page 36, down there somewhere, of this.
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.
Tue’s day: I just realized I forgot to do the “alarm” color overlays as I did last time. Eh.
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page 34 of Aw Beans: A Beet Street High Seas Adventure Starring Lorna Doone and Dinty Moore
This one features some of the worst inking I’ve ever done. I’m really not getting any better at it. However, I am getting very good at wasting time/ink adding needless black shadow-lines that I have to remove after I scan the deal because it makes everything look burnt once it is converted from gray to black-and-white and actual color gradations are added. Whoopth.
The dimensions of that room and its relationship with the hallway continue to change. I grow weary of its rebellious ways and will tolerate them not much longer.
My scanner needs to be fixed/replaced, but this sort of thing hardly seems worth the trouble.
11-18-2009
I will be going to Chicago on Friday and returning to Not-Chicago on Monday. I suppose I should have told you sooner.
dopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopes
Now, I’m sure this is a GOOD can opener, but one accomplishes that merely by carrying out its stated, titular function of opening cans. Once the cantents have been exposed to our cruel, food spoiling air, there isn’t a whole lot to distinguish the very best there ever can be throughout all time from the merely adequate for right now. For all I know THIS is the best can opener ever. It provides every bit as much evidence to support the claim.
My old can opener was not as good. Do you know why? You will in a moment, unless you stop reading right around here, and I can’t blame you since I’m talking about can openers. My old can opener was bad because one of its gears and the plastic coverings for its handles broke off. Thus, it could not be used to open cans. This new one passes that basic test. Therefore it is an engineering miracle?
That sounds like a yes. And so, even if this wonder can-opening can opener ceases to exist and another inherits the position of best in the world, there will never, can never be another best ever. Why don’t you think about that.
Nevermind. You don’t need to answer. Unless you were going to, in which event I am curious as to how you might respond, but I suspect you weren’t going to, and so you need not even bother not minding. You need not even submit to the brain wave-eating machine.
Does anybody actually do this? Or does my lack of a left side right hand indicate that I am not meant to understand?
I gather that it also helps to carry a stove burner on one’s head. Perhaps this is a heat-off/bacony squiggle-off, a challenge at last to our foul robotic overlords’ claim that they can do everything better than us. I lament that my head cannot attempt such acts of valiance. Maybe in its earlier days, but now it has a torso and limbs to support. The one in the example is young and reckless, with, it thinks, nothing to lose. An all too common and all too tragic situation. But there is hope! Do not curse your condition! It is only natural! Do not make the mistakes so many others have!
The full story is that Regis Philbin doesn’t think he has enough money yet despite nearly fifty years of paid television appearances, supposedly having been filmed more than any other person, as certified by an Irish beer brewing company that is one of few enduring cultural presences older than Regis. As for Kelly Ripa, she also has a funny name.
Have you ever thought “gosh, I wish EVERYTHING I saw seemed like it was through broken venetian blinds?”
After taking this picture, I found out without wishing to from people I came across without wishing to that supposedly Kanye “my first name is in pig latin” West wears glasses like this, which makes them marketable. I wish an emulated-beyond-reason celebrity would take up a seriously bizarre bit of fashion. No more of this wrong colored band aid business, I’m going to wear a propellor beanie or a cardboard Burger King crown in public.
SPEAKING of cardboard burger king crowns…
First of all, skulls again! But at least they sort of make sense in the context of hats. That’s about the only thing they can wear besides glasses. But more importantly, on the left: I can’t tell if this is a retro trendy throwback $20 Hot Topic Burger King crown, or a free one that a recent classy mall diner just forgot about. Or perhaps an actual king on a really tight budget mistakenly left it here.
Tah! KING GRAHAM! Liege of Daventry, lore’s most destitute fictional monarchy. Despite owning a magical treasure box that CREATES gold (and leads to massive inflation, but we’ll discuss that some other time), a magical shield that is impervious to all perils, and a magic mirror, that, one assumes, he can see his own reflection in, King Graham still dresses like the Men without Hats (despite having a hat; this may just be to prove that he also can’t read) and regularly incurs fatal abuse in really stupid ways without much resistance. Sure, he always comes back to life, but that is a skill also common among many digital heroes who aren’t kings. Additionally, it is my guess is that through some means it will come about that Graham can’t win the game without his meat monarch crown, but he won’t realize that until much later.
It FIGURES King Graham is in league with dopes. But I tell you this: I download no roms from no dopes. I only went there for turbografx cd ISOs. The dopes were none the wise, much less wiser.
There is a reason nobody wears those anymore.
I cut from whatever direction I WANT. You cannot change my ways. Brainwashing and sending out the baby scissors to plead YOUR closeminded agenda is despicable. The baby will be spared, but you may just have sealed your own fate, and I will not be there to deperforate your way to freedom.
Well excyoooooooooz me!
