This began as a caricature experiment, seeing how close I could come to making somebody “famous” recognizeable with my scratchings. After the mishapen Barack head, the pot and rainbow were Photoshopped in. Mostly because I had no idea what to do with a floating head and torso. I guess it refers to The President’s latest coming out in support for gay marriage. Do with it as you may – but remember to always use your powers for good.

Any boat owner that has not used 3M 5200 Marine Adhesive Sealant may not “get” this one. The pain, aggravation and relentless stickyness of 3M’s white goo is legendary among do-it-yourselfer’s. One minor repair job and a person can almost trace the owner’s steps around the boat – marked by white fingerprint smears and smudges on every surface beginning at the captain’s arm hair. It’s a love/hate relationship – the stuff keeps the water out and insanity in. For the neat-freak captains, chasing the same fingerprint around a boat with a roll of paper towels can nearly drive a person to the brink of jet-ski ownership. On the flip side, there’s the sailor that uses 5200 for everything; hatch leaks, portlight leaks, shoe repair, decorative moulding and faux wall finishes. I myself would probably be considered an over-user as the stuff has migrated to my home shower, toliet and TV remote. Always remember, clean up BEFORE it sets. Woe be unto the handyman that elects to let the stuff dry As-Is and simply “trim the excess off later”. That’s a trip to Harbor Freight.

Try to imagine a stuffy British Naval officer coming under attack by a pack of louts flinging necklaces at his ship.  I know it’s something I’d like to see.

Here in Tampa Bay we are invaded every year by a similar bunch, sometime in January or February. I’m not really sure when, other than around the first of the year somebody mentions running 5k’s for some reason. The only time I’ll even drive 5K’s is when I’m out of Tequila.

Gasparilla – how do I explain? Picture a single file line of paper mache and home built pirate themed floats plodding down a waterfront street in Tampa. The motorized pirates chuck strings of China’s lowest quality plastic beads at people gathered on the streets, who are waiting anxiously to expose their private parts for beads. A sort of tit-for-tat, or presenting of the cannons. Victory is declared when a gal is draped in a mound of beads up to her ears and her boobs have been “liked” online. So it goes: drink, drink, flash, drink. How this evolved from killing, looting and rape escapes me, but remember…it’s…tradition!

I figure since I’m already scheduled to go straight down, I should just go ahead and post this. Right after the not-so-immaculate-conception of this jem, I was compelled to do a rough sketch and email to a few close confidants. Call it fear of lightening or plague, I was never able to muster the nads to publish it on the www. Well, now it’s been a few months - what the hell.

If man is really created in the image of some higher power, then it’s the Power’s fault. All my godmade brain did was wonder what a Jesus Fish would taste like and how to prepare it. Now we know.

Notice I still don’t have the guts to put the Close Hauled name at the top. WWJD?

It’s not Close Hauled, it’s only an idea while drawing the guitar from “It’s nine to five somewhere”. I read once there’s a law in the inky world of cartoons to never refer to the cartoon itself. Something like Fight Club but with ink. Well, like Wile E. Coyote and other brave pioneers, I’ve broken that law. Call me bold, and outsider, a rebel – I do it for you.

This is actually a concept I sent to someone I consider to be at the pinnacle of success in cartooning. Hopefully he can take this little idea and make it into something fun to look at and show it on the big screen. Stay Tooned.

UPDATE: And Mr. Dan Piraro did – here’s his version of what I sent him. I like it a lot. http://www.bizarrocomics.com/?p=3262 to read his thoughts on it.

A little humor from the cruising world. A short weekend in Marathon Marina in The Keys helped spawn this one. I visited my cousin on his 40′ Endeavour that was dangling out on a mooring ball in the bay. He had been there for two months, paying almost $300/month for ball privileges. Yes, he could have anchored, but if you want to use any of the marina facilities or even set foot on dry land it would cost you nearly as much. So pull up a ball.

I was amazed at this giant floating campground, a community of water people that have chosen an eternal life of dampness. This isn’t the simple weekend sailing I’m used to. Back when I had a boat in the marina it was an easy matter to load her with gear, food, booze and head out for the weekend. Return home to the dock, unload, rinse and repeat. When you liveaboard out in a bay, your dinghy is your portal to civilization. A trip to anywhere other than your v-berth is going to involve clambering like a drunken crab down the ladder into the dink (sometimes drink), to furiously yank the outboard rope while praying it starts on only the 30th pull. This makes taking a shower at the bathhouse a half-day event. No big deal if it’s your only event, but your watch will most certainly need to be set to island time. Grocery trips are like an Apollo mission. “Roger Houston, the tomatoes have landed, It’s a go for transfer.”

The mooring field really is a great community. Dinks crissing crossing everywhere, people waving and waves peopling. It was fun to Listen to the nine a.m. scoldings on the cruiser’s net – lots of characters, lots of different people from all over. I learned that some of the wealthier cruiser folks don’t necessarily liveaboard/cruise full time. They fly back to dry homes and jobs when not enjoying the moist air of the tropics. Some will even have their boats hauled to keep them safe from storms and mariners looking to trade up. Once again, money determines comfort level. I salute the diehards with little money or the ones that choose to live like that dude from WaterWorld. I had a great experience, spending time with my cousin, but I was only there for two days. A long term camping-made-difficult boating lifestyle appears challenging, especially because when I go camping, a blazing campfire is mandatory.

What am I doing? I’m not sure. I guess, getting back down to business with a little Anti-Island, Mainland Music. The toon was formed while reading something Eric Stone posted on FaceBook. I thought, what if one day Eric just lost it and decided to get the hell out of the islands. That would be funny – and weird.

Another broke-down inspired creation from a day on the water. While out in our flats boat, trying to convince some trout to jab themselves in the face with the metal hooks we were flinging at them, my brother-in-law and I came face to face with a dead engine. Our outboard had suddenly taken a siesta. With the outgoing tide creating dry land all around us, we pressed a boathook into service as a push pole. The hook responded by leaving the boat in favor of the muddy bottom. Eventually 6 beers were paid for a tow to the channel from a fisherman. The beer payment was originally intended, by me, to be a friendly thanks but later was to be called “the dumb-ass idea of giving away our beer when we’re stranded”.

Vessel Assist was busy that day and it took over an hour for them to arrive, but we had fishing tackle, bait, food… and water. After the tow guy found us and began our chauffeured trip back to the marina, we kicked back in true Driving Miss Daisy style. Motor cowling removal is the international symbol for “busted boat”.  Make sure you do this during a tow so other boaters won’t accuse you of using the tow guy as a designated driver. So, as we pass another obviously disabled boat (expression on female passenger’s face) in the intracoastal, the desperate looking boaters keep waving at our tow guy, and he hollers “I’ll be back right after this tow!” Zip-flop, the idea of subcontracting out our tow is born. Should have had a line ready – maybe we could have made enough to recoup those lost beers. I’ve got plenty of boathooks.

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