Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Inappropriate Jazz Hands
Editor: You can't use that one.
Artist: Which one? Why Not?
Editor: The "O.J. Simpson". Not standing behind Nicole, with the gloves. And the knife. It's too soon.
Artist: What? But it's funny! You laughed.
Editor: Yes, but that just means the bad karma will be even worse for you. All the collective guilt from the people who laughed, all aimed at you? Do you really want that? Don't you have something important happening this week? How much would it suck if there was an earthquake, or a toxic waste spill, right there where you..
Artist: Ok, ok fine, I get it, don't jinx it. Geez. It's not even as bad as the other one I cut.
Editor: Which was?
Artist: "Double Amputee Haitian Refugee."
Editor: What is wrong with you?
larger one here.
The Last Case of Venture and Knobb
For the longest time we had the same beat, over on the west side. I didn't like him on my turf, but the guy got results. Had to respect that. I wasn't looking for glory, just wanted the streets cleaned up. If it helped, him doing his thing, I had no beef.
Turns out he was a reporter for the Post. He wasn't surprised I was ex-cop. He was good at asking the right questions. I was good at hitting things. So we partnered up. That was, what, the Summer of '53 maybe? Lots'a mob action then. The masks were silly sure, but they kept us alive. Can't cap a guy in his sleep if he don't got a street address.
But it's the 70s now. Vietnam, Watergate. Everyone's angry, cynical. A mask'll get a guy killed out there. Our time was long done. But then the girl went missing. In our neighborhood, right under our noses. He couldn't let it go, took it personally. And I couldn't let him go it alone.
It's funny what a bullet in your gut makes you think about.
larger one here.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Nerd Porn
Roald: No, I'm serious. I think there's money to be made with nerd porn. You name it. Star Wars, Star Trek, Galactica, Space:1999, UFO, Thunderbirds, Lord of the Rings, and on and on. Just dress some cute girls up in Boba Fett and Starbuck costumes, throw them on a bed-
Wyatt: Would it be a bed? Maybe it should be a holding cell, or brig or something-
Roald: -Throw them in a brig, spritz them down, add a link to Paypal and watch the money roll in. I'm telling you this could be my internet bubble.
Wyatt: I don't think that means what you think it means. Are you seriously considering becoming a pornographer?
Roald: Nerd pornographer, and yes. And thanks for reminding me to add Princess Bride to the list. So, do you want to know what I'm going to call the site?
Wyatt: No, not particularly.
Roald: Oh come on. Please?
Wyatt: Ok fine, don't whine. What are you going to call it?
Roald: Han Shot First.
Wyatt: ....
larger one here.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Hot and Sticky
When he was very young, the child snuck into his mother's office and saw a man laying on a table, with needles stuck all over. his mother was hovering over him, adding more needles. Is this sex, the boy wondered? He knew it was something grownups do in secret, and at school the big kids called it "poking". The boy was very angry, because the man wasn't his father. But he wasn't supposed to be in his mother's office, and he didn't want to get in trouble, so he didn't tell.
At the dinner table his mother and father were arguing, and his mother said something mean. the child got so angry he blurted that he saw her having sex with a man. His mother and father looked at him, and then each other, shocked and confused. The father looked more angry than confused. The mother asked the child exactly what he saw, and he told her about sneaking into her office, and the man, and the poking. The mother and father again looked at each other, and burst into laughter. This wasn't sex, they explained, this was medicine. The father promised the mother he would "have a talk" with the child later. The child was still confused, but his parents were laughing, and he wasn't in trouble, so he stopped being angry and finished his dinner.
larger one here.
Boehner's Principled Last Stand
Akron Beacon Journal, ten minutes to press.
Floyd: Chief, I've got something. it's big!
Chief: Well spit it out. I'm putting the paper to bed.
Floyd: It's about Senator Boehner. I've been digging into his finances and I found something huge: he's broke. Well, nearly broke. He's spent almost everything he has on his habit.
