a feeling of horrendous social alienation from one another each time our paths cross in reality. That gives me a nice warm feeling inside, knowing that whilst they clamour for mindless endorsement they know that I am not interested. They don’t think I may not be interested, they know, because whilst ever present in the online community, they can see me up there with a little green dot next to my cheesy muggins, never do I contribute to their constant stream of posts, and they know that. I am a dead weight in their account, a permanent itch in their Facebook front pocket, a consistent reminder that you can’t make toast without getting crumbs in the butter.