54 cartoons about children

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Other funny stuff about children

Funny Times January 2017 Issue

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Cartoons About …
Dieting . Suburbia . Theater . Dating . Daughters . and more!

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With cartoons by: Isabella Bannerman, Clay Bennett, Daniel Beyer, Bizarro, Harry Bliss, Ruben Bolling, Matt Bors, William Brown, Jon Carter, David Cohen, Jack Compère, Dave Coverly, J.C. Duffy, Tim Eagan, Martha Gradisher, Cameron Harvey, Joe Heller, Buddy Hickerson, Jeff Hobbs, Nicole Hollander, Ham Khan, Keith Knight, Ken Krimstein, Tim Lachowski, Mary Lawton, Tim Lockley, Jimmy Margulies, Scott Masear, Brian McFadden, P.S. Mueller, Jack Ohman, Drew Panckeri, Joel Pett, Rina Piccolo, K.A. Polzin, Hilary Price, Harley Schwadron, Maria Scrivan, Jen Sorensen, Ward Sutton, Tom Toles, Tom Tomorrow, Tom Toro, Brad Veley, P.C. Vey, Kim Warp, Dan Wasserman, Matt Wuerker, Zippy . . . and lots more!

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Funny Times December 2016 Issue

Funny Times December 2016 Issue
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Cartoons About …
Winter . Christmas . Travel . Social Media . Shopping . and more!

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With cartoons by: Bizarro, Daniel Beyer, Harry Bliss, Ruben Bolling, Matt Bors, Jon Carter, David Cohen, Todd Condron, Dave Coverly, J.C. Duffy, Bob Eckstein, Anne Emond, Anne Gibbons, Martha Gradisher, Buddy Hickerson, Jeff Hobbs, John Kastner, Ham Khan, Keith Knight, Ken Krimstein, Tim Lachowski, Mary Lawton, Carol Lay, Tim Lockley, Scott Masear, Chris Monroe, P.S. Mueller, Jack Ohman, Drew Panckeri, Joel Pett, Rina Piccolo, K.A. Polzin, Hilary Price, Harley Schwadron, Maria Scrivan, Barbara Smaller, Jen Sorensen, Mark Stivers, Ward Sutton, Tom Swick, Tom Toles, Tom Tomorrow, P.C. Vey, Dan Wasserman, Shannon Wheeler, Matt Wuerker, Zippy . . . and lots more!

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The Grandson

By Ray Lesser

Samson has baskets full of toys at Grandpa’s house but none of them is as interesting as his rock. Samson carries his rock around and pounds it on the floor and furniture. Continue reading


Funny Times February 2016 Issue

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Cartoons About …
2015 Retrospective . Babies . Valentines . Life and Death . The Internet . and more!

Cartoons by: Clay Bennett, Bizarro, Harry Bliss, Ruben Bolling, Matt Bors, David Cohen, Jack Compère, Dave Coverly, Bob Eckstein, Samuel Ferri, David Fitzsimmons, Martha Gradisher, Buddy Hickerson, Ham Khan, Keith Knight, Mary Lawton, Carol Lay, Tim Lockley, Scott Masear, Brian McFadden, Chris Monroe, P.S. Mueller, Joel Pett, Rina Piccolo, K.A. Polzin, Hilary Price, Graham Sale, Maria Scrivan, Jen Sorensen, Mark Stivers, Ward Sutton, Tom Toles, Tom Tomorrow, Shannon Wheeler, Matt Wuerker, Adam Zyglis … and lots more!

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Funny Times December 2014 Issue

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Cartoons about:
Holidays . Relationships . Dentists . Obesity . and more

Cartoons by: Isabella Bannerman, Lynda Barry, Clay Bennett, Bizarro, Harry Bliss, Matt Bors, Martin Bucella, Jon Carter, Tom Cheney, Dave Coverly, J.C. Duffy, Bob Eckstein, Samuel Ferri, Randy Glasbergen, Martha Gradisher, Jeff Hobbs, Nicole Hollander, David Horsey, George Jartos, Ham Khan, Keith Knight, L.J. Kopf, Mary Lawton, Carol Lay, Heather McAdams, Chris Monroe, Carlos Montage, Steve Moore, P.S. Mueller, Mark Parisi, Joel Pett, Hilary Price, Ted Rall, Flash Rosenberg, Maria Scrivan, Andy Singer, David Sipress, Jen Sorensen, Mick Stevens, Mark Stivers, Tom Swick, Tom Toles, Tom Tomorrow, P.C. Vey, Kim Warp, Shannon Wheeler, Matt Wuerker, Zippy … and lots more!

