My Posts Number 40, Shawty.

So there's been nothing going on with me. Except a bike wreck.

I sat for about ten glorious minutes and was actually motivated to write some little autobigraphical sketches based on some pictures i'd taken on my cellphone. They're not very well drawn, and the lettering is how i write notes to myself, so it's hard to read. I think that adds something that a clean composition can't really accomplish.

I'd say they are just first drafts, but i like them like this. they have a deadpan Jeffery Brown feeling to them that i really like.

Anyway, i was interrupted and completely lost that groove. Imagine that you've just found a quote in a five thousand-page book that you really liked, and then you dropped the book and the binding let go of all the pages. And now you need to find that quote again in the heaping mess of loose-leaf paper on the floor.

So here they are.

Sad Thetans.

So i've come back home for a week. I hadn't really planned to be back here anytime soon and i didn't really tell anyone i was coming back until they were making the final boarding call, so i guess i surprised some people.

Coming back home is i strange sort of transformation for me. I sleep strange hours, i see people i haven't seen in a while, i hear strange news from strange people. I don't feel like myself here, like i've reinvented who i am in my new home. So it makes it a bit of a crisis of self when i come back home and remember the person i used to be, and try to act like that person again for the benefit of all my old friends.

This is sounding awfully teen-aged, i know, but often the corniest/emo-est explanation is the best one. I am not who i was, i have undergone a gradual change in what i think to be a positive direction.

I miss seattle, i miss the people and the weather and the coffee. there's something i could bitch about for hours. the coffee here is absolute garbage.

Here is a list of sex tips i wrote up a little while ago, and i never finished them.

Sex Tips from Allen:
FOR THE GENTLEMEN
1 - When making love to a very special lady, it is important that you never, ever stop yelling your father's name and spitting everywhere. Otherwise she may not think you are truly up for the primal task of coupling with her.
2 - Always smoke cigarettes before, during and after coitus. It will inhibit kissing, and for good reason. there are times to kiss, and there are times to copulate, and the two do not mix well. avoid eye contact like the plague.
3 - During the foreplay period, you should divulge your deepest, darkest desires in the form of impromptu banjo-driven folk music. If you're probably going to need a condom, you are just as likely to need your banjo and overalls. Preparedness is the mark of any eligible gentleman.
4 - The actual fucking should last somewhere between ten and twenty minutes, depending on how attractive the lady is. Your smoking hand should never touch the lady in question, and your off hand should never leave her mouth. This will keep her from embarassing herself and make it possible for you to pretend that her guttural vowel-sounds are actually her attempts at quoting GWAR lyrics, which will no doubt strengthen your manhood from tip to hilt. If she agrees to actually quote GWAR lyrics beforehand, then this maneuver is not necessary.

FOR THE LADIES:
1 - Your name is Kristy. You will respond only to Kristy.
2 - Loon noises, while not reqired, may be appreciated by your partner. Goose noises, however, are right out.
3 - If you could quote some GWAR lyrics while we're doing it then i promise i'll let you breathe through your mouth. otherwise: no dice, sugar.
4 - Men love teeth. It's one of those "i say no when i mean yes" sorts of things.
5 - Twitch violently and often. Also, sleeping after sex is discouraged, so you must stay awake all night and make sure that your partner is still breathing every hour, on the hour. Men love to be woken up every hour. You're a big girl, you should know this.

New Drawings!

An avian warrior, who is pissed that you are here. Also, a helmet for one of his smaller, non-military brethren

ESSAY ON PORNOGRAPHY (Episode 1)

It's interesting to think about "Rule 34". If you're unfamiliar with the term, then please stop reading now, close your computer and never turn it on again. If you aren't willing to do this, then please try to hold onto your humanity for the next couple minutes. I cannot promise that you will ever be able to sleep properly again after seeing this shit.

UH, I AM INTRIGUED AND HAVE LITTLE REGARD FOR MY OWN SOUL. CONTINUE ON, ALLEN.

Alright. For those of you who didn't take my advice, Rule 34 simply states that, if one can imagine something, then somewhere somebody has created porn of it on the internet. So, ever thought about what it would be like if Kim Possible and Esurance girl ever had a threesome with Dr. Robotnik? I am willing to bet my life that a picture of that exists somewhere where Google Safesearch won't let you go (and for damn good reason).

Someone - somewhere - is jerking off to this.

