This year’s hope is coming picture.
Tracey Sullivan, the race-runner, opted for a less chaotic setup that better reflects what the money actually goes to: holistic treatments for hospital patients. The hoofed creature here is applying some manner of hand-wavy therapy called Reiki and not in fact contemplating strangling the reptile. I added the dorks behind the trees without asking or being asked to just to make it amusing for myself.
Due to cost matters, the color total was reduced. Since idiots are cheap I was able to keep them all in there.
This was the first sketch. It had, to me all the important elements: the number of years we had been doing it and something bad about to happen. I may miss the point of “hope.” Also of Roman numerals because before I sent it I wondered why I had written eight instead of seven and erased one of the columns, and after sending it realized I had in fact written seven the first time, and that is now said six, and drew the last column back in. And then I told this story and realized it made more sense if I erased the column anew.
It was at this point that Tracey asked me if I could draw someone in a hospital bed receiving reiki.
It was a good question!
I looked up pictures of “reiki” on the internet, and mostly found mildly abstract pictures of hands with explody light coming out, so it seemed reasonable to assume that it was a destructive and chaotic force. However, in the end I was asked to use my upper left design, where nothing was happening! The bottom sketch shows that I still could not help myself and tried to insert trouble into it, but in the end I kept it rather simple, which was probably for the best since I would not want to upset someone so dangerous.
I also deemed depicting reiki being done with a rake, as it is pronounced as if it is, as too obvious.
This was in a previous entry, when I got temporarily on to the topic of passive acceptance of victimhood, but it was not meant to be the primary topic, but it was very boring. I will surreptitiously insert it here immediately before I post something slightly more interesting, so that I can know I posted it without worrying that anybody might have read and been bored by it.
Shia LaBeouf, during a performance art piece in which he would not speak, and his collaborators who arranged the exhibition report that LaBeouf was raped during the performance. By someone who had already been “whipping” him for ten minutes, and there were lots of people around, and the whipping raping psychopath was allowed to escape afterward. Am I supposed to accept that not speaking in the name of “art” is more important than calling for help, trying to protect yourself from trauma, or are people so terrified of appearing critical that they won’t ask for additional details that will make this seem less ridiculous? Did the person have a gun, even though there were guards checking for that? Was there a threat first? Piers Morgan is a jackass. His sentiment is not mine. There is no excuse for raping, I should not need to say that. And he also spoke from the perspective of inherited outrage, because that is also popular: to be the first to get offended on behalf of another party*.
But you might as well have a performance art project where you stand in the Lincoln Tunnel and then lament your plight that somebody in the world was mean enough to not drive around you. Morgan himself, on Morgan’s own tv program let Alex Jones yell at him for 20 minutes. They are both jackasses that deserve each other.
The first article ends by suggesting that LaBeouf did not get police involved because he was ashamed the he couldn’t defend himself and so kept the story to himself, except he didn’t because two other “artists” on the scene knew something was up and we know about it now well within the statute of limitations.
Is the word “rape” the problem? If we say the woman whipped Monsieur TheBeef for ten minutes, then stripped off his clothes and dumped a vat of pudding on him without raping, then would we be allowed to think that silently letting somebody do that to you, and then silently not telling your co-dorks that somebody did that, is peculiar? We have a fear now of discussing rape that we don’t have with murder, even though murder is worse.
It is not easy to sit in a room for hours, not knowing what people are going to do to you. But if you do it on purpose because you fancy yourself an “Artist” then I have difficulty feeling sympathy. Conversely, I have no sympathy for artists who put in no effort at all. Art is pretty stupid. It is one of our great fame lotteries. How many gimmicky boneheads have we made millionaires out of just because nobody with money will acknowledge that everything they do is ugly?
Rachel Dolezal, who famously passed herself as being of African descent when she was not: I have no problem with her identifying with another culture more than the one she was born into. I have a problem if she invented fake hate crimes against herself so that she could publicize that they occurred. It means she wants to be black because she finds glamour in being of a discriminated-against social class. She wants to be a victim.
