Alfight, now I have returned to writing things. However, I also need to return to sleeping. So much returning! I’m glad I don’t have to rewind first.
I am drawing stuff. Progress is slow. You know how that goes.
page 6, down there somewhere, of that.
I tried to remove bits of this conversation that don’t make sense but I left in parts that are out of character. In either case it is easier to get away with childish writing when it is accompanied by childish drawings. However, I have no intention of getting away. Even in my dreams I know: I’d never get away, not even for a day when… a peanut hits me on the nose.
Aw baw, those green bricks look like the backgrounds in Alfred Chicken. That is NOT GOOD. Even though the only bearable thing about that game were its incidental colorful environments, I’d rather not think about it for any reason. Hopefully my musical score won’t be similarly evocative.
I expect to have a thing for Saturday. I expected it Thursday, but I know not to really expect something until the third day I expect it.
Here are some notes I wrote to remind me what to work on when I wake up. I thought you might be interested in them, too, so you can also work on it.
clean up pumpkin
adjust fallen box
NUMBER HERE more clear
mip frame coat shadow and yellow feet
better line than “away for repairs?”
point frame bigger kumq
NO frame leftover paste erroes
“Purging sexual predators from facebook and myspace, that story is next, at 6.”
Wasn’t that supposed to have happened four years ago? By this point I think myspace IS a sexual predator. It was already a functioning operating system predator and the hunt can only stay exciting for so long.
This Tiger Woods billboard would be creepy even if he wasn’t the subject of a popular and prolific adultery scandal. Also: my biggest problem with wrist watches was always that they were uncomfortable and hard to not constantly think about when I had one on. Making the device bulkier and insisting that I restrain my applicable thumb with it seems apart from the solution.
According to this page, the Heuer Taggers discontinued the ad before I ever saw it, which makes me suspect that the Branford Jewelers had to pay a sizable royalty to use this picture and can’t afford to buy one with somebody else on it. They can’t afford this because nobody wanted to buy the creepy leero humpfiend giant time piece that you wrap around your hand. I’m not saying that it’s absolutely credible that every single woman who suddenly a month ago remembered Tiger Woods did a sex with them once is being truthful, but other people might, if they would otherwise be fickle enough to buy a largely obsolete piece of technology that’s not even sold on the basis of its function just because some guy who does stuff to a ball got paid to wear one the wrong way.
The rough weather we’ve had lately and the exaggerated lighting of the photograph used on the sign not matching very well the natural sunlight around it make Mr. Woods look like a different professional athlete, and that only worsens matters, I think. At least, I thought that at first, but the plausibility of a tabloid story accusing Don Flamenco of having sixteen mistresses is decidedly less, never even mind the likelihood that these classy ladies might voluntarily come forward and say “yeah, I did ‘im. You wanna make something of it?”
This reminds of a kid named Gary that I went to [special] school with. Actually, it reminds me of Ryan, but it was Gary who actually said the thing I was thinking of. When he felt he was challenged he would always accuse “are you starting with me?” and in the same class was a kid named Ryan who was likely to respond “you wanna make something of it?” Ironically, despite Ryan being my nemesis and Gary being my friend, Gary was the one who got a copy of WURM: Journey to the Center of the Earth for his birthday because I saw it in Nintendo power and thought that I would enjoy a game about making some lady run around in a cave kicking things and so would other people. My other choice was Earthworm Jim but it cost about 40 dollars more and my mother didn’t want to pay for it but the only things I liked were video games. And the course of the world was forever altered.
The watch-maker folk, Tag Heuer, by the pie, is not to be confused with Taghor, the dwarf warrior you who joins your huddle of adventurers on floor 5 in Eye of the Beholder. Seriously, that’s not even close. I can’t believe you, sometimes.
Don’t try and change the subject. I said I was serious, now.
Well alright. We can discuss this matter some other time.
WILL YOU LET IT DIE, MAN!
I thought: I can get away with 15 frames because this “scene” is mostly talking, mostly by the same creature, myself forgetting that before the end I’d have crazied it up with distracting lsd backgrounds. I would like to be part of an anti drug program, for the part where you explain how illicit substances destroy a user’s brain cells. You would show the caffeinated spider’s web and then this comic page. We won’t tell the kids that the worst thing I ingested was a barrel of snack mix. Maybe if I get famous I will be able to hire an assistant to undraw backgrounds for me. Fortunately, this issue has totally distracted me from the list of problems with the page I was initially going to list here. After doing them this time, I had momentarily become terrified that my character drawings were becoming more troublesome than the backgrounds, but in the end the backgrounds came through and reaffirmed themselves as the bigger nuisances and all was as it should be. Howdy.
Hey, I wonder… You don’t think…
I worry I may have more in common with that spider than I thought.
Yes, I actually did it.
I screwed your brains out I bought the 30 ounce JAR of Utz snack mix. I know it says “party” mix, but I don’t go to parties, and when I do there’s never stuff like this there. This is what I stay home and eat while other people have parties. This is my meth. That may not even be so far from the truth; Judging by the way it is sealed, this stuff is apparently prescription strength. Although the side label professes the presence of 30 servings, one per ounce, I reckon I can have this finished in under a week. Hopefully I won’t have to. I will give it my list of demands in short time.
