The internet’s visit continues with unabashed chaos. Posted some progress images for this one on the twitter feed, and will in all likelyhood add as a blog post soon-ish as well. For those who have interest, this is 95% non digital – all bristol, pencils, ink, and masochism. The digital bit is at the end when scanning and perhaps some small cleanup. Which is ironic considering I work 100% digital all day at The Day Job.
Life is very complex.
That freaky ol’ internet, amirite?
First comic of 2016. Told myself “Self, you are going to get these done WAY ahead of time, get ahead, right on schedule!”. Obviously I then totally blew it and just finished the two-hours-persnicketing-over-the-thing-with-white-out-.003-pens-and-xacto stage.
But there are 51 more weeks right?
One can hope.
May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past.
Man how time flies when you’re…what have I been doing?
Ah yes. The holidays.
Well back we are and hopefully on schedule. The boys look like they are set for the holiday. Don’t worry about them. It will build character.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Whatever you do this time of year, hope it’s good.
A quick sketchy comic for the holiday with wisdom from Oscar Wilde.
Special thanks to CrudeDoodle for providing motivation in the form of “If you don’t get up a comic this week we are done. DONE.”
The idea of one peg left is a lie perpetuated by the puzzle conglomerate.
And bacon of course. The lesson here is ‘Never get between a man and his triffid’.
Or no – actually it’s ‘Judge not lest ye be thnacked’.
Or maybe ‘Don’t get the cheese omlette. The cook still has pink eye’.
I don’t know man. I just post the thing. I’ll leave you to interpret the meaning.
It’s the little things sometimes. Usually.
Hard to believe this storyline started back in February. Then the calm satisfaction of finishing the journey, quickly followed by the anxious panic realizing you have no idea what you will do next week since you pretty much had a roadmap for months.
Ah creativity. You fickle monster.
Some days you can’t even get through the apocalypse without a hassle. Amitirite?
It’s like that time when my friend Paul asked, “What do you think Bethany is doing right now?” and I was like, “Dude what do you think? Shuffling around the inside of that refrigerator truck with the blank stare of the living dead craving human flesh like 89% of the rest of the state.” and he was like, “But seriously you think she’s thinking about me?” and I was like, “Dude she’s a friggin zombie she ain’t thinking about nothing.”
It’s late. I should log off.
Gettin’ a little crowded out at that thar apocalypse.
I read To Kill a Mockingbird back in late grade school. Even though I only read it once, it stuck with me and was the first “assigned” book I really liked. Like most kids I assumed I would not and then halfway through it took hold. So now some decades later it still has an important place in my heart.
Full disclosure: I know almost nothing about the sequel. I know what I am hearing is motivating me more to avoid it than anything else. I doubt I would have liked any sequel really. But it’s not my book – not my characters. Not my call. Still, like Catch-22, in my mind the story stopped with the first novel.
I was so hypnotized by the 69 Tints story line (and are we all not?) last week I nearly forgot the holiday this week. Time out for a summer day filled with explosives and outdoor eatin’.
One year a neighbor came over to me while mowing the lawn with a garbage bag. He said he worked sometimes cleaning out houses, and they had found some fireworks, and gave them to me ‘for the kids’. In the bag was a small collection of gunpowder laden cardboard of questionable legality, at least where I live. On the Fourth, after some debate, my wife and I decided that after our daughter (only one year old) went to bed, we would pick one to try and let my 3 year old son watch. I put a coffee can sized box in the alley next to our home, lit it, and went back to the driveway. Two seconds later a 30 foot column of fire was shooting into the air accompanied by ear splitting, shrieking howls. My wife and I looked at each other in alarm. My son watched wide eyed with a look of pure joy as if this was the best thing he had ever, and would ever, see in his life.
So yeah. Totally worth it.
Happy Friday the 13th. Unless your dog was rear ended by a car. Of course.
If you are inclined, yinz can find the start of this epic chapter here.
Writing badly is fun. Pretty much that’s it in a nutshell. Also again, a comic that started as a simple concept spiraled out of control. Which is good. Sometimes.
So you don’t get the eye strain and because I care, here’s the page.
CHAPTER 4
The Alien Way
SHE AWOKE AT DAWN. The sun shone through the gaping holes in the agey brickwork from the previous nights battle with the Dystopasoldierd. Felicity watched the bandage covered stranger standing in the light. The beams seemed to evoke a mysterious, paranormal twinkling from the wrappings filling her with awe.
“Thank you for saving me. I don’t remember you from the opening ceremonies of the Insomnia Challenge. Who are you?” she asked. He turned and gazed at her, his tall regal handsome rugged frame dark against the sun.
“My name is Pharaoh Phillipe Nun Photoblu and I believe together we can win the Challenge and destroy the rulers of Dystopiadome Six, returning freedom, love, and music to the people.” “But how?” she pleaded. “Our deep thoughts and emotions that none but us in the world feel make us special, but is that enough?” “Perhaps not. But…I have a secret.” he said, pausing to look at the Rebelliofire symbol on his gloves. “I…am not human. I come to your people from Saturn. Only I did not expect to find this human emotion of love.” he finished, looking at her inquisitorivaly.
“On Saturn” she said, moving closer to him, “do people express affection?” “Yes,” he began hesitantly, “but not as you earthlings know it.” “Show me” she whispered coquettishly.
He reached into his satchel. “Can you beat me into unconsciousness with this loaf of stale pumpernickel while reciting The Tay Bridge Disaster?” he breathed.
Gingerly she took the crusty bread and with a heavy
