#BugMartini | #blameAdam
Something about mope and faith, or Mopey the Morbid Angel, at which point we find ourselves obliged to reckon with Cookie Monster, and then the Universe collapses into the gravity of this nexus of cascading invocation and eternity; a bug in the system stacks to overflow, accretes to singularity. Blame Adam when it all comes whimpering to a pathetic end.
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Image note: Triptych detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 27 June 2018.
#blameAdam | #thehashtag
If trying to explain everything amiss, askew, or awry about this panel seems an agonizing prospect, we can most certainly blame Adam.
Any other day I might have gone with panel two, but something about this makes me wonder at the four-panel comic strip version of The Aristocrats.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini, by Adam Huber, 23 May 2018.
[#bugnuts]
Should occasion arise to suggest Eight Dollar Testicle is not #MyNextBandName, well, of course we can blame Adam. Kind of like Venkman and Jell-O, that way; there is always room to blame Adam. The eternal question, of course, is do bugs have nuts.
No, it isn’t.
Rule of thumb: When blaming Adam, the eternal question is whether you really, really want to know.
Of course you do.
And, Bugnuts. Now there’s a band name.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini, by Adam Huber, 29 April 2018.
It isn’t an epitaph.
Look, any number of jokes go here, like the second panel and how the one bug with the axe needs to be named Ed because something goes here about thirty years.
Still, though, the fourth panel is a killer. No, really, file under, “Holy shit!” and blame Adam.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 21 February 2018.
And then there is this. Never mind. Blame Adam.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 19 April 2017.
When history looks back on this period of American thought and communication, we might from our present vantage in that past to be wonder how prominently will stand out the question not of re-definition, but, rather, de-definition. Once upon a time it was enough to simply mutter and growl that transition is a noun. 
Meanwhile, pretty much any noun in the language can now be converted to a verb; simply apply the gerund form to mean, approximately, “using the [noun] as the [noun] is to be used”.
This makes sense in some cases; ’tis true enough that some words simply were as such when they arrived in our knowledge. There is a Fulghum joke in that, but it’s a regional thing, or it would be except nobody really cares. But it is, in fact true. We saw with a saw, for instance, and that is simply how the word arrived in our lifetimes.
Robert Newton Peck once explained it is always a lasso and never a lariat; you lasso with a lasso, but do not lariat with a lariat. And maybe he was wrong, but the lesson stuck. American pedantry is a thoroughly internalized empiricism.
So it goes. For the moment it suffices to blame Adam.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 8 March 2017.
So, I’ve got this dumb thing going on in my head, a filked auto dealer slogan echoing over and over and over again: “Bug Martini! Bug Martini! Bug Martini! (dng! dng!)”
It’s hard to explain that last sound; I think it’s supposed to be some sort of xylophone or marimba or something. No, really, damn thing has haunted me most of my life; it’s an earworm from Hell.
Still, though, that has exactly nothing to do with Adam.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 2 November 2016.
This is the thing: Blame Adam.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 21 October 2016.
So … right.
You probably don’t want to know.
Except you know you do, don’t you?
Mmm. Naughty, naughty.
It’s okay. You can blame Adam.
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Image note: Detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 6 September 2016.
This Is 