Look at you.  Just sitting there blithely skimming web comedy without a care in the world.  Maybe you’ve come here for a brief respite or to ogle my rugged, sexy features (most find them reminiscent of a young Sean Connery and Lurch from the Addams Family).  And all the while you’ve chosen to ignore the fate that is bearing down on you like bloodthirsty bullet-train.

The Monkey* Uprising is upon us.

Chimps demonstrate complex behaviors like contemplation and face-eating

Somewhere along the line we decided to reward our closest genetic relatives with being our hapless playthings.  We were so intrigued by their sophisticated social structure and demonstrations of human-like emotion that we decided it would be a good idea to put them in funny clothes and make them pantomime for our amusement.  If only we had taught them sign language for “I’m tired of being humanity’s clownshoes” we might have had some warning.  Now it’s too late.

“Go ahead, motherfucker!  Call me Bonzo again and see what happens!”

So how worried should we be?  I put the Howfuckedometer reading at “Completely Buggered”.  Chimpanzees have five times our strength and demonstrate sophisticated cooperative hunting strategies.  Does that description sound familiar?  If you remember the unique horrors of Jurassic Park it should:

Velociraptors can smell fear, but when you piss yourself they don’t need to

It gets worse.  Chimpanzees possess much richer faculties for language than their reptilian counterparts and the ability to use tools, so it would probably be more akin to this:

“sshhskktt….Team Bravo, be advised that the meatsack is now entering Massacre Zone 3, over..sshhsskktt“

I don’t have much advice to protect you in the dark days ahead.  Only move under cover of night.  Don’t carry any bananas or plantains on your person.  If captured, for the love of God don’t provide coordinates of the sewer dwellings mankind has retreated to, no matter how fiercely they bludgeon you with your own femur.

* Ian Cheesman is fully aware that a chimpanzee is technically an ape and not a monkey.  It’s called creative license, you armchair anthropologist.  For further lessons on primates, check the academic stronghold that is internetsensation.com.

Here’s why I want to be re-born as a black guy in Harlem some day…

I’ve got very strong opinions about 4th grade teachers who prostitute themselves during break period. Get into it!

Every week here I strive to bring you the freshest in internet comedy (read: photoshopping penises on things).  I do this because I am an artist and not because atom.com has my family held captive in a dank basement somewhere.  I am compelled only by the muse to create, not the imminent threat that if I type under 50 m.p.h. my loved ones will all explode.

help me!

Just knowing you’re amused is thanks enough.

Why haven’t you called the FBI, you bag of dicks?

While my blogging is a tremendous gift to the world, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had yet more genius to give.  Seeking answers and guidance, I turned to my television.  So it was at 2:07 a.m., just moments after the central conflict in Hangin’ With Mr. Cooper was revealed, I saw an ad for the Art Instruction Schools.  It told me I was only one haphazard scribble away from a $250K scholarship to the most elite institutions of doodling in America.  I quickly ordered my free art test and prepared the application below.

You must be exhausted plowing through interminable applications, each less inspired than the last. I’m guessing this is what your average application looks like:

Now that I’m applying to your institute those days are behind you.  Prepare to get kicked right in your art-balls.

I call it “Dogbear the Pirate”, a perfect hybrid of all three samples above.  You see, unlike the applicants that obediently draw exactly what you’ve specified (i.e. morons), I have seen through your ruse.  Great art doesn’t follow rules. And I’m not even done shitting on your guidelines yet!

I could probably stop here, having already aced your first test, but I’m planning on winning at least 8 scholarships.  Here’s a piece I’ve entitled “Graaaaarrgh”:

As you can see, I’m not afraid to get political and edgy with my work.  I say to hell with anti-war sentiments and arbiters of when dinosaurs supposedly did and did not exist.  Of course, not everything I produce is confrontational.  Sometimes I opt for subversiveness and toying with the medium, as shown with my attached flip-book titled “Just A Guy Waving And Nothing Else”:

Hell, in some cases, I simply abandon the medium altogether and make the canvas the art:

By now you’ve hopefully ascertained my art cannot be contained in traditional bounds, doesn’t shy from controversy, and reflects an exquisite mastery of composition and form.  If not, I’ve crammed all of that into one oil painting I have entitled “Subtlety”:

This work is based around the grandest tenet of high art – it should be terribly offensive to Christians.  Piss Christ sets the bar pretty high, so I really had to step it up.  I figure if the sign of the beast and morning after pill don’t clinch it, the Jonas Brothers cleavage tattoo will lock it up.  The Hitler mustache and burning crosses were just a little offensiveness gravy ladeled over the top for good measure.

