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Preview: It's Not Tundra

It's Not Tundra

The intrepid adventures of a middle-aged man and his Los Angeles to Buffalo mid-life crisis. Which may go back to Los Angeles. Or Chicago. Or Cheektowaga. Or coming soon to a town near you!

Updated: 2018-03-06T05:50:03.007-08:00




So if I have been homelss before, I don't remember it. But between closing on what I like to call the marriage house (but it used to be just "my house") and moving into what I call our house (that is where my son and I live), there was a 6 week period where we were homeless. Me, my son, and our dog. The other house was not closing because I was working with a mortgage company representative who seemed to be an absolute wizard at losing paperwork. In fact, the only thing she was better at was blaming other people from losing paperwork. That keep us in limbo. Luckily, our realtor had a condo she was referbushing and it was empty. She very kindly let us stay there and we did what we could to help. But... We couldn't leave the dog alone, because he's a needy little bitch and barked insessantly when he's alone. He's my dog. I love him. I care for him. But he's a needy little bitch. He's also transspecies, but that's a story for another time. You don't think about it, but we had no mail address or stove (it was being repaired) and the laundry was in the basement so we became quarter hoarders. But the worst thing was having to microwave every meal. My son still jumps everytime the microwave goes on.



I’ve been a little busy the past few years. You know, mid-life crisis, divorce, destroying a cherished family life… And then there’s what I have been doing. So the kid and I got a house. It’s different from the house we moved into after we left California. Smaller. Older. Not in good shape. Filthy. I mean I didn’t buy it because it was filthy. And I wouldn’t say it was a fringe benefit. But it does give me something to do and a new hobby. Cleaning. People don’t really look at it as a hobby. And they’re right. It’s a pain in the ass. But a bigger pain in the ass is living in a house with ¼ inch of grime on the windowsills. I know. Because I did it. So I bought a new house. I don’t know that it’s ever been cleaned. It’s Not Tundra: The Sequel.

A Comic Book I'm working on...




Check out Bullpen Comics



Help your local producer


If you have Netflix, please put my new movie Gene-Fusion in your queue. Sure it'll be available 5.10.11 on iTunes, Time Warner on-demand, Playstation Network, XBox live, in stores, on Amazon, at Blockbuster and just about every other way, but just because of that, and because I produced Batman Beyond, Justice League and God Knows what else, and just because the director, Francois Brisson has done hundreds of episodes of international television hits and because it's been invited to a film festival -- Netflix...they want proof.

Been Away...


Trying to think about how to best continue this, since I'm pretty much out of moving stories. I put a bunch together in book form and was told by an agent that it seemed I was "trying to hard to be funny" which, after several successful night at a couple of large comedy clubs lead me to believe that this agent is "trying to hard to be smart".

So I guess for the next bit, I'll be indulging in a little stream of consciousness chafe trying to get to the wheat (is that trying too hard?)

Too many projects going on. The movie version of Cheapjack Shakespeare is limping to a start date, my new play "Internal Continuity" will be staged this fall. "Bullpen Comics" is getting some attention and may have a second life.

But there is a lot of waiting around.

Also, I think I have a sugar hangover from Easter. Too much candy. That's what agnostics do. That and wonder a lot. I mean, what if he was only NEARLY dead...?

Also, tired of "Zombie Jesus" jokes. Yes. We get it. He's like a zombie. Ha. Ha.

free comics and soon...

2011-03-03T12:40:18.522-08:00 become a motion picture...

New Episode -- What I do back east


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Still Busy...


Cheapjack Shakespeare FEED THE ACTORS.mp4


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Feed The Actors



Now That I'm Here --- What am I doing...


Well, for starters...

An Argument for Creationism or No Paucity of Douchebags


I have to tell you that it's not paradise here. We have morons here, too. It's just that there aren't as many of them but those that we have are trying harder to be more annoying. There's also, I suppose, a certain freedom in knowing that you are blazing a new trail of douchebaggery, going where no asshat has gone before.

I'm riding my bike home from the gym and I turn down a quiet street so that I can ride though the park. The school on the street, a church school, is letting out for the end of the year.

