Mushroom Hunting

Drunk on sleep deprivation and the Pillows/FLCL.

This also contains some favorite things:

1. Tattoos
2. Mushrooms
3. Metal Gear Solid references
3. Mudkipz (sorrz e'rebody)

My 52nd Favorite Thing

Hey, "everybody!":
This drawing contains many of my favorite things that I have enjoyed placing in my drawings for decade(s) past. They are:

1.) Guns and Knives
2.) Blood/Bandages
3.) Smoking
4.) A fucking rifle
5.) References to the Military/War
6.) WWII allusions (Swastikas)
7.) Trigun/Metal Gear boots
8.) Nonsense-cities
9.) Eyepatches
10.) Beards
11.) Burning Buildings/Smoke/More Smoking
12.) Little caricatures of myself doing odd things
13.) Crosses

I don't think I've ever drawn a helicopter before, though. I think it's pretty cool.

For Those About To Mock

We dispute you.

Fright Night

Thought I'd go ahead an post one more little picture that really doesn't mean much, but I had thought it up while Karl and I were watching Fright Night and I was trying draw something. Although recently I've been working on writing the scripts for a werewolf comic that I've really been wanting to draw, Fright Night got me thinking of a vampire script I wanted to write set in the late 1800s in a mansion somewhere in an extremely poor area of the country. The house is featured in the panel, as well as the field around the house, which I imagined would be adorned with crosses surrounding the mansion to keep the vampire from straying out of it's house (because in my world the vampires don't turn into bats and werewolves are a state of mind). Said person walking towards the house is one of hundreds of people who enter the mansion on account of attempting to find/kill the vampire or possibly finding something there. I dunno what yet.

I thought it'd be cool to write like a super-long book that features three horror stories I've really been wanting to write -- the werewolf comic, the vampire comic, and an epic zombie comic. If I had it my way it'd be a massive 1,000+ page Tezuka-esque tome. Sigh. We know how good at I am at having goals.


I need riddilin.

I See Clearly Now The Rain Is Gone

Excuse the tacky title, but as it's May and I feel alive and healthy after the Worst Winter of My Life, I thought it'd tie in with the picture I was gonna post (since it references seeing but has nothing to do with the topic)." Not to mention, in a cornier sense, April is over (and we all know what April showers bring). With Karl's unmotivated ass forcing me to get things done along with the help of la Boards de Canada and an array of films from the late 1970s/early 1980s, I've been going strong with pen, marker, and the help of screentone since I finally decided to purchase and fuck around with it.

Maybe this marked renewal will see a spike in the trend of actually posting in this blog again and not waiting eight months between each "hey I'm still alive, folks (if you're even out there!)."

Get Innocuous!

Bah-di-ba-da-di-ba-dah-ta-bang-ta-bang-diggy-diggy:

Three little sex stories cooked up for you (somebody) by Karl and Moi:

1. Roommate Action

Roommate A walks in on Roommate B getting head from Roommate B's friend, Friend A. This is surprising to Friend A, who bites down on Roommate B's dick. Friends A swallows dick -- comic hilarity ensues.

2. Coke Action

Cokehead A puts coke on his dick and makes Cokehead B suck it. Cokehead B's mouth gets all numb and slobbery. Facefucking ensues.

3. Alien Action

Warning: I can't go to sleep in David's room along because I'm scared aliens will come in when I'm sleeping! Thanks a lot, Unsolved Mysteries.

Roomate A sleeps in his room. Wakes up to Alien A sitting next to the bed. Frozen in horror, he is paralyzed as Alien A reaches over and masturbates him, helplessly. At the foot of the bed, Alien B and Alien C dance around. Alien A masturbates it furiously until Roommate A is just about to come -- then stops -- then starts up again. Alien B and Alien C descened into marathons of fucking. Horror ensues for days.

Post-Note:

Not really anything worth noting. Karl and I ARE collecting stores for a very short six-episode show based off of Unsolved Mysteries we like to call Curious Events. Episode themes may involve ghosts that rape straight men ("I could feel my anus expanding and contracting, but nothing was inside it -- later on I could feel ectoplasm seeping out of me."), caves full of Sasquatches in the Pacific Northwest with internet access and minds dedicated to out popular culture (names in the works are Pitchforkquatch and Billboardquatch, who are both nemeses, and Newsweeksquatch and Twittersquatch), the aforementioned extraterrestrial demon masturbators, and possibly some shit involving "inconvenient spontaneous combustion."

Just thoughts. Gimme yours.

Mass Romantic

I don't even feel like posting some sporty little comment on the drawing below. It's been in progress for a year. I'm too exhasted on benzodiazephine to care what I say about it. Except that chick I drew looks light such a haughty bitch. I think I'll draw her a pair of Uzis like Winehouse has in the sketch.


And below is the original sketch, if I didn't already post it (I don't recall doing so).


Obviously it's a work in progress that'll never see the light of day. At least not until...2012!!

(Tibetan monks begin running up a mountainside, they're ringing a gong, a black screen is asking us just HOW ARE THE WORLD'S GOVERNMENTS GOING TO WAR 6.1 BILLION PEOPLE THE WORLD IS ABOUT TO END!? The answer....THEY WON'T.)

This movie's gonna rock.

BRAINFEEDER

It's been a while since I posted on here, but then it's been a while since I've had insane dreams (which I've been having). But I decided to post new scans of things I've been working on since I never work on new things. It's far from finished, but I figure what the hey, the finished product may never see the light of day. I'm definitely getting rid of the back leg and altering the torso to have more detail. It looks incredibly off-balance with such little detail on the right half.