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Post-Traumatic Parent Syndrome

By Ray Lesser

I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the baby crying. My beautiful dream of floating on a yacht in the French Riviera fades out as the wailing becomes louder and louder, like an incoming emergency vehicle. Continue reading


Funny Times July 2014 Issue

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Cartoons about:
Camping . D-Day . God . Parenting . and more

Cartoons by: Isabella Bannerman, Bizarro, Harry Bliss, Ruben Bolling, Matt Bors, Martin Bucella, Dave Coverly, Derf, Bob Eckstein, Randy Glasbergen, Martha Gradisher, David Horsey, George Jartos, Ham Khan, Keith Knight, Peter Kuper, Mary Lawton, Chris Monroe, Steve Moore, P.S. Mueller, Mark Parisi, Joel Pett, K.A. Polzin, Hilary Price, Ted Rall, Flash Rosenberg, Maria Scrivan, Andy Singer, David Sipress, Barbara Smaller, Jen Sorensen, Tom Swick, Tom Tomorrow, Tom Toro, P.C. Vey, Shannon Wheeler, Matt Wuerker … and lots more!

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All That Glitters

By Ray Lesser

Wealth is a strange phenomenon. How much am I making and is it more than that twerp who sat in front of me in math class and went on to become the multi-millionaire head of the bank that bankrupted America? Continue reading

In Charge

By Ray Lesser

My parents finally did it. The old goose and gander flew south, away from the icy roads and snow-covered driveways of Cleveland. Continue reading


Before I Get Started

By Ray Lesser

First, I need to turn off the radio alarm clock that I put on the other side of the bedroom and tuned to the worst A.M. tea-bag talk station in town, so I can’t stand to lie in bed for even a minute longer listening to them rant about the Nazi Communist baby-killing do-gooder conspiracy that’s trying to take away our right to shoot immigrants. Continue reading

Is Dad In Danger Of Losing His Job?

By Ray Lesser

My children treat me as though I’m part of their personal staff. And they don’t think I’m doing a particularly good job.

My daughter wants me to be her secretary, and screen her phone calls. “If it’s Kevin, tell him I already left. If it’s Janet tell her I’ll be over in a half-hour.”

“What if it’s just someone who wants to talk to you?” I ask.

“Well then, obviously, tell them to call my cell phone!”

My 10-year-old son wants me to wash his laundry, and then fold it and put it away in his drawers. “And I need new socks. Buy me some more when you go to the store.”

“I don’t really know what kind you want.”

“Get me the ones that go up to the ankles, not high up on the calf, or low down at the heel. And make sure they have red stripes.”

“Maybe you’d like to come with me and pick them out yourself?”

“Don’t be silly, Dad, I’ve got to go to camp all day, and then I have a game tonight. That reminds me, I think it’s your turn to bring treats for the whole team. And please don’t get those crummy potato chips like last time. Everybody hated that. Get popsicles or ice-cream bars.”

“Those things melt, unless you bring them right at the end of the game,” I say.

“None of the other parents seem to have any problem doing that. Why can’t you?”

Meanwhile, my older son is looking for an apartment with his buddies at college. He keeps faxing me application forms to fill out. “Why do you keep sending these to me?” I ask him.

“The landlord wants the person who’s financially responsible to fill them out. And make sure you sign this one. You forgot to sign the last one, and the landlord rented it to someone else who had all their paperwork filled out correctly.”

“Ari, this is the tenth of these applications you’ve had me fill out this week. How many apartments are you renting?”

“Dad, you don’t seem to realize how tight the rental market is in this town. I need you to fill this out and fax it back right away, or we won’t have a chance to rent this apartment, either. Oh, and by the way, you said you were going to rip me a copy of that Miles Davis CD. Have you sent it yet?”