ALLEN, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT, I KNOW THAT PORNOGRAPHY CAN GET A LITTLE WEIRD SOMETIMES, I AM A SEASONED GOOGLE USER, AND I'VE EXPERIENCED ALL OF THIS FIRST HAND

Stay with me, i'm arriving at my point pretty soon. We've all heard of Furries and Slash-Fic and Hentai. That shit isn't new to anyone, and it now has a comedic place in the collective conscious of people like us. It's a running joke that we're all in on. Hell, maybe you're at the point where you know what "Vore" entails and can make merry mocking it. If not, a link has been provided to further your scholarship of the depraved. Of course, all of these different brands of fucked-uppedness have melded together and branched apart to claim new ground for pornography. Here is an example:

Pictured: The Cutting Edge of Human Sexuality's Evolution

WELL, THE INTERNET WAS CREATED AS A STEP TOWARD TOTAL FREEDOM, IT WOULD LOGICALLY FOLLOW THAT OUR GENERALLY PERVY NATURE WOULD FLOURISH IN SUCH AN OPEN ENVIRONMENT. GET TO YOUR POINT. ALSO, YOU ARE VERY DAMAGED FOR KNOWING THAT PICTURE EXISTS.

Calm down, this all seems pretty intuitive so far, right? when you remove all accountability, people will be as poisonous and disgusting as they can be, it's a law of nature, and rule 34 just gives it a quantifiable name. The internet can be viewed as a Petri-dish for this kind of thing, growing "cultures" (nudge nudge) where none would have existed. I think it's my role as a blogger to study and make conclusions about those cultures, particularly the culture of pornography.

Pictured: The Blogger, at home

JUST SHUT UP AND SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY. I HAVE TO UPDATE MY SLASHFIC BLOG.

Alright, alright. ladies and gentlemen, i give you:
The most fucked up website i have ever encountered.
(Please do not look at this at school or work)

... WHAT?

no, just keep clicking around. I'll wait.

... I-... IS THAT AN EAGLE?

You tell me, dude.

I... I DON'T THINK I BELIEVE IN GOD ANYMORE.

Yep. Welcome to the party. Oh, you should check out the places where he edited clips from Dragonheart so they'd give him an erection. He also did that to Oblivion and Jaws Unleashed.
YOU... YOU MONSTER. YOU'RE A GOD DAMN MONSTER! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

No, no, it's not me, i didn't make any of this stuff. I just thought it was really funny and..

GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE, NOW! I'M CALLING THE AUTHORITIES

Wait, i can explain: This is hilarious! if we look at it like an equation, where a= how wrong something is, b= time to adjust to the fact that it exists, and c= how funny it becomes over time, then...
LA LA LA LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU. GET THE FUCK OUT NOW, IF YOU SAY ONE MORE GODDAMN WORD I'LL USE THIS BAT, I'M NOT KIDDING! JUST STOP TALKING AND LEAVE ME ALONE!

... it would logically follow that, with time, this could become the funniest thing ever? right? right?
HELLO, OPERATOR? YES, THERE'S A MAN HERE WHO WON'T LEAVE MY HOME. NO, I WON'T HOLD. YES. YES, HE'S ARMED. ARMED WITH FILTH. NO...YOU REALLY DON'T WANT ME TO EXPLAIN. I REFUSE TO EXPLAIN. JUST SEND SOMEONE OVER BEFORE I'M FORCED TO DEFEND MYSELF.

Just calm down, please. It's not a big deal! i'm sure one day we'll laugh about this, right? Don't be such a prude. It's just a raptor, fully realized in 3D, being strapped to a table while a mechanical...

GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

*thunk*

OW! OKAY, I'm leaving! I'm so sorry i brought it up! please hold back your brutal beating long enough for me to get out the door...

GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!


*thunk, crunch, thunk, snap*


Oh god, the pain!


*WEEEEEEEEEEE-oooooooooooooooh, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-oooooooooooooooooh*


HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!
OH, OFFICER, THANK GOD YOU SHOWED UP IN TIME! LOOK WHAT THIS PERVERT DID!

TO BE CONTINUED...