If you look back at the stuff I've written, I should have learned by now that people can be especially dopey around schools. It should be no surprise. But every time I've gone by there and it was any kind of school event, it's a madhouse. 1/4 the madhouse as in Tarzana, but there are fewer folks around.

So I'm tooling down the road on my bike. And here comes a woman holding hands with her son.


Walking down the middle of the street.

And by "middle of the street" I mean, middle of the traffic lane. You know. Where the cars go. Because it's a street. The kind that cars drive on.

And it's not like we're in the boonies. This is a populated suburb of over 100,000 people. And the streets are paved and there are sidewalks. The kind people walk on.

And the mother sees me coming on my bike, trying to get around a minivan and not go into the lane of oncoming traffic.

You know. Following the rules of the road.

And she does nothing. Except keep walking.

So I have to swerve into the other lane. Or, you know, run over the woman and her kid, and I say:

"Walking down the middle of the street with a kid is not a good idea."

And she says:

"I'm putting my kid in my car. LOSER!"

Yes. A church school. Apparently First Church of Satan.

Darwin was wrong. There is no way a single being isn't watching over the lives of people like that. Especially after I saw her loading her kid into the minivan on the street side.

Because, you know, it would be too much trouble to actually walk around. Or cross at a walk. Or even cross not at a walk but close to your car.

COPYRIGHT 2010 by Shaun McLaughlin



Some thoughts after flying across the country to move. You try to teach your kids good manners,but sadly, the rest of the world doesn't want to help...The behavior on commercial flights has changed since my father insisted on a coat and tie to fly coach. It is not well known that Lindbergh flew his legendary trans Atlantic flight togged up in white tie and tails. Memoirs of barnstorming pilots would include passages about flying biplanes in top hat with his platinum tipped walking stick doubling as an especially dashing aileron control. Sad to say, these standards no longer apply even to first class cabins, let alone steerage. Please allow me to offer a few humble suggestions to make air travel a more pleasant experience. Do not berate TSA employees for their lack of speed. Most of them are honest, caring, hardworking people dedicated to ensuring our safety. The rest are mildly retarded and may cry if confronted. Such behavior will result in a cavity search and proper standards of deportment have not yet been established for these situations. It is no longer amusing to moo in either the security or the boarding line even if one does feel like cattle on the way to the abattoir. Bovines are not provided with individual boarding passes on their final journey and this is an important distinction.While it may be individually agreeable to sing along with the music on your I-pod, it is not recommended in confined quarters. This is especially true when listening to Frank Zappa or Pavarotti’s recording of “Un ballo in maschera".Comparing the flight to a roller coaster ride, raising one’s hand in the air while screaming “Wheee” and young ladies lifting their tube tops to expose their breasts to imagined cameras is acceptable only at take off and landing.Making witty references to any of the “Airport” movies is completely unacceptable. They are not very well remembered and were never very entertaining to anyone except your grandmother who was never more than fifteen miles away from Watertown. You may compare a flight to the first (and only the first) “Airplane” movie, but you risk dating yourself terribly.It is never acceptable to attempt to hook up a camp shower in the rest room unless one is on an international flight of ten or more hours. If this is the case, it is always wise to offer the flight crew a turn in lieu of gratuity.Speaking of tips, most airlines frown upon them. But word to the wise: Personal financial remuneration will guarantee you one of the “good” breathing masks in case of cabin depressurization.It is not necessary or even wise to replace the provided seat belt buckle with a designer buckle. You will survive a flight with a less than fashionable buckle. Trust me. Please be aware that many flights no longer offer meals as part of the ticket price. This is a blessing to the palette but perversely and conversely a curse to the olfactory as many have taken to bringing not only sack lunches, but take out food on the flight. You Protocol Pal has been on flights where the ambiance closely resembled a McDonald’s occupied by Hezbollah guerillas who have vowed never to bathe until the state of Israel is removed from the face of the Earth. Their prospects for success are not good. Neither are your prospects for breathing.No hard and fast rules have been codified for what kinds of take out are appropriate on passenger jets. Common sense dictates that a vindaloo spicy enough to water the eyes of the first three rows is probably not a wise choice. Watching a family of six share use chopsticks to share two orders of pad Thai noodles at thirty-eight thousand feet once amused protocol Pal. The ensuing[...]