When I became a parent, I realized it was going to be a lot of hard work. But I had the na

Evidence of Children

By Ray Lesser

When I came downstairs on Sunday morning my living room couch looked normal, tidy, and ready for inaction. But when I returned a few minutes later, carrying my morning beverage and the Sunday papers, I found that half the couch cushions were missing, and those that remained had been transformed into a fortress behind the piano. Although this type of thing has been happening in my house for over 20 years, I still can’t get used to it. I am always surprised when I go away from what I’m doing for a few moments to get a cup of tea, or answer the phone, and return to find that my chair has disappeared, or that a cardboard box the size of a refrigerator is suddenly blocking my entrance to the room. My life is never regular, calm, organized, or predictable. I live with children.

When you first have children everything they do is adorable. Our oldest son, Ari, used to take all the cans out of the cupboard and stack them up like blocks, and we thought it was brilliant. “Oh, look, he’s going to be a builder!” we enthused. “He’s so creative! He’s building a bridge with the boxes of spaghetti. I’ve never seen a kid do that before!” But it wasn’t long before the novelty wore off, and the reality of children set in. “Ari, don’t open the box of spaghetti! Ari, don’t tip the box of spaghetti like that! Ari, didn’t I tell you yesterday not to ever do that again! Why are you laughing? Dumping spaghetti all over the floor is not funny! Now who’s going to clean that up? Where are you going? Come back here! Come back here!”

Recently, Dana Carney, a psychologist at Harvard, found significant differences in the physical environments of people who identified themselves as conservatives, compared to those who considered themselves liberals. The offices and bedrooms of conservatives tended to be neat and orderly, and contain cleaning supplies, calendars, postage stamps, and framed sports posters. Liberals’ boldly colored rooms, on the other hand, were cluttered with art supplies, and strewn with books, jazz CDs, and travel documents. She hypothesized that conservatives tend to be neat, and liberals tend to be slobs.

But I have an alternative explanation for Dr. Carney’s findings. Many of the conservatives she studied must have had children. Their offices and bedrooms were their only sanctuaries from the chaos of child-rearing. Their inner-longing for a well-ordered universe drove them to somewhat obsessive behaviors in the few spaces they had absolute control over. If you think the world is a dangerous, unpredictable place, you may have a tendency to seek out more traditional groups, and controllable spaces. But once you have children you soon realize that nothing is any longer predictable or controllable. You have only your office cubicle and spray bottle of Mr. Clean to cling to. You make your bed with military corners, organize your closet by color, from black to gray, but when you step through the bedroom door into the outside world, the children are waiting.

They’re drooling, crying, splattering paint, insinuating themselves into every telephone conversation with loud requests for snacks, toys, and police intervention from the wrath of siblings. You try to teach them to clean up after themselves, but even if they have any aptitude for it, it takes them years before they are able to make nearly as much clean as they are able to make mess. From all appearances, for most of the time they live with you, your children, unfathomably, act just like … liberals! Liberals; scattering toys and books, smearing your perfectly white walls and towel sets with their grubby little hands. Liberals; coloring pictures, listening to the latest incomprehensible music, and dancing on the furniture! Liberals; shrieking and chasing the dog through your neatly planted flower beds!

So how do we explain why liberals’ bedrooms and offices are so messy? When would we ever have a chance to clean our rooms? We have children! Only our children are not the perfectly mannered little children that conservatives have. No, our children have been raised by open minded, tolerant, accepting parents and become… completely wild. Their science experiments have already set fire to the basement (twice). Their love for color has them finger-painting not just the walls, but, inexplicably, the ceilings as well. We’ve encouraged them to make friends with many different races, creeds, and kinds of people, and they have, and now they all live at our house.

Even the children of conservatives think we’re cool, because they can get away with things at our house that they’d never think of doing at theirs. They’re playing football in our living room, eating all our food, and surfing our unfiltered high-speed internet. The children, who we’ve encouraged to be generous to others, are generously lending out our sporting equipment, our books, and our music, which they seem to like almost as much as their own, although not enough to ever return any of it to the protective cases and categorized racks where it was originally found.