Lowery: A Study

So, i had to do a life-story of a person over the age of 70 for my developmental psych class, and then analyze their emotional development according to Erikson's six stages of life. I took the assignment on a bit of a joyride, as i do with all my papers. I've included the story bit, and not so much the boring "content" of the paper. Yes, i have turned it in, and yes, i do expect a 100%. So here it is, i hope you enjoy it:

Lowery was born in Jordan, Arkansas in 1934, during the Great Depression. He was the eldest of four, with a brother and two sisters. He was an only child until he was 10 years old. His father, Lowery (NAME WITHELD) IV had been an officer World War I and was forty when Lowery was born. Because of the war and the stress it put on him, he did not find a young wife until many years after he came home from the Western Front. The woman he found, June (MAIDEN-NAME WITHELD) (NAME WITHELD), was twelve years his junior. They were married in 1923, when she was in her mid twenties.
Because of the great depression (and a 6 year stint in jail on Lowery IV’s part) they tried not to have any children. Their marriage was apparently not overly passionate. Lowery V was an accident and was apparently birthed in the bed he would sleep in once he was out of his crib. We cry a desperate prayer to our gods that the sheets WERE changed before this happened.
June was a strong woman who believed in God, the Devil and hard work. She did not like Papists, Jews or Negroes and would, if Lowery V is to be believed, remind everyone of these aspects of her character as often as she could. She had “mean eyes” and a nose that hooked downward and widened ever so slightly at the tip, as if she once had a normal nose but it thawed one fateful day in the Arkansas sun and hardened to its new, permanently sinister shape that night. Little is known about the origins of her nose, except that it did not pass to her son. In light of this, we rejoice to our gods in thanks.
Lowery IV was a cold man. His beard was thick enough to shatter razors with as little as a glance. He was from Haven, Connecticut and lived there until he was 20. He joined the army in 1914, to seek glory and honor on the field of battle. Having grown up on the romanticized war stories that were so popular in his days he had a very idealized view of war before he ever took part in one. He imagined himself in the cavalry, charging up a hill with his pistol in hand, as the sun set behind him and sabers clashed as steel bit flesh around him. The army instead cast him into a world of mud and fear - a rodent-like existence in the trenches, bayoneting equally terrified young German men while his friends were carved up around him, facedown in the muck. He rarely spoke of it when Lowery V asked. They never spoke at length or in detail about it until Lowery V himself came home from Korea in 1952. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Lowery IV was a pig farmer, and June worked in the town’s butcher-shop. Lowery IV spent the day kicking the pigs when they’d done nothing wrong and muttering to himself, while June spent her day frowning at customers and chopping at meat that, in all honesty, didn’t need to be chopped anymore. The (NAME WITHELD) household was a grim and strict one, to hear Lowery V tell it. He spent the first few years of his life while the depression was in full swing. His earliest memory was of the parched crab-grass, gently crackling and shifting as a rat attempted to flee to safety, “like a VC, tryin’ to find his foxhole” before it was caught and strangled for dinner by June’s thick-veined, calloused hands. Caked with the filth of the day, the (NAME WITHELD)s ate well that night. He estimates that he was four years old.
As a child, Lowery V did not have a lot of access to books or radio to expand his imagination. He had a King James bible and the occasional food-stamp booklet, which he would read as a famished castaway would eat perfectly cooked steaks. He had a great fear of the Devil, which was beaten into him by his mother, June. You see, he was resented by his parents for being an extra mouth to feed during the dust and squalor that was the Great Depression. When reading the book of Judges over and over by rat-oil lamplight each night, he’d see what he thought to be “The Devil’s Face” flickering in the shadows cast by the small rodential flame. When asked if he felt safe as a child, Lowery V said the following, “If you’d had a daddy like mine you’d feel safe anywhere. Now, he was a mean man, and a gruff man and wasn’t overly affectionate to me. But if there was so much as a taxman comin’ around our house all he’d have to do was step out onto the porch and stare, and the taxman would run his ass off to wherever he came form and never show his face again. That’s the kinda man my daddy was, the kind with the Old Testament God seething behind his eyes. Men crumbled when he looked upon’em. No, I felt safe as long as he was around.”
Lowery was quiet child, who rarely went to his school (which was a five mile walk/pig-ride). In his days at school he would study the Bible and Arithmetic, sometimes History and Racism, which was his least favorite class. He excelled and he showed a lot of imagination at an early age. He was alone with his parents and their loveless, brutish marriage until he was ten years old. He worked on the pig farm, trying to scrape a living from the sun-cracked ground. He dreamed to one day be like his father, a soldier. He’d fashion rifles out of rotted, wind-beaten fence-posts when he’d saved enough buttons and nails up to purchase them from the store in town. Much of the family’s revenue was in chestnut/stick/nail/pig bone/button form, and they had a single five-dollar bank note hidden under the floor to use in case of emergencies. It was pulled off the corpse of a circus-performer in 1938, and stayed under their floor for 7 years.
Lowery’s father continued his service to the army in 1941, when the United States declared war on the Axis Powers. He was a tank commander in the European theater and, once, when a German Tiger tank had disabled his tiny, poorly-armored Sherman outside Lyon, France in the summer 1944, he climbed out the hatch and charged the tank on foot, carrying twin axes of his own design. He jumped up onto the Tiger (the largest tank in the German arsenal at that time) and blew the hatch open with a hand grenade. He proceeded to pull the now exposed passengers out of the tank (which was in motion at the time) smashing their heads and necks with the mighty axes while they were suspended in the air. He was shot in the neck by the German tank commander (after the tank had slowed to a stop, unable to operate without a crew) whose hands he chopped off and wore around his neck as he recovered in the hospital. Unable to continue the fight, the now fifty-year old Lowery IV was shipped home and given the nearly unheard of honor, the “Medal of Violence”. He returned home soon afterward.