Here's the kind of story you just don't see on the news around here...

Of course, most stories here do begin with "The Buffalo Bills today..."

You're a Hottie...


People are surprised at the woman who greeted President Obama with "You're a hottie with a tight little body," when he went to lunch at Duff's in Buffalo last week.

Me, I'm just happy she didn't greet him with "Gee, you're a good-looking colored guy."

Free Venison


Free Venison

This is apparently the guy that goes with my "My Deer" post.

Is That Me?


I've turned into one of those neighbors my mother would hate. I don't play loud music or get into fights with my family (well, I do, but I try to hiss my anger between my teeth instead of yell). I don't have a barking dog or a big 8 bore hobby car that I rev late at night and drive people crazy because I am insecure of my penis size and need to compensate by making lots of noise.

But I do clean.

I cut my lawn. I trim. I edge. I use a leaf blower. These were things that, in California, we'd hire people to do but here I/we do 'em (I get the kids out there). Part of it was that in CA they were cheaper and we didn't have that much to do. Here we got screwed by the first company we hired (they just stopped showing up after cashing the cheque) and the other companies --- well, let's just say that there's one called "White Collar Landscaping" and I think they're more white collar criminals. Perhaps the people who did the lawn in CA were illegals (I never asked) but these guys --- then they show up I make the kids come inside. I think they're people that a carny wouldn't take.

Today was garage day. Schlep everything out of the garage. Use the blower and then use the pressure washer. Re-organize for the summer. Get the kids to clean out their outside toybox (come're you REALLY want the Mr. Potato Head sprinkler?) Put stuff back in.

This was prompted because yesterday Patricia and I got our snow tires off and our regular tires on and we needed a place to store them. Something ELSE we didn't have to do in SoCal.

Yes. I can hear my mother now.

"You know what you are? You're a neat freak!"

Well. Not really.

Truth is that I like doing stuff like this because between making the comic ( writing a new cartoon movie, teaching my classes at Buff State, editing some projects and working on two other scripts...I like having a couple of hours a week when I'm NOT staring at a glowing rectangle.

And then I can come inside and stare at the glowing rectangle while writing about it.



A little on what I've been writing about here and a lot on what I'm doing in the next few months.

OH! Tannenbaum!!!


Holy Christ! See my March 19th post but I just saw ANOTHER Chistmas tree out at the curb. It's almost April.

But, truth to tell, the real thing is that I'm just jealous because it was still so green! Maybe it was one of those "Lost" time shift things? Maybe it was really a Dharma Christmas Tree from 1974?

In California, that sucker would have been burning by now.

Working Out


I worked out at World Gym in Woodland Hills, CA for years until the Spinning Class -- which seemed like it was run by Moonies -- drove me away. It wasn't the spinning, it was that the class' music was so loud and they shouted so much that it seemed more like some kind of indoctrination than cardiovascular exercise.

There were a lot of people who trained with partners, but at World Gym in Williamsville, I've noticed the partner phenom has become more of a pack mentality. It's not just 2 people working out together to egg each other on, there are groups of 3, 4 and 5 working out together and egging each other on. At what point does it stop being a training partnership and become a training cult?
I'm not too worried. I've also noticed that the bigger the group, the bigger the waistlines. Perhaps they're not egging each other on. Maybe it more of a support group. "Yeah, we can be fat and workout, too! We can have our cake and eat it, too! And eat it. And eat it. And then bench press 20 pounds and feel good about ourselves!!

Seen At Wegmans...


seen at the grocery store: Three fat guys, each buying a six pack of hard lemonaide/sweet vodka drink, a bag of chips and a pack of cookies. All laughing. Could only guess they were talking about why they were still single.

A discovery!


I just found out another way this area differs from L.A. Coming home from the gym this AM I saw two Christmas trees by the curb, waiting to be taken away. One was a lovely crisp brown and the other was a fresh, lush green.

So Christmas lasts longer in WNY.