***EDIT - Only five more orders are needed to cover the cost of a print run of posters.***

I woke up this morning to find more than a dozen requests for posters composed of the entire Michael Jackson/Lemont series (”Pretty Young Things”). I’ve put up an order button (below), and if enough orders come in to cover the printing and shipping costs, I’ll go ahead and order a print run of posters (keep in mind it takes about 2 weeks to order a batch of posters and mail them out). If there aren’t enough orders by next week, whoever’s placed an order will get a full refund. Posters will come on 11″x17″ frame-ready card stock and shipping & handling are included in the price. Here’s how to order:

Domestic Orders: $15 (includes s&h) International Orders: $25 (includes s&h)

• About to watch two hours of huge robots blowing stuff up good. Hope I can follow the plot. http://yfrog.com/1745bj #
• #Transformers felt like a 3hr trailer for a better movie: PUNCH-JOKE-KICK-T&A-EXPLODE-slo-mo-YELL!!!-Cut 2 black. PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH …moral #
• On a newsgroup right now debating yesterday’s cartoon with people who seem intent on proving me right: http://tinyurl.com/nslnwf #
• Zombie editors from 1950 censored my Michael Jackson cartoon, but I’ll run the real one on my website next week anyway. #
• patiently waiting for the Media to move into its “has there been too much MJ coverage?” phase. #

True story:

I was sleeping and dreaming about last night’s yoga class. I was in the middle of warrior pose #3 when my phone started ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

Suddenly the other attendees were real warriors. Samurai, wearing Darth Vader-shaped helmets and blood red body armor with spikes. And wielding swords. And they weren’t at all happy that my phone interrupted the class. They began to growl and started to close in on me. The one closest to me, a small but furious woman, glared at me and began to slowly twirl and slice her long, curved sword through the air. I realized she was my wife. I gasped.

Clutching my yoga mat, I ran out of 24 Hour Fitness (pausing only to get my parking validated), down the stairs, past the Arclight Theater and up the middle of Sunset Boulevard, with 40 or so samurai warriors chasing me. The light at Sunset and Vine turned red and we all stopped. Their swords, held frozen in mid-swing, were chiming as the wind slid along their shimmering metal shafts. I tied my left shoe, stood back up and stretched a little, and got ready. The light turned green. I took off screaming, and with every frantic step 40 angry samurai were closing in behind me.

That’s when I awoke to find my iPhone buzzing in my ear. It was telling me I had several dozen emails from you guys about how today’s strip wasn’t showing up (it’s there now). Thank God I sleep with my phone.

The saying is wrong. Deaths happen in fives, not threes. First Ed McMahon, then Farah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, then Billy Mays and his beard*, and finally, my iPhone. I picked up the phone about 1/2 hour ago and saw the white screen of death.

First came denial: Maybe I’d somehow booted up my “Flashlight” app. Or maybe it was the glare of the California sun. Maybe Al Qaida was jamming iPhones on Hollywood Boulevard and as soon as I turned the corner I would see my beloved home screen again.

Then came the anger: I paid $300 for this piece of shit just eight months ago! I was just minding my own business, walking home with my Hawaiian Barbecue. I didn’t hurt anybody! What business does it have crapping out on me in the middle of a busy street! Steve Jobs is going to pay for this! He’s going to paaaayyy!!!!!

Bargaining: I’m going to turn the phone off and wait ten seconds before rebooting it. If that works, I swear that after this meal, I will never eat meat again on a Tuesday evening from that particular barbecue place. For at least a week.

Then came depression: It’s no use. I can’t even turn it off. And now there are strange gray lines on the right side of the screen. Even Phaktor’s solution didn’t work. There’s nothing I can do. I’ll never save all my voice memos and that photo of a fire hydrant I took earlier today. They’re gone forever, like they never even existed in the first place. What’s the point of it all? There is no point. Because there is no phone.

Finally, acceptance: It’s no coincidence the phone died right now, just a week after the brand new video-capable iPhone 3Gs hit the streets. It’s a sign. I shall take it to the Apple Store, and if they tell me it cannot be fixed, as I know they shall, I will buy a new 32GB iPhone 3Gs. It’s the circle of life. Hakuna matata, old dead iPhone 3G. Hakuna matata.

*I’m posting this clip in tribute to my dear departed iPhone 3G:

***EDIT - And no, I’m not getting paid for posting this clip, I just find Billy Mays sticking his head in a box of kitty litter to be particularly funny.***

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