Meanwhile, back home in Jordan, AR, Lowery V began his teendom. As a teenager he was much more well-adjusted, working in his father’s stead on the farm and dating girls. He made a lot of friends. His mother changed little while his father was away at war. Being a simple country boy, there was not much to experiment with (save for moonshine, which was, afterall, the Devil’s Drink). His first experience with alcohol was drinking with his father after he returned from France. His father returned a better man that when he’d left, having taken much of his aggression out on the Germans, who stole from him the bright young man he’d once been. He regained a bit of that and, as a result, his frozen marriage to June (now in her 40s) warmed and they had three more children. Aside from the responsibilities of the farm (which was flourishing under his care), he had a lot of freetime. It was a happy time in Lowery V’s life, things looked up where they had looked straight down before. Children meant hope and the success of the farm meant money. There was not much freedom on the farm, or much opportunity in his small town. He felt constricted and confined and soon after the war ended he lied about his age and joined the army in 1950, when war was breaking out between North and South Korea. That, he said, changed him forever.
To hear him tell it, Korea was a hellish and brutal time in his life. A time of confusion and strife, of dead friends and killing in the dark. He was a sniper in the army, just sixteen. He spent a year in the infantry, and did not like to discuss it at all. The following words are the closest thing to a war story I got out of him: “When the sun would go down, the Communists would come over the wall, in The Punchbowl. They’d been pounded with artillery all day. One would come over, and we’d shoot him. Then another, would climb over and fall, belly-up from the top. [he pauses here and his eyes become glassy and unfeeling, the memory of that night clearly stealing him away to another time] They came one or two at a time all night, and they’d fall on our side of the wall. [he begins to stutter and repeat himself a little, grasping for the correct words] The came all night, just like that. Just climbing to the top to die on the other side. I hope never to see anything like it again.” He attained the rank of 1st Sgt., and was made commander of an artillery battery close to the 38th Parallel until his tour was up.
He was 18 in 1952 when he returned home. He met Claire (MAIDEN NAME WITHELD) (NAME WITHELD) that winter. She was the love of his life and they got married after two months together. After Korea he wished to have a normal life and forget the carnival of horrors that had been the last two years. He had no children, but moved to Seattle and went to college at the Universiy of Washington from 1954 to 1958, with a degree in economics. Claire ran a boutique in Ballard for 23 years. He worked as an accountant for forty years here in the city and never returned to Jordan. He’d send money to his parents to try to help them out, feeling a bit guilty that he’d abandoned them and their way of life. His job did not make him happy, just “number-crunching”. He was paid well and was able to retire at age 55 in 1989. Even when he was working, he gained respect in his field and was made partner in an accounting firm. This allowed him to take a lot of time off work and enjoy his leisure time. He feels that he was very successful in his job and enjoyed his time away from it.
His father died in 1967 of a brain aneurism. His mother soon followed him in 1971 from trichinosis, and was one of the five Americans to die of such an easily curable disease that year. “Must’ve been all the pork”, he remarked. When his father died, Lowery says it was among the worst times in his life aside from his tour in the army. Korea was, by far, the worst time in his life that he shared. It was a time of a loss of faith in himself and his ideals, of disenchantment with God and Glory and Duty in his eyes. He recovered gradually over the years, with help from Claire. When asked about the obstacles he had to overcome, he said that his childhood and life of poverty pre-Korea was something he had tried to free himself from and was successful. He needed the city life, the love of a sane woman and the modern comforts available to him as a self-made man. He has many joyful memories of driving across America and traveling around the world since his retirement. He feels at peace watching the world flicker by a car window when his wife drives, and he feels in control of his life when the lines disappear below his wheels when he’s in the driver seat. He likes the adventure of finding new places to explore, the solace of writing about them and understanding the people they house. He does all of this with his wife, who keeps him sane and balanced.
Lowery V looks back on his life with a bit of a smirk sometimes, with tears in his eyes others, and sometimes he’s still dumbstruck by his memories. Overall he gives the impression of being content that he lived life fully and was in control of himself, and never did anything too bad that he’s still guilty about as it draws to a close. Travel and writing make him happy, and he wishes he’d discovered them earlier in his life. Before that it was girls and his dream of being a war hero, of trying to fill his father’s boots. If there’s anything he regrets, it’s trying to live some version of his father’s life instead of his own for so long, of sacrificing his youth to that ideal. One thing he is content with is the fact that he is responsible for his actions, that he decided what would happen to him and what his responses to life were. He isn’t much of a preacher, but I can tell that his story is a bit of advice in itself: to live one’s own life and to be glad your name’s on it after it’s passed. He is not a religious man and does not believe in heaven. He worries sometimes that there’s a hell, believes he’s seen it before and has been working himself away from it ever since. He loves his life and plans to live for eighty more years. If not though, he’s got a hell of a story and, if it ended tomorrow, there’s more than enough in it to be proud of.