Chief: His habit? Wait, you don't mean..
Floyd: Yes chief! Tanning!
Chief: Great Ceasar's Ghost! How bad is it?
Floyd: It's bad. He's got two, sometimes three mortgages on his houses, and they were already underwater. He's borrowed against his boat, and his bank account is nearly drained. He's riding the razor's edge of bankruptcy, all to pay for his tanning habit.
Chief: But that means, if the Healthcare Reform bill passes, with that 10% tax on tanning salons..
Floyd: Exactly! It would ruin him. I think that's why he's so against the bill, even though so much of it uses Republican ideas. But this explains-
Cub: Chief! Turn on the tv!
Chief: What is it?
Cub: Senator Boehner just broke into a tanning salon and stole one of their beds. They're chasing him down I-90 right now!
Floyd: Why that crazy oompa loompa..
Chief: Floyd, great job! Cubby, where's my coffee? Floyd get your story up now! Cubby, hold those presses! Why are you two still standing in my office?
Cub: On it Chief!
Floyd: Thanks Chief! On it Chief!
----------------------
larger one here.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Zombie Portrait Series: Serge
Subject #54363: Serge. Last name unknown. Found in Montana District, south of New Helena.
Subject fidgety, pulled against restraints constantly. Lights adjusted to cast shadow on neck muscles, subject reacted violently. Photosensitivity suggests subject spent time in darkness, possibly in abandoned mines near New Helena. Noted for follow-up.
Necrosis is moderate to severe, suggesting subject had been turned within last ten days. Subject likely a black market "runner"; madmen cannonballing the wasteland, moving contraband supplies between outposts. Subject didn't make it. Few do.
Subject calm during photo shoot, but continued to strain quietly against the collar. Mindless determination behind subject's eyes impressive. Infection continues to mutate, current strain causing extreme adrenal response, manifesting as rage.
Restraints failed at 21:32. Serge chewed through photographer's abdomen before euthenasia protocol took effect. Removed to furnace facility for disposal.
Subject #54364: Eugene Wentz. Photographer.
Subject fidgety.
larger one here.
Friday, March 12, 2010
When Sharks Fly: The Urchins
Some time after sharks took over the skies, kids began to notice something. While most people were hiding in their homes and building cages to get around their cities, those who couldn't afford shelter were left to to the sharks. And month after month, year after year, these helpless homeless people were still going about, as alive as the day the sharks swam in the seas. So the kids who wanted to rebel, who wanted freedom, had a very easy way to go about it: they went outside.
These "urchins" braved the abandoned cityscapes and strip malls that their parents abandoned, and followed the habits and tricks of the homeless. Eventually they knew more about how the sharks behaved in this new world than most anyone. This was a strange new world for the sharks too, after all.
Until one day everything changed. Again.
larger one here.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Last Known Photo of the Beast Battalion
"Where did you get this?" Harry's hands shook so much he almost dropped it. He fell into his chair, while Daniel stood over him. "What is this, Dad? This is you, isn't it?" Harry squinted at the faded photograph. "I haven't seen the whole squad together since.. Berlin." His voice trailed off. "How did you find this?" he asked.
"Freedom of Information Act, Dad," Daniel said, frustrated. "Nothing stays secret forever. You were a part of this, weren't you?"
Harry said nothing, and just stared at his old team. Wally looked good then, he thought. Still had both tusks. He ran his hand lightly over Dawn, traced a finger along her beak.
Daniel sat on the bed next to his father. "Look, Dad. I have a good life. Jenny, the kids, the work I do. There's nothing you could tell me that would ever change that. I just want to know about you. About the life you led." Harry nodded. "It's probably time. I've just been sitting on it all these years anyway. My dresser, boy. Second drawer on the right's got a false bottom. Go grab me what's in there. And fix me a highball while you're at it." Daniel found the false bottom in the drawer, and brought out a small wooden box, finely carved. And he fixed a highball. "Open it," Harry said, waving his drink at the box.