She was initially discriminated against, while openly-white, because people THOUGHT she was blackish. Society laughs at that sort of claim, I think unjustly, and so Dolezal redevoted her life to accruing discrimination she could get sympathy for. We raise people to seek exploitable victimhood.
Gorf it took me two weeks to get remotely comfortable with posting this, and in that period I have added a further portion that I once again am not sure I want to post, and am so deferring for later consideration. That is life. Except I explicitly concluded it by saying I was not going to write any more depressing entries, and so until I post that depressing entry I have nothing in place to prevent me from writing more.
so is earnestly trying to appreciate wrong-headed remakes for stuff that worked without being remade, so I can at least swear off doing that.
Because a showdown can occur in any location at any moment.
(filmed on-location in Portable Texas)
You might possibly have encountered this older version.
I wanted to touch it up for printing, but I had some issues with the background. First of all, it does not demonstrate Portable Texas well to show it being used in a Texas-like environment.
Also, it was from a period when I was obsessed with creating the impression of otherworldliness through the color-shifting of commonplace things, until I got around to coming up completely with non-common things. So grass became yellow, tree trunks became blue, rocks became purple and all that. But these were not necessarily aesthetically pleasing, since all natural objects have a flow to them that my arbitrary shifts lacked, and in fact real grass can be yellow, real tree trunks can be blue and real rocks can be purple, given the proper circumstances and lighting. So it just looked like I had no grasp of light. On this occasion I seem to also have decided that cactuses should be red, even though I already shifted another green object to yellow, so the ugliness was not even consistent, and that desert rocks were green, so that people would just assume I was taking a lazy shortcut to drawing grass, because nobody else would know that I only drew YELLOW grass. I cannot trust people to do their research so those needed to go!
The original probably is funnier, because the more I work over a drawing, the less sincere positive energy it has, but at least less people will think I do not know how to draw grass.
Without even reading this story (and I did) I see the real problem.
Maybe I am so far out of The Loop that I no longer realize there is a loop and am unprepared to defy gravity going around it, but why is it expected that a Zelda game should provide a female hero? Apart from Wand of Gamelon, one never has up to this point. Many series do provide them, but it is not a reasonable expectation that everybody now do that. This is not like restaurants having clean restrooms; it is a made up waste of time. A female chief executive or president might be revolutionary, and take steps that a man never would, but a video game character still obeys the whims of the developers, who are still mostly men.
I suppose the difference is that this is supposedly a customizable character beyond just the red link, blue link and original recipe link in the picture, but considering the childlike figures and Diana Prince circa 1968 outfits, I would still say testosterone isn’t what’s winning the war here. if you had told me those were female links, I could not have challenged it. You can claim the Link in the first game is female, since the art is vaguer and nobody in the game indirectly refers to the hero. You could claim Megaman was female were it not for the second half of his name. Obviously if Capcom were to designate a female Megaman it would have long skinny legs, alluring facial features and hair flowing out of the helmet even though as a robot it is neither male nor female
And I would say that misses the point, if there is one, which there might not be. I think hyrule’s hero could very easily be designated female, but it wasn’t, and oh well.
Nintendo’s original female hero, Samus, was stripped of her armor and sent out into space dressed like an aerobics instructor/mermaid (depending on the in-game time taken) the second the reveal was made, because we really cannot trust male game developers to develop a female hero that is not a tightly-bound sex object. I am not saying “give up on female heroes,” just to treat the ones we have better and not take an affirmative action approach to making new ones. I am sure our noble fan-artists can “fix” any that they find inadequately-insufficiently-covered afterward.
This reminds me of the situation around Game-I’ve-Never-Heard-of-With-Nine-Sequels-#739 where people were disgruntled that the game did not permit homogayxual relationships.
Does the mii system even let you choose to be neither? I bet it doesn’t. That would mean no personal representation in ANY game that used them. Although again I would probably never play any of those games, and if I did I would rather my figure look like someone else. Still hardly ideal, but it is my own problem.
I think gay people have a right to complain about lack of representation, and in many ways their fight is my fight, but I do not have a huge heap of sympathy on this one. I do in the sense that it seems like this would be a basic thing to change and to have it not changed is frustrating, but I can handle if it never is changed, and it probably will be anyway.