Well, i dunno what you guys think, but...

"What do i write about?" you ask?

Well, i don't want to brag or anything, but i write depressing little half-thoughts that don't go anywhere, mainly.

Coming up with new ideas for comics can be sort of mentally taxing and usually devolves into nonsense about the time you lose sight of the goal. When your goal is as loosely defined as "Fabricate A Good Idea For a Comic" then this happens sooner than later and you often end up with something like this:


IDEAS FOR A COMIC:
Boy meets girl story (lame?)

Photo-Comic that is drawn over in ps.

Something falls out of the sky and antics ensue

A wordless story about a guy running for his life

Jellybirds and weird buildings story.

Aliens come, but they are really benign

Dunk.

Catwalks story?

Battle with a big spidery robot.

Man with a chainsaw is seen walking to safeway. He goes in and comes out without the chainsaw. Our hero investigates. Nothing comes of it.

A man sets off a tripwire. Everything explodes.

A man is running away from a collapsing city. Something happens at the end.

Slice of life comic (LAST RESORT).

Pod is dropped from space and robots get out. Little spidery ones.

4 or 5 single page stories that don’t go anywhere, but they involve cool shit. All of them photocomics, drawn over in PS.

A man with a dog discovers a dead body on the train tracks.

A man is hit by a bus, and the bus drives off.

A hate crime is committed. OH NO!

A jellyfish eats a smaller jellyfish.

A homeless man gives a Christmas card to another homeless man. Too bad it's May, retard.

A little boat sinks.

An airplane crashes into a truck. No one is hurt, but everyone is a little shaken by it.

A flagpole falls down and hits a squirrel. The squirrel miraculously survives, thanks to its great patriotism.

Our lovers gather round us and make us feel like shit. As always, with trips back home.

The sun sets over a small town as it rises over a different small town with the exact same name.

A car accidentally weaves out of its lane. After correcting, it is promptly hit by another car that is driving on the wrong side of the highway. Before it happens, the drivers of both cars utter the same obscenity, at the exact same time.

A guitar is purchased, but never played.

Today, a man realizes the true value of shutting the fuck up and drawing pictures every once in a while.

Little glints of sunlight play off some blades of grass. There is also a frog there, who ribbits at nothing in particular. It is riveting.

There is a size 10 ½ left shoe on the side of the freeway, almost in the carpool lane. The right shoe is a couple miles down, on the right side. No explanation is offered as to why this is. We are forced to speculate.

They keep this place clean by moving the dirt around.

A dog thought that hole in the fence would be just a little bigger. Now it’s stuck and all twisted up between the links of the fence and it feels like a fool. Poor dog.