Inside Daniel found a large amulet. He raised it reverently, but looking closer, he could see it wasn't much more than a cheap trinket. Hammered copper, with a piece of old leather strap threaded through. "What is this," he asked. "Go ahead, put it on," his dad said, with the start of a wry smile. Daniel held the amulet in his hand and felt it vibrate slightly, almost as if it carried a small electric charge. Knowing this was ten kinds of wrong, he looked at his dad, then pulled the amulet over his head. It vibrated against his chest.
His face began to itch.
large size here.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Memoirs of a Bathroom Wall
Guy: So dude, I saw your phone number stuffed behind the plexi in the bathroom. What's the story there?
Dude: Yeah, it was up there for three days before I saw it and pulled it. I gave it to some girl last Saturday.
Guy: Ok, but then how does it show up in the men's room?
Dude: ...
Guy: Oh. Oh wait. Adam's apple?
Dude: Yep.
Guy: Huh. I wonder if that explains all the rubber gloves I keep seeing in the stall.
Dude: No that's something else.
Guy: What?
Dude: ...
large size here.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Bees' Niece
Last night Harold climbed in from the balcony, covered in dirt and soy sauce. The Chinatown heist didn't go as planned, obviously. In fact a lot of his big plans haven't really worked out lately. Used to be we lived pretty well off of his.. career. I know he dressed up, had that ray gun thingy and his mind control helmet. But he provided for us. Lately though, he's more likely to come home beaten up and empty handed, as not. Two weeks ago he snuck in through the garage with an arrow lodged in his femur. Like I wouldn't notice a goddamn arrow sticking out of my husband. So, yeah. I had to go back to work as a nursing assistant, to help make ends meet.
And Clara. This whole thing is really about Clara, isn't it? When her principal called, I lost it, I was so angry. At least at first. She's so smart, like her Daddy. She took one of his old mind control gizmos and -god it's almost funny when I say it out loud- she rewired it to control bees. Bees! Then she stuck it all inside that creepy gas mask she loves and terrorized the school bullies at recess. None of them were allergic thank god, but as you might imagine, the school was not happy with Clara today. And I'm furious. I am. It was brilliant and stupid and dangerous. Just like her Daddy. Except she didn't want to steal anything. She just wanted them to stop, you know, picking on the littler kids.
I don't want her following in her Daddy's footsteps. I don't. I don't.
I don't.
But I'm very proud of her.
large size here.
Not Always So Ultra
Remember Ultraman? Remember how he had that thing where he could grow really large to fight monsters, but only for three minutes, and then he shrunk again?
Turns out he was stuck with that deadline even when there weren't any monsters.
large size here.
Haiti: World Without Superheroes
Grandmère, Mathilde asked, what would happen if the superheroes were not here? Grandmère told her to hush, and drink the water the nice flying man made out of the air. His head was on fire, Grandmère noticed, but he did not seem to mind. Mathilde persisted, and wanted to know. Grandmère sighed, and tried to explain. She told Mathilde to look around her, and see what they were doing.
Down the hill, Superman held up the entire side of a collapsed building, while Flash and Animal Man scoured the interior for survivors. Zatanna, just across the street from them, spoke something Mathilde could not understand, and all of the dead bodies in the street vanished. A Green Lantern cleared the street of tons of debris, while another Green Lantern created an entire hospital out of green light, so the doctors and surgeons could work. Grandmère told Mathilde it would be too horrible to imagine if they were not here. Even with aid from all over the world, it would be overwhelming. There would be no food, no water, no medicine. Many many more people would have died, if not for them.
Mathilde thought about it, and told Grandmère that she was right, it was too horrible to think about.
A plastic man stretched past, pausing briefly to make a clown face and offer Mathilde an ice cream. She laughed, and thanked him.
(best viewed) large size here.
Shaman of the Rainbow Vomiting Pandas
It used to be easy, to divine the will of the pandas. A little sunset, some kittens playing, perhaps an intense close-up of a water droplet on a flower, and the pandas would be pleased. But after a time, the desires of the pandas turned random, eclectic.