And if you got through that, it was probably the first time anybody read it. You get popular on tumblr either by being widely liked or widely hated. I am too angry to be liked but not angry enough on the right topics to be hated. I know of somebody who gets regularly abused for having an uncommon sexual preference, but he also responds passively to the abuse as he posts the evidence. You get support online by looking weak and exhibiting your weakness. The dominant culture thinks this is enough; criticizing a consciously weak person for not taking any step in the direction of self-defense is “victim-blaming” and worse than actual abuse.
Then a long interlude here about Shia LaBoeuf that got too complicated but it ended with pudding. If you looked at the page Wednesday afternoon you ideally did not see it and cannot confirm that.
I used to let scumbags push me around on [every] forum [I used between 2002 and 2007] and I hate myself for it. “Oh you’re gay because ha ha you’re gay fag smiley face.” They would say this when I had usernames like “cupcake” and used a butterfly for my avatar, thinking “gay” is a good insult.
I stand up for myself and explain my points in detail and that’s not a fun reaction for anyone to read so they give up. My personal ambiguity leads to tiresome situations but is ultimately not interesting enough for anyone to try and victimize deliberately. Now this here seems like it wants to present me as a victim because it might seem like I imply someone else’s situation is easier, but I am GLAD I don’t respond passively to antagonism. I am glad people don’t think I will let them tear off my clothes and dump pudding on me. That remark no longer makes sense now that I have removed the interlude I mentioned earlier.
And my existence needs some work but I am glad I don’t need an imaginary human on a computer screen to be said to do sex a certain way to validate it. While you have a gay pride parade I will have an ambiguous repressed sexuality shame walk inside my house that I am afraid to leave in the daytime. My skin burns easily. When I go out I cover my vulnerable regions instead of cursing the sun.
More to the point I probably need to make real friends and be less aware of ones who play video games all day every day and then chain-complain about aspects of them that really aren’t important. A multiplayer Zelda game would necessarily have most of the depth cut out of it, and a “life-simulator” isn’t a game at all so I welcome people to be dissatisfied with them for any reason they can get, and so give up playing them faster.
And then get back to drawing absurd fanart for better games.
And a gay man drew that.
page 39 redrawn from the first part of that
This one has been too-long coming. I drew it differently than the other pages I have been redrawing, where I vectorized and upscaled the line-art. This one had no lineart to vectorize, rather some scribbly experimental technique that while not totally hideous, it was partially so, especially since I changed how I did it halfway down the page, and I dropped it immediately, but never bothered to bring it in line with the pages around it, so I had to redraw it fresh, so it STILL looks out of place, just not as jarringly. There are a few more pages coming where I tried to use pencil lines but I at least used solid colors and less heaps of limbs and so interpreting them should not take nearly as long.
You are no longer a misguided self-insertion so that doesn’t help!
As I suggested a few years ago, my experience with hotel morning food has not generally been positive. I never had a free complimentary continental breakfast where I imagined I might pay for the service were it not free. I like orange juice, in differing doses depending on the quality, and muffins (not as much as some people), but doubtlessly this is covered by the room fare to some degree and therefore not truly free, and I have need for the presumably more expensive items that are usually not included anyhow.
Yar ho har tee hee har, a waffle machine! Waffles are good, right? I liked the freezer-borne Eggo variant of my bygone days slightly less than Pop-Tarts, but those were not FRESH BAKED! Apparently you can call something fresh baked when the waffle batter itself is prepared, probably from a frozen mix, and dispensed sickly from a tube, because I put the sickly batter into the machine and oversee its operation myself. You get to lie to me about freshness and give me an errand at the same time! How fresh.
Notice that illustration for steps 1 and 2 on the diagram are exactly the same, so that without another person demonstrating I might think I only need to turn the device part way. That is not the case. Thankfully there was another waffle machine beside this one, and another person came along to use it properly without any confusion whatsoever before I had stood in front of this one for four solid minutes waiting for it to do nothing.
