Who the hell is Patrick O’Grady?
I always wanted to be a cartoonist. And I am. But I’ve been a writer and editor for the past three decades, too, and that’s what’s kept the kibble in the dog dish all these years.
If I’d had to rely on cartooning for a living, I’d have starved to death in the summer of 1977, shortly after graduating from the University of Northern Colorado at Greeley with a bachelor’s degree in journalism and minors in political science, sex, drugs, alcohol and rock ‘n’ roll. Because while I went on to draw editorial cartoons for a number of newspapers, among them The Arizona Daily Star in Tucson, the Corvallis Gazette-Times in Oregon and The Pueblo Chieftain in Colorado, they all insisted that I do something else, too, and plenty of it, if I wanted to get a weekly check with more than two digits on it.
So I’ve written hard news, features and commentary; spent many an evil night as a rim rat on one copy desk or another, editing other people’s stories, writing headlines and laying out pages; and even scored a half-assed title from time to time, generally in lieu of a raise and prefaced with the word “assistant” — assistant news editor, assistant city editor, assistant sports editor, assistant features editor. I made it all the way to news editor once, at a chain of suburban weeklies in Denver, only to get laid off. And I quit newspapering altogether in 1991 after a short stint as the feature editor of The New Mexican, where I edited copy, laid out pages, wrote about bicycle racing and took pictures for the sports department — and yes, drew cartoons.
After nearly 15 years with my scabby little snoot pressed to various grindstones of journalism, I took up free-lancing with plenty of mental scar tissue, a good deal less hair to cover it, and an undiminished appreciation for three subsets of the craft: drawing cartoons, writing commentary, and composing headlines. And thanks to Al Gore’s Intertubes, I get to do them at a distance for VeloNews, VeloNews.com and Bicycle Retailer & Industry News, which greatly enhances my chances of remaining employed.
I also get to do them here, where nobody can fire me for any reason.
So feel free to peruse my pointless harangues at your leisure, but be advised that they contain toxic quantities of disrespectful parody aimed at my betters and rude satires intended to cause grievous harm to the humorless clots of tight-sphinctered ninnies whose breaking of wind only dogs can hear.
Mad Dog Media neither sells nor installs senses of humor — we merely service them.
Editor’s note: If leaving a bit of snark in comments doesn’t do it for you, you can reach me at maddogmedia (at) gmail (dot) com.