For those who tormented over the pandas' whims, there was little choice but to turn to the Panda Shaman. Shrouded in mystery, the Panda Shaman, if the legends are to be believed, could pierce the mists of confusion and algorithmic randomization, to once again divine that which catches the fancy of the pandas. Smelling of sweat and rainbows, the Panda Shaman are rare, and difficult to find.
But for those who must know if today is the day to post that photo of the rusted truck in HDR, or the 365 teen girl sitting in a window, or simply a photo of their breakfast, the Panda Shaman is their only hope.
*no rainbow vomiting pandas were harmed in the making of this artwork.
large size here.
Friday, January 01, 2010
Fierce is a starfish tattoo
I had this hilarious story about her and that time with the thing and the guy and those llamas.
But she'd kill me.
large size here.
Frank & Luna Investigations
When did he and Luna first partner up? Frank had to think back on that. It was the case of the organ thieves, right? Luna nodded, then curled back up by the fire. Monster City was really just a small town, so when the folks needed help, it was usually he and Luna who stepped up. As a doctor and scientist, Frank didn't approve of her crude methods at first, but he couldn't ignore her skills. She could track anything, and there wasn't an alley or rooftop in the city she couldn't reach with ease.
So they decided to set up shop together. Over time, she taught him how to listen to his instincts, and he taught her not to disembowel before interrogations.
large size here.
Shaman of the Rainbow Vomiting Pandas
It used to be easy, to divine the will of the pandas. A little sunset, some kittens playing, perhaps an intense close-up of a water droplet on a flower, and the pandas would be pleased. But after a time, the desires of the pandas turned random, eclectic.
For those who tormented over the pandas' whims, there was little choice but to turn to the Panda Shaman. Shrouded in mystery, the Panda Shaman, if the legends are to be believed, could pierce the mists of confusion and algorithmic randomization, to once again divine that which catches the fancy of the pandas. Smelling of sweat and rainbows, the Panda Shaman are rare, and difficult to find.
But for those who must know if today is the day to post that photo of the rusted truck in HDR, or the 365 teen girl sitting in a window, or simply a photo of their breakfast, the Panda Shaman is their only hope.
*no rainbow vomiting pandas were harmed in the making of this artwork.
large size here.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Die Hard. Over and over again.
John McClane was losing his mind.
Since the incident at Nakatomi Plaza, his life hasn't been the same. After the reporters and the news cameras left, it wouldn't stop. The incidents. When he took his wife and daughter camping, John noticed something strange about the campers up the trail. They turned out to be eco-terrorists hatching a plot to poison the forest with radiation (except they really turned out to be working for a real estate mogul trying to buy up the land). John had to fight for his life. Again.
Three days later on Career Day, a group of white supremacists took over his daughter's school, threatening to release the Plague (except really it was for nazi gold buried under the gym.) A week after that, a street gang seized his wife's Fun Run For Breast Cancer (princess in exile). McClane didn't want to leave the house anymore, and started to drink again.
His daughter's birthday was coming up, and he couldn't let her down. Terrified, he ventured to the mall anyway. As soon as he spotted the prison tattoos on the guy at Orange Julius, he knew it was a mistake. He tried to look away, only to see another felon at Sbarro. And another at Panda Express. When they started nodding to each other, he knew whatever their plan (hold the mall hostage for ransom), and whatever they really wanted (diamond encrusted chihuahua sculpture), it was about to hit the fan.
John McClane was losing his mind.
large size here.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Merle
The young woman plopped into the bench while the old man grumbled over the board. "I need your help," she announced.
"Piss off," the old man said, not looking up. The girl stood her ground, but glanced at the board. "Oh please," she said, and moved the white queen against the old man's knight. "If you're going to play yourself, at least try to make it a game. I have your king in three moves."