My third and youngest child is now 10, so I can imagine that someday, possibly while I am still alive to enjoy it, my couch will have all of its cushions in place each and every time I wish to lay upon it. The book of poetry I am looking for will be on the bookshelf, not on the floor in the basement, where it is being used to level the pinball machine. The pastries I bought last night to eat for breakfast will be right on the counter where I left them, not a vanquished trail of crumbs leading to the TV set, where my teenage daughter and her friends spent the night watching videos and scattering empty wrappers, plates, and cups.

Oh my God, has having children turned me into a conservative? Hell no! What I really want to do is make a huge mess and have someone else clean it up. I can’t wait ’til my kids’ generation get places of their own. I’ve got a lot of friends, and we like to travel.

A CEO’s Secrets of Power

By Ray Lesser

Recently I was asked to be on a panel at the local university about the topic “What’s it like to be a CEO?” Members of the panel included the chairman of a technology company with a market cap of over $250 million, a woman who sold her thermoplastic start-up last year for multi-millions and just founded a new company to develop improved rechargeable batteries, the head of a biotech firm that is developing proprietary stem cell based therapies targeted for the treatment of ischemia, and me, President of Funny Times. The audience was filled with the kind of students I had never come across when I was in college struggling to get my B.A. in General Studies: graduate business majors dressed in suits and ties, with clipboards and briefcases, looking for all the world like the masters of the universe they intended to someday be. Here are some of the secrets of power I might have shared with them, if they had bothered to ask me any questions:

Before you can conquer the world, you must first figure out how to get your children to go to school.

For me the most difficult part in becoming a successful CEO has been to get up super-early every morning, in order to allow enough time to rouse, prod, cajole, coerce, beg, and bribe my children to get up and go to school. I recommend that anyone who wants to be a CEO be required to take at least a one semester course where they are forced to live with two or three elementary school age kids, and see if they can successfully wash, dress, feed, organize, motivate, lunch pack, crisis solve (and there’s guaranteed to be some crisis EVERY morning), get them out the door and still make their 9 am Strategic Planning seminar. If you have the mettle to successfully pass this test (and make sure that the kids pass all their tests), then you might have what it takes to control the markets in Europe or China. And believe me, China doesn’t scream half as loud as a five-year-old who doesn’t want to go to school.

Your employees know more than you do, they’re just afraid to tell you.

Whenever there is a really bad problem, the boss is the last person to know. But this is usually for the best because if he knew he’d just freak out, and find a way to delay coming up with a workable solution. Ninety-five percent of all business disasters get solved before the boss is any the wiser. The remaining 5 percent are probably unsolvable, but working on them makes us bosses feel as though we’re doing something important.

The customer is always right, except when he’s a real jerk.

To be successful in business you’ve got to do everything you can to keep the customer satisfied. But with some people, that’s not good enough. Maybe these few people are just not destined to be your customers. Let them be somebody else’s customers, preferably your competitors’. The more time your competition has to spend dealing with these jerks, the less time they’ll have to try to steal your nice customers.

Hire other people to do the jobs that you don’t want to do.

There are reasons why you don’t want to do some jobs. Maybe you were never any good at fixing the toilet or maybe you’ve fixed it so many times that you’d rather mop up the floor after it overflows, just to break up the monotony. When a job stops being fun, or at least interesting, it’s time to let someone else have a turn at it. You’ll be happy to do something else, and they’ll be happy to have a job.

Don’t surf the Internet until one hour after eating.

The Internet can be a dangerous place, and many people who have failed to take this warning have gotten severe cramps, or worse, were attacked by the sharks who prey on drowsy surfers.

Your loyal customers are the best ads that money can’t buy.

You want your company to be appreciated for who you really are and what you actually do, not some slick concept worked up by the minds of an ad agency. If you can fool customers with great advertising, then you wind up with customers who are fools. On the other hand, since most people don’t expect honesty in business anymore, if your company practices it, your customers will be so amazed they’ll want to tell all their friends about you.

Sometimes it’s better to lay down on the ground than fall off the ladder.

Richard Nixon once said, “A man is not finished when he is defeated. He is finished when he quits.” And then he quit. Some people think they have to incessantly keep climbing the ladder of success, or else they’ll never attain their goals. But if your ladder isn’t properly secured and there’s a windstorm, or a special prosecutor with lots of witnesses, you may be destined to fall back to earth with a painful thud. Not everyone is destined to climb to the top. And laying on the grass staring up at the clouds can be quite a pleasant experience if you don’t fall off a rickety ladder to arrive there.