The more detailed instructions provided by the hotel also only show the machine turned part-way. The WORDS say to turn it all the way, but gosh I’m only standing here for three-and-a-half minutes while my machine does nothing; I don’t have time to read all that. And if I had, I might have reached the end and noticed the word CAUTION followed by no more information, suggesting that the person writing the instructions succumbed to the force being warned against prior to finishing the warning, and I would have departed the premises with haste and cowardice.
But in my ignorance I persevered and opted for an undersized waffle. A waffle is the sort of food object that I need to look at before I commit to eating a large quantity of and also if I messed up the construction, I would not force myself to eat as much damaged food. My personal rule is that I must eat anything I make myself as long as I can do it without vomiting. Some part of me hates the other parts. I must work to thwart it without directly opposing it.
With that said, looking at this makes me sad in a way that a full waffle would not, regardless of whether I wanted to eat it. With THAT said,
These waffles should not be served on polystyrene plates, for I might confuse the two and bite the wrong one. My presumption is that the waffle is at least digestible, or capable of being expelled without uncommon internal damage.
It occurs to me that waffles are the sort of food that people get accustomed to covering with other gooply materials that are easier to make and of more uniform flavor. Therefore I am more likely to be victimized by a bad waffle. I am not an advocate for meat as a necessity at all meals, but in this case bacon would be essential to make this pleasant, since I dislike goop. Sausage is also acceptable under some circumstances.
not all circumstances. A self-serving station providing these materials was present, though I did not take a picture of it at the time, but its appearance was similar. I overheard a child’s voice speak nearby: “it looks life barf.” Again, not in all circumstances! Certainly, if you consumed it, your future barf would be similar in composition. But I suspected I could not eat it without vomiting, which would violate my earlier rule in addition to proving right the child I just corrected. I am a person of honor.
On future days of my tenure, solid sausage objects occupied the space of the barf-alike. I thought they were decent and functional but this website is no fun if I have a good time of anything. Website overrides honor. It is much better if I do not eat.
Better for my enemy! Oh were I only not so particular about food! What a hero I would be.
You know what, laughing at me doesn’t help. In fact it is quite hurtful. My self-deprecation is in jest and not an invitation for you to join in!
Oh how can I be cross with such a jolly fellow? I always have such a great time with drunk people and am sure history will regard him highly. When you have a name like “Dong” you have to be a nice guy to get through life or else you turn into somebody who digs up the bodies of people you don’t like so you can break their bones and toss them into the street.
I am sure it was a very pleasant and well-tended park!
Why is a regular baseball hat considered fashionable outside of sporting contexts, but I never see any non-baseball-players casually wearing the reinforced plastic version? This is much better defense if somebody throws a pine cone at you trying to knock off your stupid hat.
A crummily-constructed advertisement that conveys basic information and subtly implies the matter I addressed very non-subtly on the previous post that went on between when the picture was made and the lettering was added.
You are welcome to come, even if they are not! There is no reception; just show up if you feel inclined to and are in the area within the month. I assume you will not be, but that is alright since I probably won’t be there either! I drop stuff off and then the pictures are there. They have better social skills than I do.
Some times I wonder if somebody is out to get me, but is lacking for details about my life and so has to go about messing with it in an indirect fashion.
The situation at present is that I have an art exhibit of unprecedented size to set up on July 1. I intended to prepare 6-10 pictures I had not previously printed, most of which were near displayability, which I only seriously delved into last Saturday, believing a week-and-a-half plenty of time to finish so many near-finished things and also send them to a remote location for printing. My computer sternly disagreed and the following morning refused to turn on. This behavior was repeated on subsequent mornings and other distinct day-periods following. Instead of asking for a postponement of the exhibit opening or resigning myself to make do with the considerable quantity of art junk I already have ready, I had every intention of doing precisely what I set out to do prior to events which rendered it undoable, even though it was already barely doable.