Gentlemen and lesbians, thank you for your time.  I look forward to the mere formality of my schooling so that I can join your panel of highly skilled dream crushers.  As a final offering, I have provided a self-portrait for your enjoyment.

Ian Cheesman is eagerly awaiting the Art Institute’s reply.  The rest of my gallery can be found at internetsensation.com.

I’m not quite comedically inept enough to make Polack jokes, but if I was, I would apologize for every single one right now. Recently, the Polish have rallied around a cause: To have a memorial built in Great Britain that honors one of their most beloved war heroes, a soldier simply known as “Voytek.” He was a hard-drinking, hard-smoking, hard-fighting son-of-a-bitch who won his valor in the battle of Monte Cassino, one of the bloodiest conflicts of WWII. Voytek stood about 6’5 tall, and weighed in around 600lbs, which wo-wait, 600 pounds?!  Either this Polish war-hero was also undisputed King of the Fatties, or he’s some sort of fucking bear.

Oh, wait, he was a fucking bear!

Voytek was an Iranian Honey Bear, as well as a credited, ranked, and official member of the Second Polish Transport Company.  He was found in the hills of Iran when the company, upon seeing a malnourished, starving bear cub, not only found the heart to nurse him back to health but then, eventually finding themselves with a full-grown, loyal, trained bear and a shitload of Nazis to fight, did the perfectly logical thing and decided to enlist him. I would normally comment here about the sheer insanity of the era’s military for allowing a bear into the armed forces, but honestly? It makes perfect sense.

The Nazis knew all about the power of image, (their emblems and uniforms stand to this day as the epitome of tyranny and evil,) so when it came time to fight fire with fire, what better way to counter the powerful symbolism of the Axis, than a god damn drunken bear in an Allied uniform? If, upon leaping into the trenches prepared for a brutal hand to hand fight, a Nazi soldier found it filled with bloodthirsty bears slamming whiskey – their immense paws filled with gargantuan artillery shells – you can safely count that soldier out of the rest of war. Even if he survives, he’s not fighting again.

“Sir, I’ve seen the enemy gunners. They’re bears!”

“You mean they fight like mighty bears!? My God!”

“No, sir! They’re literally fucking bears! I just went crazy as hell! I’m going home!”

“Weinerschnitzel!”

On duty, Voytek was trained to carry cases of ammunition and mortar shells down the line to waiting artillery, each one weighing hundreds of pounds. On one occasion, he wandered into an empty shower stall and surprised an Arabic spy who had been listening in on top secret information. The spy quickly surrendered and immediately confessed to all of his crimes, probably because he was smart enough to realize that any military unit possessing Anti-Espionage Bears are likely going to be on the winning side of the war.

When off duty, Voytek enjoyed the same luxuries as any other WWII era soldier. He drank cases of beer, smoked cases of cigarettes, and loved to wrestle with his fellow troops – a fact which leaves me in somewhat of a quandary: Who was more badass, the Nazi-fighting bear who wrestled full platoons of trained soldiers, or the men who routinely got body-slammed by him for shits ‘n giggles?

Voytek was so fearless in battle, and so beloved out of it, that the Second Polish Transport Company officially changed their insignia to this:

All military insignia are pretty uniformly badass. Their imagery is rife with skulls, guns, bombs, and lightning bolts; but all that shit’s got nothing on this simple, modest, and entirely accurate depiction of what appears to be a grizzly bear with bullets for fists.

After the war, Voytek retired to the Edinburgh zoo, and the rest of his company settled in the area around him. They visited him frequently, tossing him cigarettes and beer over the fence, and occasionally jumping the barricades to wrestle with him again. He lived to a relatively old age, eventually dying of natural causes, and I’m sure that he’s up there somewhere right now, drinking a case of whiskey, smoking a cigar, and eating Nazis in heaven.

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots, which is still markedly better than fighting bears. Poor lil’ Nazis.