The week has just started, and Flapjack’s already gotten himself into a scrape. I suppose it’s not his fault that his unlocked penis leads him astray. We should even feel pity for Flapjack because his Master, the proprietor of the town’s junkyard, is an indifferent dog owner.

Self-portrait as a big-dicked cowboy with reference photo. I wonder if I had had a more muscular physique, if it would have given me better reference material or if I would have just had more sex and quit making art altogether. I kinda suspect the latter. robclarke.art/cowboys

Some folks ask me if I think Scoot dreams of his former life as a person—if he envisions himself driving a car or speaking in front of a camera. I think that would be too confusing for my simple doggy. I think he just has pleasant dreams of sniffing his buddies’ butts and chasing squirrels.

I warn the naive young lads in my class to steer clear of fairies— whether they be Tinkerbell, Titania, or Blue. I tell them that to be fooled by a diva's diminutive size and the intoxicating effects of her Fairy Dust will inevitably end in painful, humiliating transformation.

If I’m not paying attention, Scoot will get mounted by that horndog Flapjack when I pop out his tail and send him outside to do his business. The neighbors make cracks about Scoot getting caught with his pants down, which is ridiculous. I would never force my pup to wear pants.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Mouse. I wish there had been sleek, well-fitting chastity cages back in the 90s. Back then, one had to make do with what one could find. Like a pair of boot laces. Fortunately, my years as a Boy Scout taught me a thing or two about tying knots.

Poor Scoot, he’s afraid I’m going to scold him for having an erection. I assure my pup that he’s a good boy, and that it’s okay for his uncaged penis to be at full mast because we’re at the Annual Dog Run Fundraiser, where the public pays big bucks to watch our horny pets mate.

I remember as a young warlock being perturbed and fascinated by the cover of Kate Bush’s album Never Forever. Over the years, that image has inspired me to conjure all sorts of wondrous things out of men’s assholes— bouquets of flowers, Easter eggs, footballs— giant worms. What's inside of you?

Don’t mistake Flapjack for being an alpha male— the only difference between him and the other dogs in town is that his owner can’t be bothered locking up his nasty penis. It reminds one of that old adage, “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”

I remember a recurring Alice in Wonderland-like dream I had as a teenager of a world of phallic creatures and lecherous old homosexuals. (At that time, old meant anyone over thirty.) Nowadays I feel like I’d fit right into that gay panic-fueled nightmare. robclarke.art/penis-planet

I’m so happy that these two drawings of a sleeping Scoot and a passed-out donkeyboy have found a new owner. I like to imagine that these animals are dreaming of their past lives as men, when they slept in warm beds, drove cars, and wore clothes. Perhaps one day you will join them.

When folks see my Scoot getting mounted by every dog in the dog park they ask me if he is gay. I just politely reply, “No, he’s just being a friendly pup.” I truly believe that if men in the rest of the world were as affable as Scoot, it would be a kinder and happier place.

“Self-portrait as a sleepy mouseboy.” Even timid little rodents sported douch-baggy goatees in the nineties. I wonder what I was dreaming of in this uncharacteristically sweet drawing. Probably a future where I was the big cheese. robclarke.art/mice

I wish Scoot didn’t act like he’s in heat whenever that filthy beast Flapjack is loose with his uncaged penis. I hate finding my pup covered in slobber and spunk after letting him outside to do his business. I should be thankful that he can’t get preggers, but not for lack of trying.

This is what became of three captured brothers who foolishly volunteered to fight in the Great Toon War. Their mother pleaded with them not to join the Army of Men, but the foolish lads were seduced by false promises of an easy victory over their diminutive toon enemies.

My poor Scoot gets a painful warning whenever he has an unnatural heterosexual thought that causes his penis to strain in its new high-tech cage. The fiendish device is very good at controlling his behavior, but my poor pup is miserable. I wish I hadn't thrown away the manual.

Even though he struts around pantless like his cousin Porky, you can see Police Pig’s hog dangle between his legs. robclarke.art/rough-stuff

My shameless pup Scoot sure does love flashing the world his boy parts. As I recall, in his previous life as a man, he was proud of his body, but he was somewhat more modest about revealing it. Thanks to me, being turned into a dog has really helped Scoot come out of his shell.

The pool pig always leaves a few sinkers and floaters around as his calling card. There’s not enough chlorine in the world to disinfect that memory.

To start off the week, let’s think about how in Scoot’s world, conflicts are nipped in the bud with a healthy get-to-know-you sniff of the shitter. Perhaps all the angry men in our world who fret about their T-levels could learn a lesson from these fragrant and happy pups.

Being an angel investor in the Pleasure Island Donk Manure Co. really has paid off for me— though the donks involved might consider me to be the devil. Oh, and did you know I have all my P.I. pics in one handy place? www.robclarke.art/pleasure-island

I like to think that one day my sweet Scoot will join the pantheon of great cartoon dogs. He deserves this not just because of his amusing puppy antics but because he’s inspired a generation of young lads to become ‘good boys’ instead of angry young men.

The circus is a low-tech oasis in this crazy, AI obsessed world. There may be no more entry-level jobs for young men with computer science degrees, but they’ll always find work under the Big Top.

On the first Saturday of every month, our town puts on a doggy circus where Scoot and his buddies perform tricks in front of an audience. It turns out that pups are natural comedians, and folks come from far and wide to see former ‘men’ happily living their best lives on all fours.

That ol’ Black Magic robclarke.art/magic

I came up with my own version of Tinkerbell because even though I’m a fearsome warlock, I’m smart enough not to go messing around with Disney. There is indeed an iron fist inside the mouse’s glove. Officer Trotter’s learned that the hard way.

Scoot wishes you a happy Locktober, even though a silly doggy like him is kept locked all year long. I suspect he just wants to show off his brand-new tamper-proof cage. That fiendishly high-tech device really does ensure that he is never led astray by his penis.

jazz flute is for little fairy boys robclarke.art/rough-stuff

This trio of doodles from over the years comes from my never-completed book of fractured fairy tales. It was to be a compendium of cautionary stories meant to teach young men to be meek and well-behaved, lest they be transformed into powerless little creatures.

Old doodles from a trip to Spain in the year 2000. At that time, I was on a kick of drawing purely from my imagination, which I discovered was really hard, no matter how often I prayed to the spirit of Chuck Jones.