Footprints on the sands of time are not made by sitting down. And the same goes for footprints on the copy machine.

I’m not exactly sure why this is good advice, but I like saying it anyway. I’ve never actually seen footprints on our Funny Times copier, but since I have seen the kind of prints that come from sitting down, nothing would surprise me.

The Parent Gene

By Ray Lesser

Somehow or other I inherited the parent gene. I’m not sure exactly where it came from, but I know it was there lurking in my DNA, ready to be activated as soon as I had a kid to yell at.

The parent gene insures the survival, and eventual improvement of the species. When you see your kid is tottering on the edge of a precipice, you are always on the alert to grab him and pull him back; whether the precipice is the edge of the Grand Canyon or the edge of the coffee table, where he’s about to knock over Daddy’s beer.

When I was young and my father was in full-parent mode, ranting at me because of some minor rules infraction like forgetting to turn out a light, or wipe the mud off my shoes, I vowed I would never act like him if I had children. But after following muddy footprints from vacant room to vacant room while turning off switches (the current record is 28 unused lights/stereos/TVs/ computers in one sweep), my perspective has changed. “I’m not going to tell you again! If you don’t start turning off your lights when you’re not in your room, I’m going to take away your lightbulbs!”

It’s scary to say things like this, because there’s a whole section of my brain that knows these arguments and rants by heart. My dad is suddenly reincarnated and yelling out of my mouth, and I find myself agreeing with everything he says. “I don’t care who started it, keep it up and I’ll finish you both!” Dad yells. “What are you, an ape? What do you think this place is, a zoo?” “Quit bellyaching! Life is not a fairytale where you live happily ever after. Life is full of hardship, and trouble, and suffering, until you turn 65 and your children finally leave home.”

Being a father is an impossible task, which you only begin to understand when you become one. I realize I sometimes send my kids mixed signals, but that’s OK because my primary job is to stay on their case, no matter what they’re doing, or not doing. So if they’re vegging out in front of the TV, of course I’m going to say, “Turn that off and finish your homework.” Then later, when they’re up late writing a term paper on how to save the world from global warming, I have to say, “You’ll never be successful in life if you don’t get enough rest. Turn off the computer and go to bed now.”

Another primary parenting function is to help my spouse survive. She is my rock, my inspiration, and the only one who knows how to get Ravi to take a bath. I’ve therefore worked out three basic rules for the children on how they should treat their mother:

1. Leave her alone, she’s trying to do something important, like make me dinner.

2. Leave her alone, she’s not in a good mood.

3. Leave her alone, she’s in a good mood and I want her to stay that way.

The most surprising thing about becoming a father is discovering how much of your time it takes. When I was younger, I thought being a father was more or less a biological circumstance, and men could take kids or leave them, depending on how rude or inconvenient they became. But now my whole day revolves around my children. Partly this is because, no matter what I’m doing, they feel free to interrupt with important questions that only I can answer like, “Why do dogs pee on fire hydrants?” “Can I invite a friend over?” “Can we get a dog?” “Where does electricity come from?” “My feet hurt, when are you going to take me to buy new shoes?” “Dad, do you know what happens when you pour gasoline mixed with turpentine into the lawnmower? Come out to the garage and I’ll show you!” “You promised we’d go see Scooby Doo, and this is the last week it’s playing!” “Why did Grandma and Grandpa decide to have you?”

I’m not sure what Mom’s reasons were, but she always says that Dad wanted to have another kid so that he’d have someone to go bowling with. After 17 years of parenting I’m beginning to realize that this is as good a reason as any for procreating. Having a kid means you get to play ball, ride bikes, go to the playground, build forts, eat cake and ice cream, make fart noises, watch cartoons, blow bubbles, tell silly jokes, and always have somebody to share it all with. I loved being a kid the first time around, and my second, third and fourth childhood have only gotten better. The world is as goofy and fun as it ever was, but now my favorite playmates sleep over every night, plus I’ve got my own credit card.

“Who wants to go with me to the toy store?”