The dark line is present on some lines because the drawing is two pages taped together on the back. I tried to erase it as much as possible.

But the question remains: should he be destroying a city, or rampaging on a volcanic mountainside with helicopters and trees and such?

Big Ideas

A list of recent creative dawnings from myself and friends:

Enamatic, a novel. A two parter, the first half is told from the enema's point of view, going in an 'cleaning out all the shit he keeps inside.' The second part is told from the point of view of the colonoscopy, or the 'resolutions' and the acknolwedgement of certain inalienable truths in daily living.

Credit: John, Jeff, and myself.

Would-be memorable line: "I go up people's asses, because that's where they're vulnerable. That's where we're all vulnerable, and that's where we keep our shit. Up our asses. People keep a lot of shit inside. Look at all this shit."

Flashes In The Attic, a film. A veritable "menopause thriller," Flashes was born out of a misunderstanding when Jeff mentioned the film Flowers in the Attic. Comic hilarity ensued, when I imagined an older women being trapped in the attic by her evil step-children while the father is away on business, during menopause. They turn up the heat.

Credit: Jeff, myself.

Would-be memorable line: "But it's so hot up here!"

America Blacks Out, a novel. All of America collectively drinks too much alcohol, passes out, and proceeds to conduct two hours of activity while nobody is aware that any of them are doing anything. These are labeled as the 'phantom hours.' The rest of the world has to explain to America what it did when it finally wakes up.

Credit: Jeff.

Would-be memorable line: "Phantom hours."

"Telepathic Lies", a single. Conceived in the kitchen, Jeff was convinced I was sending 'telepathic lies.' A song was born. It's the only song we can remember making up.

Credit: Jeff, myself.

Coke Cats, a film. Starring Squeaker as the drug-addled kingpin feline of Galesburg's burgeoning coke industry, he runs a drug den with a wacky cast of strung out pussies who peddle the white lady to small neighborhood children.

Credit: Karl, myself.

Would-be memorable line: "The fuck you doin' comin' to the front door? I said the back, nigga. I oughtta shoot yo' ass on the fuckin' lawn."

The National African American League, a club. When Connie questioned "how black" Mariah Carey was, Jeff and I conceived, between fits of disabling laughter, of a league that requires one to submit paperwork confirming "how black" you are.

Credit: Jeff, myself.

Would-be memorable question: "In three sentences or less, please describe how black you are. Please omit the words 'ghetto' and 'bitch.'"

The Golden Oldies with Vincent Vega

So I am more than aware that I have basically stopped posting in this blog, and my intentions are, as per usual, to continue posting as I originally had. Thanks to a string of strange dreams the mostly, if not always, involve people I'd rather not mention in this blog as the situations and occasions, no matter how involuntary (these are dreams, not rational products of my own design), are simply just too strange, complex, and at times, ordinary. But as my dreams continue to superpersonalize themselves, external realities provide for me other encounters which prove just as illuminating to the nature of Oddity.

Take, for instance, the Movie Star Record. Scarlett Johansson recently released her own (par) record of Tom Waits covers, and Zoey Dreschanel released Volume One with M. Ward under the monker She & Him (sehr Excellent). Then, of course, there's Eddie Murphy's "Party All The Time" single, and then every thing gets darker and murkier, and I believe at one point Bruce Willis released the Return of Bruno. Where musicians stray into the acting biz, the results, for some reason, seem to be terribly intriguing if not surprisingly good (at times) -- but when the actors take a foray into the recording world, it's less than jake. (I realize this could be a terrible band pun, something I'm not above, but I'm leaving it because I wrote it without that intention)

As a decade in love with terrible mistakes, its no wonder one can glean the 1980s for loads and loads of terrible decisions and questionable fads that are just aching to be bought up displayed for irony's sake. Hipsters are in love with this shit. It's vinyl plus irony. I'm almost tempted, personally, to start up a collection of terrible records released by professionally wayward celebrities with too much ego to match their so-called 'talents.' I'm thinking about starting with the $2 flagship of actor-turned-singer records that I found today while farming the local antique mall for records (Adam and the Ants' Kings of the Wild Frontier and Santana's Abraxas were the only decent ones I could find), pictured below.


When I saw it, I couldn't believe my eyes, if only because the glory was so blinding I had to take a moment to clarify what I was witnessing. Why did nobody tell me about this? What was the point of keeping me in the dark? John Travolta, mane-ed out, 1970s glitz, emblazoned on a one foot by one foot vinyl cover. According to wikipedia, has released or been featured on at least nine albums since 1974, one of which is titled Travolta Fever, another of which is apparently a scientology album he recorded in '86. Scientology album? Amazing! None of these albums have any pages dedicated to them, and the only pictures I can find of the record aren't bigger than 400px by 400px. Travolta even had a hit in '76 called "Let Her In," one of over twenty singles he released between the years 1969 and 1983. Now, I recognize I'm ignoring the fact that Travolta is actually culturally recognized, somewhat, for singing: he was in Grease, and Saturday Night Fever, although I reckon he doesn't sing in that one. But I can't help view this through the Pulp Fiction lens, seeing a pudgy, greasy, older and less dignified version of Travolta cooing his way through an album of 70s-era cuts. Reading these books on drugs and our so-called 'cultural amnesia,' I can see in full effect the nuggets of gold our society somehow leaves behind. Perhaps, my friends, sometime in the future, a record review of John Travolta's Can't Let You Go.

As A Side Note: While rifling through a box of more expensive records (some of which I question why they cost so much), I came across a Batman record. Seriously!? A batman record? I didn't know he was making music, either! You think Adam West was belting out some tunes in his time??