Try to imagine you have an important engagement, or a terribly unimportant engagement that only seems like it is due to your utterly meaningless life, and your automobile explodes, melts, or otherwise becomes inoperable immediately before you are due for this engagement: in most cases, due to the isolation of your meaningless life, you will just have to not go, and deal with that. However, if your automobile melts but you have a seesaw-action minecart standing by, you might consider “I bet I could get there on the minecart” and then cause yourself more trouble trying failurely than you would have just accepting failure from the beginning and doing something else with your time. Also, along the way you have to let other people ride the minecart for a while because it is a popular minecart and the trendy little tricycles the people bought for themselves instead of getting minecarts are ultimately even less practical. And it’s your fault anyway since you never thought your car would melt and that you would need to use your minecart for anything serious and encouraged the people you are now complaining about to use it so that it was not wasted. Also I just remembered that you are trying to sell your garage andthe pieces of melted carrRRRRRRRRGH I’VE BEEN PUDDING’D And furthermore I must say your metaphor is rather hard to follow.
This picture actually does not prove anything. It is a laptop computer with the large empty front piece turned over. It looks more complicated than it is. Also, I do not advocate positioning a laptop computer on the top of your own lap since that can lead to back or neck strain. It is better to find someone taller whose lap you can borrow for the occasion.
All I did after putting the computer like this was slide out the hard drive, hidden beneath the lower right section, temporarily load the hard drive into the tiny computer lurking in the distance, whose own drive I removed to accomodate this act, booted it from a remotely adequate, somewhat judgmental version of linux, because it was the best my crummy internet could procure, off of a flash drive, and copied a few things from the hard drive to “work” with in a comparatively less inadequate version of linux that nonetheless lacked the ram quantities, screen size and bearable software I was accustomed to while I waited for a replacement computer more like my accustoms, generously provided by Mr. Pez of Springfield PC and Advanced Telemetry Systems, who also provded my previous units and advised me on hard drive swapping, that I could re-place the slid-out hard drive into, and resume with minimal issue. Well it seems complicated when you say it all at once like that.
You may have noticed that I described a number of things but used far fewer pictures than usual, and also put “work” between quotation marks, and further, have jumped from my usual unstated “six days without updates” minimum to seven. That ought to indicate to you that the situation has been just about as irritating as my implications and run-on sentences imply it might be, that would not be entertaining to read about with more specifics and punctuation added in. But if it does not then it probably is not a matter of great significance outside of my personal experience across the previous week. And golly feeble at least I didn’t get shot at. And yes the rumors I started are true: this website is on some level intended to be amusing.
I know sometimes it comes across like an inept assemblage of random details, however,
Find your name on a Coke. If you discover that your life suddenly has meaning where once there was none, well gosh, congratulations. That is much healthier than drinking the stuff. Why even bother selling a product, really? You are rather fortunate; when Donald Trump was your age, he could never find his name on a Coke, and I don’t think it was good for him. Bow hoydy am I topical! I admire Donald Trump. He says something crazy, and people laugh. I say something crazy, and people get legitimately worried, even though I do not actually have the fiscal resources to DO anything crazy. There is a man who knows his stuff.
My favorite kind of sharing is when I don’t actually have to, and these two agree. Although with their conspicuously perfect and plentiful teeth and just about full bottles, they do not owe their states of barely-human ecstasy to being Coke drinkers. Snorters, maybe. Or perhaps they derive their extreme enthusiasm from “sharing” the fact that a bottling plant printed statistically probable names onto labels, which is hypothetically impressive and a reason to purchase a single unit at a rate inflated beyond what multiple units would cost if purchased at once. It is actuality not.
It is however a perfectly valid reason to purchase cheapo signs to convey crucial information to Santa Claus. Otherwise he isn’t legally obligated to obey. Also, a vaguely religious figure with a long beard, unnaturally long life and weakness for fermented beverages who pals around with livestock? Santa IS Noah.
No, you should not. And the longer you ponder that, the greater the potential there is for hardship. The object could melt, or you could realize you are not biologically fit to grasp it, and drop it, or that you have your spectacles fastened under your ears instead of over. I imagine you have a frustrating and difficult life. Have you considered finding “Elephant” on a coke? I suppose it is judgmental for me to assume that this is Elephant and not Piggy just because it superficially resembles an elephant more than it resembles a pig. Who am I to say that “Piggy” must necessarily be pig-like in appearance? Just because people who advocate freedom to choose one’s name, gender, religion and whatnot act like you like you poisoned a reservoir if you want to change your ethnic identity? The figure IS wearing Piggy’s Specs, after all.