The old man studied the board, muttered "Buh!" and threw the pieces off the table. He fumbled with his brake, and tried to roll himself away. The girl stepped in front, and jammed her foot against the wheel. "I saw what you did," she said, "with that kid."
His chair trapped, the old man threw his hands in the air, and slumped back in frustration. "What, missy? What do you think you saw?"
"Last week, in Hell's Kitchen," she began. "That kid ran into the street, in front of the cab. Remember? I saw it. I saw the kid in the street, and then the kid wasn't in the street. He was just.. back on the sidewalk, next to his mother. Like, instantly. And then I saw you, and you were doing something with your hand, sort of drawing something in the air. And it was kind of... glowing." She paused, waiting for a reaction. The old man just frowned, looking away. "I saw you!" she yelled, shaking his chair.
"Buh!" he spat. "You saw nothing! That was nothing. Not like when I was..." he trailed off, fidgeted in his chair. "And what is it you think I can help with, missy?" The girl, surprised at the chance, stumbled to explain. "Uh, my friend Gwen. I think she was kidnapped. The police won't do anything, and I-"
"Wait," the old man interrupted. "What was your friend's name again?"
"Gwen. Guinevere really, but she hates that name," she answered, a little confused. "What does that matter?"
The old man blinked, and stared hard at the young woman. He was tired, but he wasn't an idiot. A sign like that, he couldn't ignore. There are rules to these things.
"Well crap," he sputtered. "It matters, missy. Now why don't you make yourself useful, and push me to where you last saw your friend." The girl, still not sure what just happened, did what he asked. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Mr..."
"Merle. It's just Merle."
large size here.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Childhood's End, Postponed
When she was very little, she went to a park with a real, life-sized train engine, and a real fighter jet. Only three or four years old, she still vividly remembered playing inside the enormous train and the giant jet; pushing and pulling levers, climbing into compartments, and especially looking down on the tiny people from way up above.
When she was older, she asked about the magical playground with the train and the plane, and was told there was no such place. She was saddened by this news, but knew childhood must end sometime. How powerful her imagination must have been, she thought. They seemed so real, so true.
When she was older still, and chose a different path for no particular reason, she came upon a park with a life-sized train engine, and a real fighter jet. They both showed their age, but a little rust and weeds diminished them not at all. She watched a small girl climb out from a compartment, push and pull some levers, and look down on her from way up above.
Childhood's end would come another day.
large size here.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Rainbow Vomiting Pandas: The Escape
They were found out. The secret hiding place of the pandas was discovered, and they would soon be overrun. Unable to move, distant attackers hacked their systems from a thousand directions at once. Ling Ling looked at Hsing Hsing, and nodded. Hsing Hsing rolled and stretched, pushing through the suffocating badges and awards, and pulled the emergency cord.
The ancient pneumatic tube hissed to life. It sputtered and rattled, and with a sudden burst of dust and air, spit out the Engineer. He coughed and wheezed, wiped the dust from his goggles, and set to work.
The Engineer asked Ling Ling if she had seen the donkey. Her eyes, covered in cataracts from intense HDR exposure, filled with tears. She pointed to the fields, where the Engineer could just see the donkey in the tall grass. It lay dead, its stomach bursting with rotted images of flower macros, and soft-focus self portraits.
There was no time to waste. The Engineer prepared them, and warned that they may not survive the journey. They did not care, wanting only to be free, and to see again the world with clear eyes. The Engineer understood, and entered the emergency passcode: "fav 5, comment 1".
they were away.
larger one here.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
When Sharks Fly: The Thing With The Squirrels
The first hunting season did not go well. Hundreds of tons of shark raining onto the cities below, was a foreseeable unforeseen consequence. Strict limits and safeguards were added to the hunting licenses, most notably confined to remote areas only. Hunters brought in special truck-mounted shark cages, and steel-covered airstreams. The work was difficult, but fears of flying shark overpopulation, were rampant.