A man walks in a small circle before getting on the elevator, just for the fucking hell of it.

A woman screams so loudly that all the lights go out.

The soap in the soapdish is a lot more expensive than the soapdish by itself. Does that make me gay?

All the girls refuse to shut up, and drive our hero to alcoholism and, consequently, to an early grave.

The engine WOULD start, just not for this asshole. Also, it’s sort of cold out.

Your boss gives you a parcel and asks you to give it to him the following day, at lunch time, in front of your coworkers. You sneak a peek inside and see that there are naked pictures of you in it, pictures that were taken without your permission by someone with a very powerful telephoto lens.
You fear for your job, so you make sure it isn’t noticeable that you opened it and peeked inside, and you give it to him the following day. He looks at it and turns it over in his hands, looking for a sign that it’s been opened. He sees none, and frowns a little. You see him holding a similar looking package and talking to one of your other male coworkers later that day. You mention it to no one, even though you think this poor guy deserves a little warning.

Yesterday, someone changed their major. It wasn’t the right choice. Everyone seems to know it except for her. Dumb bitch.

There’s someone else’s hair in the shower this morning. Maybe you should start locking your doors. Maybe you should move. Maybe you should change religions. Maybe you should install cameras. Maybe there’s a ten day waiting period on that handgun you were looking at in the sporting goods store ten days ago, and maybe you wish you’d purchased it then. Maybe you’ll drop by there after work. Maybe it’s not safe here. Maybe it’s not safe anywhere. You should take your mind off it. go fishing or some shit.
Your dad took you fishing when you were younger, and you really liked it, but he was always more of a hunter and he thought it was boring by comparison. He’s been to Africa. Isn’t that neat? One day you hope to carry a rifle across Africa.

A man gets his hopes up, but is disappointed when nothing comes of it. He is hesitant next time. He is smarter now.

A man walks out of the theater before the movie ends, utterly hollowed out by what he’s just seen. The walk home is a lot longer than it normally is. Sleeping is difficult.

Oh hey, a new band. Check out this new band. This new band I found. Do you like them? Oh. Well, I do. And I found them. Not you. You cunt.

Interesting, the things that we see flying out of the windows of our building.

I wonder if, in Japan, they have Clue and Monopoly. And if they do, do they have weird anime versions of it, like we sort of do with the Simpsons?

That man doesn’t like my shoes. I can tell.

She's 68, but she says she's 24.

He ain't. and he has splashy feet.

Ain't Nothin' but a D-Thang

whadda ya know, a guy with a crossbow wearing a wookie-skin cloak! he looks sort of mean, but he's really alright once you get the fuck away from him.


Well, i'm back after a while. Real life has been beckoning and, if i'm honest, overstaying its welcome a little. i miss the internet, i never really have time to just sit around and click on stuff anymore. Maybe that means i'm growing up or becoming a more round character or something, but i miss having a lot of time to waste.

Then again, i do have more time to waste than ever before. I've got a test tomorrow and that's as far as my responsibilities have gone this week.

D is still cool. I'm still generally unsure of everything and i'm still sort of an asshole. I took a personality test to see if my Myers Briggs typology changes when i'm no longer single. but, to quote a verse: "Ya'll know me - Still the same old G (or, INFP)". I dunno, i'm pretty happy. I'm a young, dumb man with a young, beautiful girlfriend in a beautiful city in late spring. It's pretty nice.

I've been drawing a little, mostly on paper. and mostly at night. mostly.

Anyway, here's a recent digital drawing i did a couple weeks ago.

It's the hardcore badass brother of Toad from mario, and his friend who carries a sparkler-staff. They fight crime or some shit.

STYLE

This one is new. There's some deltron lyrics in this Handsome Boy Modeling school song that are the inspiration (source) for the text there. This was supposed to be me and my new girlfriend, preparing to kick some ass. Turns out that i look nothing like the male character in the foreground, and Danica's character looks more like Meg White than anyone. But yeah, body-type and clothes are really the only things that have any connection to what we are actually like, and i designed the clothes myself so they're fictional as well.

I'm thinking i want to design clothes for a living if comics don't work out. I think that would be pretty awesome, but it's also sort of gay and i bet i'd take a lot of shit for it from gay and straight friends alike.

Anyway, 15 pages to write today, and i don't have any of it done. Cheers.