Officially, it is a “barrel,” but anybody who’s played enough video games knows that barrels often contain life sustaining, fully cooked, nonrotting foodstuffs (occasionally on plates), and while edible, what I have is not quite food. Beside that, suggesting that I can eat the entire contents of a BARREL makes me seem like a fat glutton. My metabolism is too fast for that. I am a moderately skinny glutton. I have a physical appearance accurately described as “salvageable.” Come back when I’m thirty [years old]… If I’m still there, eating utz party mix alone, stop me.
Donkey Kong would not throw Utz Party Mix at Mario. Monkey Donkey would not… no, actually we could be on to something. It is a shame that the only web page documenting this phemonemonemon is over ten years old. Clearly it is a relevant, pressing, depressing issue.
Look at that, just while I was here talking to you. I would weigh the remnants, but my scale is broken. No, not because I stood on it, narf narf. I was merely incidentally mentioning that I own a scale which does not function. Why don’t I throw it away? Why don’t you throw it away? Am I on trial here? Fleeps, lemmelone!
This jarrel, though very orange inside, does not contain cheeseballs. Tell us about the cheeseballs, Utzy.
I reckon you’ll pay more attention to the weather once acid rain starts pouring out of those bright orange clouds.
Those are not the famous Planters Cheez Balls… I know Planters’ are famous because one person uploaded this picture to the flickr and google images turned up the exact same picture of the same obsolete package design with the same sickly, faded colors and the same dented paper on numerous sites that had ripped it off, sometimes with site logos and bonus jpeg artifacts, most not bothering to have searched the “all sizes” link and just went with the 280×500 pixel preview. Somebody had even re-uploaded the smaller one to a different flickr page (to make it even flickier). To distinguish my own ripoff from the others I will put it through a really stupid series of filters that I have never once used seriously in a decade of owning Paint Shop Pro 6.
But that is not important. What is important, to me, about Cheez Balls, is that they have Mr. Peanut pictured on the cans. MR. PEANUT CONTAINS NO CHEESE. Neither do cheez balls, but MR. PEANUT ALSO CONTAINS NO CHEEZ. Mr. Peanut is not qualified to act as spokesman for any cheez product, balls or otherwise.
I could make a childish remark about how the most common cheez incarnations are the ball and the doodle, but I wouldn’t be able to commit to it and would present it as a shameful yet courageously suppressed inclination and pretend it was your fault instead. You should work on that.
Cheez is also frequently seen in the form of the -it, about which the less said, the usual.
According to legend, the planters phased out Cheez Balls because
they didn’t sell anymore they were unhealthy. You don’t get into the snack business is to sell people cheap to manufacture trash which they don’t need to be eating. Because you’re a nitwit with no head for business matters. But I tell you, there are worse things in this world than cheez.
I give you chiz. And you’re welcome.
Some people, as in: more than one, talking about cheez balls on the internet, say the balls were discontinued in 2006. Suddenly! A page from 2008 documents a person finding them in a store! Great piggly wiggly! But, you know, they’re CANNED. And the cans are sealed. Those things are probably from 1998. There’s a reason people fill their bomb shelters with cans apart from being lunatics. Even if the balls are NOT fresh you’ll never know because those things will make you sick under any circumstances. Not that one needs the help with this visual accompaniment. I can tell you that if there IS a nuclear war… and the only things in your shelter are cheez balls… then you probably caused the war by hoarding them! I can’t believe you sometimes!
We would like to apologize in advance for the overabundance of exposed pectoral and thereabouts imagery in this moderately mediocre page update, but we went way over-budget on regret last year and the boss has requested that why try to keep that sort of thing to a minimum for now. So watch out. Also, the fiend pictured above is not the boss. It’s not employed, either. Whoever let it in here will soon also not be.
Getting dressed, however, will take another month. This fellow may even have sold his clothing for more abs, as the rack of garments, in addition to his extensive collection of facial expressions seems to have been removed between the two pictures. “Abs” being an abbreviation of “abdominal partitions,” which people wish to have as many of as possible for some reason. I reckon you could get the same effect by tying strings tightly around yourself and not removing them for a year, sort of like when you wear the same sock for too long.
Is there something wrong with me for thinking that sort of grotesque muscling is unpleasant in appearance and almost sort of gross? That guy looks like he has a skin-eating disease. He looks like a xenomorph. It’s not as bad as comic book art, where everything is outlined in black and is visible through all clothing, as if the curious costumes are stapled directly to peoples’ stomachs. That is not a factor in this situation, however, as this man owns no shirts, and we thankfully cannot see his legs.
In some cases, such as with the Bat-Man, special suits can be acquired which are muscular even when they aren’t in use. It is a proprietary technology of Wayne Enterprises which involves use of a special machine that coats the material in miniature tic-tac-toe boards.
Thank me for not showing their whole bodies. Or even better just curse me less for everything else I’ve ever done. No, no, please forget that. I know when I’m asking too much.
