I was in the hospital.

For the umpteenth time. Thought I was having another heart attack. Turns out it was an esophageal spasm or something related to my over use of the drug Omeprazole. Basically a acid reflux issue, but they want heart tests now anyway, so I get to look forward to a stress test in a few weeks. Yay me. Here is the continuation of the Mr.X story.


I am a broadcaster, and always will be.

I went to Brown Institute for Radio and Television Broadcasting back in 1994. It was part of an opportunity for guys like me who were suffering with mental illness to try and learn a skill so that we could become productive members of society. Not one to turn down the chance for another adventure, especially since I felt less than human at the time, so I went for it. I lasted about 3 months before the anxiety and depression took hold of my life and sank me into a pit of despair. While this was happening, I met Earl Root and started doing hid radio show over at KFAI. They had a class to teach studio production, and since I had learned that at Brown, it would be a breeze for me. And it was! The person teaching the class would turn out to be Mr.X. He recognized my talent right away(I am super sharp and quick with the wit, and I am not afraid of a microphone, and my babbling nature seems to suit the nature of the biz, as it were) and he gave me work helping him with assorted media projects around the Twin Cities. We become very close.The Ignorant and the desperate0001

Second chances.

I’m always willing to give a guy a second chance. I’m not an asshole. In fact, at times I can be too nice. Just because I was around yesterday doesn’t mean I was born then, and some unscrupulous fucks tend to see my caring nature as a sign that I am gullible and they can use me for whatever purpose suits them at the time. Now I admit that I used to be that way, long before I started to harden a 2-part epoxy, but no more. I see through the bullshit. I see your game coming a mile away. I didn’t just play the game, I invented the fucker.



I love Frank Zappa’s music. Not all of it of course. What? Do I know the guy? But a lot of it is marvelous.I have a giant framed poster of Zappa sitting on the toilet in my studio. It’s one of the first things you see when you walk in, right before your eyes hit the plethora of pop culture related shit and artwork that covers damn near every inch of wall space. This is a little Tatertotdiaperman comic that will be funnier if you listen to the song “Stinkfoot”. I hope.akkk

Here is the end of that banner story.

I drew this comic back in 2010. I was working through the timeline of events when I remembered this particular situation. This was a triumph for me as I have suffered memory loss due to brain damage from suicide attempts and, most notably, a heart attack in 2004 where my heart stopped and I DIED for a little while. Those events left me with an almost year long gap in my damn near photographic memory. I was working at the sign shop. That I remember. I remember the Halloween blizzard that dumped 3 feet of snow Forest Lake. Beyond that is a complete mystery to me. Memory loss is no joke. Most people get irritated when they can’t think of a particular word. It still bothers me.

I hurt myself

Slipped on the ice in front of a store and jacked myself up a little bit. Enough to have me cringing in pain all fucking day. That ‘s why this post is late! Arne (pronounced Ar-nee) fucking Carlson was joke and  a goddamn fumbler. When they took my banner away I had a bad feeling that shit was going to get fucked up. I was right.


I swear I painted that “Ruplemintz Maiden” riding the polar bear at least 10 times. Everybody wanted that shit painted on their car hood or motorcycle tank! I haven’t seen that picture in a hundred years, but I bet if I looked at it once, I could paint that shit again with my eyes closed.