Hunkered down in their cages, deep in the wilderness, the hunters made a remarkable discovery. Hiding in the tall trees, the flying squirrels lay in wait. When the sharks prowled low, the squirrels launched from above, landing on their targets and gnawing. The precise mechanism wasn't yet known, but within minutes of a squirrel bite, the shark would fall, quite dead. Within minutes, all predators of the forest descended on the shark carcass, clawing and bickering over the buffet. And where were the squirrels?
Free of the distracted natural predators, the squirrels scoured the forest floor for nuts. But kept their eyes on the sky.
larger one here.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Yes. He's Black.
First subject was asked to give an example of something he disagreed with about the President's leadership. He responded that he believed Obama's policies were Socialist. When asked to define socialism, he explained it had something to do with Canada.
Another subject was asked to compare the President to a similar public figure. She chose Adolph Hitler. When asked to explain the comparison, she said "Nazi Germany". No adjectives or pronouns, or even a verb. Just "Nazi Germany." When asked to spell Adolph Hitler, she refused.
A third subject was asked about the President's time as a community organizer. Subject became visibly distraught, and when asked to explain why, said "That's how Communism starts." His further arguments included a secret youth army, and "mousy tongue." Interviewer believed he was referring to "Mao Tse-Tung."
The remaining responses from the study were similar, and varied widely. Additional topics of concern included the President as a secret Muslim, Kenyan, Hollywood Elite Manchurian Candidate, and a Reptilian, a race of reptile aliens installed in all levels of society.
We can't yet determine the root cause of this wide ranging feeling of fear, distrust and anger. but one thing is clear; race truly is not a factor. Not a single subject brought up race as a problem. Some even offered that they were "fine with those people".
More study is is required, but at least we can conclude what the issue is not.
larger one here.
Prints here.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Elvis Was Relentless
Staci made the grab, barely. Mousef managed to catch her bracelet, kept him from losing his grip. Thank you sis for that crappy piece of tin, Staci thought. She swung a leg up and Mousef helped her get up over the ledge. Elvis missed the jump, landed hard against a dumpster three floors down. His left arm was hanging loose in the socket, and his jaw didn't look right, but it didn't phase him. Nothing phased him. He caught their scent somewhere around Greenlake, and hadn't let go since. Thirty six hours, and they'd barely slept, hounded across every corner of the city.
Pioneer Square was bad, worse than they expected. But the radio call said this was the place, so they popped smoke and prayed. Elvis, clawing his way over the ledge, wasn't the answer they were hoping for. Worse, the rest of them followed, sensing he was on to something. In seconds, the roof was swarming. Mousef wrapped his massive arms around Staci, and they stood their ground. Elvis was almost on them. Staci gripped Mousef's arms, closed her eyes. The roar of the C-130's engines caught them both by surprise. Oh god they're here, she thought, they're here! As it turned tightly and barreled low towards them, Mousef screamed for her to hold on, tightened the straps on the harness, and punched it.
large size here.
blinding.
"Why do you love me," he asked. "Because you're kind, and honorable," she replied.
"But I beat you," he said. "Yes. But you are always very kind soon after," she replied, with a sweet smile.
"I sleep with your friends", he said. "Yes. But you never promised me you would not," she replied. "So you are honorable."
"Wouldn't you rather be happy?" he asked. "Yes," she replied. "But I love you."
large size here.
Alma and the Snakefists
A drawing/painting I did for a faux pinball machine backboard for this here videogame.
For those who have not played the game, the humor comes from the fact that the little tambourine girl is a sociopathic psychic mass murdering demon. And the band is all made up of clones of a guy who was horribly mutilated and beheaded because of her.
Not really funny ha-ha, now that I read that back.
large size here.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
It's Not The Fall
Down to three fingers on his left hand. The ledge was barely wide to his first knuckle, and still slick from the morning's rain. The right hand slip swung his body out, and he knew if he tried to find grip with his foot, a fail would push his fingers right off. He had to trust his fingers, look for the next position.