I made a brief, futile attempt to figure out, for drawing purposes, how the things work a while back and an alarming number of the exhibits I encountered online featured uniformly stripped away skin but didn’t bother with the eyes, even though tho tho those are organs and not muscles. And you might contribute that it would look more creepy without the eyes, and that I have no reason to assume that other organs are not also included. Why do you insist on making things more difficult for me? This is hard! Maybe if the creeple people didn’t look totally content with the situation I would be less bothered… It almost seems normal for them. Perhaps it’s a “Data from Star Trek” sort of contentment, in the absense of standard emotions, but that’s the most unsettling of all.
The right one looks like Data, I mean.
The left one looks like Deacon “Dave” Batistor of the wuh-whee wrestling federation, whose inarguable use of growth supplements may well indeed have shriveled his testicular units to g-rated muscle chart illustration level visibility, who also only has a limited quantity of facial expressions and is not fond of proper dress, but he doesn’t look as lifelike.
Or maybe it’s “the” Brock Lesnarbert, formerly of the WWE and currently of the Ultimate Fighting Guys-on-ground-not-moving Federation. I think my point is that I wish I didn’t know who either of them were.
This one, while not QUITE as creepy, proves they can be aware of my presence and I fear it may alert the others. Many appear to have hair, also. It’s not Slim Goodbody afro hair, but it still shouldn’t be there. As long as they’re awake and aware of the situations, they ought to put some clothes on. Even the ones with discrete lumps in specific areas rather than uh. Covering their muscular systems may render them unfit to serve as models of muscular systems, but I already implied that I gave up on my attempt to draw it properly (I implied this by uploading artwork in which it was evident I had not bothered to learn anything) that so they should leave me alone. I am a quitter because I’m afraid to be a loser. I decline to comment on how I feel about being a coward. But shark! What’s that I hear?
Ho ho oaf! Santa Claus finally accepted my steroid jelly beans on a plate! I knew if I kept my decorations up for another week something grand would happen! (though you might want to pass on the milk, pharma-culinary tradition aside) You need to put on mass, ya jingly twig!
All I want to do is eat.
I’ve witnessed some low and tacky attempts to get people to view a website before, but a newspaper promising the opportunity to watch actual kids die is new to me. Hence why it’s in the news paper, I suppose. And this is the New Haven Register,
but I think it ought to be held to SOME standard, if it wants its demise to actually be lamented when the only thing left is the CNN-style news it’s supposed to be better than. Still, it is, at least, not as bad as West Haven,
whose newspaper is apparently an ad that looks up my ip address to find out what towns I live near but is otherwise oblivious to matters of local interest. I think they should do some fact checking, though, since I am in Madison, and I can’t, anyhow, give much credence to breaking news that is a question. Can I? Get the story straight before you FLASH me, please. However, you see, it MUST phrase the headline/onlyline as a question because
it’s trying out for Jeopardy! google actually isn’t Hiring Americans To Work From Home and this, like every ad that’s ever appeared in its own window, is a trap of tricks. Implied untruths and and false representation of your business are a-cocaine, thankfully. I do praise it for finally figuring out what state I’m in;
I was getting annoyed at being associated with those weird, beard, fail-happy Alabama homeowners.
I do find it funny –and oh ho ho, how I laugh!– that WEST HAVEN, among other incorrect guesses, is the town it goes with to appeal to me. West Haven is the trashiest town in Connecticut. EAST Haven, home of the discarded McDonald’s bags and shopping carts-in-marshes, at least has Tweed Airport in it so if you steal enough wallets you may be able to afford a ticket to a real airport from where you can imagine you might go somewhere nice one day. This here… is Chicago, near Midway Airport. I took pictures here specifically because it reminded me of West Haven (despite it being superior by virtue of the exit station). Low buildings with voids behind them, overgrown fenced lots with no apparent function, absence of non-homeless pedestrians because the only active businesses are gas stations… the sort of things that make one glad to only be passing through. I know this is Chicago, though, because I remember seeing lots of billboards for “The Princess and the Frog” while I was there, which no town in Connecticut is worth outbidding creationism enthusiasts for the attention of. No, I don’t have a picture of that, but try driving through Meriden sometime. Considering how they feel about apes, I reckon they wouldn’t cotton to the idea of people evolving from frogs.
Chicagaw, though, and I can’t think why, has ad space to spare. So, anyway, there’s a guy with a purple hat and a gap in his teeth. He is the princess. And so the fat alligator with a trumpet must surely be the frog, because those are the only two characters I recall seeing on the signs.
Here is a sign with a frog, in Connecticut, outside Ocean State Job Lot, which is like the equivalent of a Wal Mart brand Wal Mart. Christmas Tree Shop[s] laugh[s] at Ocean State Job Lot. Job Lot laughs right back, though, since people actually steal from there. Ocean State Job Lot is not to be confused with Big Lots, though I’m sure it wouldn’t mind and neither would notice. Ocean State Job Lot doesn’t have the endorsement of megastars like Coach’s Jerry Van Dyke. Just frogs.
Such an honor! Anyone would feel like a princess.