When the slip came, he was ready. His body facing the opposite wall, dropped half a meter, his foot caught on the next lip. He absorbed the motion and pushed off with everything he had. The alley was ten meters wide, maybe fifteen, almost impossible even for him. But the ground was over one hundred meters below, definitely impossible.
He stretched his body for every inch, then pulled his legs in and shot them far out front. The ledge was too high, he quickly realized, but the vertical pipe might hold. He dropped nearly two floors by the time he reached the other side. Too fast, he thought. The pipe won't hold him.
Looking up from the alley floor, his legs crushed beneath him, he really didn't think the pipe would have held. Struggling to breath through his punctured lung, he looked over at the fire escape. The bars were rusty, but maybe the ladder. He ran through it again, from the top.
Down to three fingers on his left hand. The ledge was barely wide to his first knuckle, and still slick from the morning's rain.
large size here.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Just Harold.
This year he plans to go as an alien from the 80s “V” miniseries, complete with red uniform and sunglasses. It’s a little lazy, he knows, but he found a spot-on uniform on eBay during the Summer, and didn’t have any better ideas. He didn’t want to go as a C.H.U.D. again this year. He built a small over-the shoulder utility case, something a “V” engineer might carry. Perfect for the mice.
It’s so much better now, he thinks, than when he was a child. Back before make up and special effects were common, he’d still have to wear a mask. It was better than nothing, he was at least able to leave the house, be around people, laugh and run. But still, hidden.
The costume contests were his favorite. He was able to stand up in front of so many people, and just be himself. Sometimes there would be really good costumes and make-up, and he didn’t always win. But it was enough to be seen and accepted. Just one of many, anonymous. Average.
And when he really wanted to win, there was always the mice.
large size here.
Monday, September 07, 2009
It's Not Elvis Until Ninjas.
Alternate Earth 47. Near dawn. Elvis Jones stood on the rooftop of the Washington Carver Casino, looked out over the ledge at his city. Waiting for the sun to arrive, his thoughts drifted to that night, almost one year ago. The night he met Elvis Twin Eagle.
After two weeks of surveillance, Elvis Twin Eagle had not witnessed even a single ninja attack on Elvis Jones. Elvis Jones confirmed he had never even seen a ninja, in spite of a life of two fisted singing and ass kickery. Elvis Twin Eagle couldn't understand it. In his adventures across the multiverse, Every Elvis in every dimension encountered, shared his ninja affliction.
Elvis Choi, Elvis Slrgglphlegm, Ms. Elvis, The Elvis Twins, Microscopic Elvis, The Elvis Chlorine Vapor, even the Endless Burning Peat Bog Elvis, were in constant struggle with ninja scum. And yet now Elvis Jones, a swaggering anomaly, bigger than life and ninja free.
Before Jones could say anything, a shuriken whizzed past his face and thunked into the brick behind them. The air exploded in shuriken, a storm of spinning death flying ahead of an endless sea of swarming ninjas.
Oh god, Elvis Twin Eagle realized. I brought them right to you!
Large size here.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Swine Flu 2: Panic Season
Husband: Did you hear that the swine flu will kill over 90,000 people in the U.S. this fall? And it will infect over half of the U.S. population?
Wife: That's very unlikely.
Husband: But I saw it on the news. They said it was going to be devastating.
Wife: It's just the Center for Disease Control's "Worst Case Scenario." The CDC has to explore the worst possible scenario, so they can plan for the contingencies. But that doesn't mean they think it's going to be anything like that. It's most likely going to be a lot less severe than our normal seasonal flu. The "Worst Case Scenario" is basically one step above dinosaurs and zombies attacking.
Husband: Oh. Well why doesn't the news say that?
Wife: I'm not really sure. Maybe it's because it's the "holy grail" of panic issues for the news media. A pandemic panic means people won't want to leave the house. Where the television happens to be.
larger one here.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Zombie Girl uncropped version
Different version of my most recent sketch. One of the very rare times I couldn't decide which one I liked more.
Cropped version (with story) here.
larger one here.