Indexed search is an annoying thing. I could have used that ten years ago, when the real search was slow, but I finally own a computer in which the search isn’t slow anymore and I get this nonsense. Fuh. It was dealt with easily enough by various people, apparently. I wish Microsoft would make it more clear all the great and useful things its operating system is capable of doing. I shouldn’t have to type nutty things into google and hope some nerd spent a year changing every value in the system registry to see what happens and came across a solution (I will use Hotbot next time).
That didn’t work when I tried it, though. I will figure something out. Maybe index mode will surprise me with effectiveness.
I’m certain Macos has its benefits, but they aren’t of benefit to me, and I don’t feel like searching for them and possibly not finding them, besides. I have used some version of Windows for fourteen years. It does everything I need it to. I know how it works. I’m not hurting anyone with it. All my programs run in it (xp, anyhow). Provided I don’t share the computer with anyone else and the hard drive is adequately sized, the only problems I have are with third party software and the occasional entirely functional thing that Microsoft created but broke between versions or decided not to let me use for some reason, most likely to appease the ever growing amount of easily impressed, more easily confused whiners who have a hyperconniption if there’s ever more than one option presented to them, who will otherwise buy Apple systems and tell me I should, too. I’m not here to talk about this. Don’t make me talk about this. I haven’t researched it. I’ve merely gotten angry at it. I am here to talk about this:
I will NOT be screened for approval by dopes! dopes, I know. And I know I want no dopes.
This is NOT GOOD. In fact, it is quite bad. I might even call it terrible. What’s that? …Yes, it seems I would. Dah, dope! It is not permitted to be here, and yet… there it is. One way or another, it’s destination dumpster. Being slightly less creepy in appearance and corporate sponsorship than the wrinkled orange thing above you does not necessarily qualify you for existence, dope. The dope is qualified for few things outside the jurisdiction of my rage.
“THE” dope. It thinks it’s the only dope in the world! Such blasphemous arrogance and hubris! I WISH it was the only dope, but it isn’t. And if I could obtain wish fulfillment, I’d wish for NO DOPES, anyhow. I believe this can be accomplished in our lifetimes.
I EAT BEETS
(disclaimer: I do not eat beets)
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I thought it would be funny if I acted crazy and posted a psychotic rambling thing of obsessive details. I forget that this often comes across as legitimate crazy.
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Latest development: automated birth-day greetings from message forums I haven’t used in months that I’m not particularly active with when I do use them still aren’t cutting it. Robots, alas, still haven’t learned to love. Do they think I don’t know what they say about me when I’m not around? Do they think I don’t know who’s always trying to undermine my sanity by filling up my error box with broken links I fixed years ago?
If I said such a thing I’d only appear in silhouette, too. Years ago I wrote something to the effect that I did not understand why people abbreviated “Patrick” regarding this particular occasion. The full truth of the matter is that I hate it a lot. I hate the sound, I hate the look, I hate the needless informality that serves no purpose other than to be more hatable. I additionally hate all beef patties, I hate rice paddies, I hate Patti Mayonnaise, I hate pat-a-cake, I hate patios, and I only just kind of like Pad Thai. Patamon gets a special pass because it claims to be a “mokvwap,” which apparently I discovered (or at least invented the word for) without realizing.
Although This one is pushing my limit. And now that I think of it, I discovered dopes, too, and things only got worse after that.
That one at the top– who put it there? It clearly did not climb up there because it seems unaware that it is there. It also seems unaware that it is wearing a scarf. Why would it wear that? If it was capable of sensing cold there are other things it could wear before a ridiculous scarf became necessary. And the one in the middle — it thinks it’s so introspective, with its fingers all clasped up. It thinks it is smarter than other dopes! Guess what, dope: you’re still a dope! You’re just as dumb! You actually seem dumber because of your shallow attempt to appear smart. Who put a cape on it? Who created a dope-sized cape?! And why? Is this a means to distinguish it from the scarf dope? What would be the point? They’re both dopes. And the third one, it can’t read! Obviously! There is an arrow pointing this out, and were the dope not oblivious to all and also was able to read, it would know this. It has no comprehension of anything it sees. Yet it smiles. Why does it try to fool us? If you took the book from it, the thing would continue smiling. Who gave it the book? Was this just a bad book, or is there a person who truly has so little appreciation for literature as to render a work unfit for further distribution by letting a dope near it? Why have these specific, unusual fashion accessories also been targeted? What sinister, conniving, cowardly, unscrupulous fascist could possibly
Please don’t come over here.
On a final note, I have just the strength remaining before passing out from side effects of my Futile Rage Syndrome medication to observe that the bow tie creature’s once small and unintimidating ears have somehow expanded (though it still has no nose) to become the size dopes’ ears used to be , that position vacated as said dopes’ ears themselves inexplicably grew in size. I suppose it’s not worth asking whose fault that is. Not without arranging to have myself temporarily locked in a room lacking sharp edges first.
The comedy central channel keeps running promopes for its ROAFT of Lawrence Cable Gentleman. I thought I had a slanderous thing written about him that would be important to get in before a heavily advertised insult show, regardless of whether I intend to watch it (I don’t!), but it’s evidently pretty basic. If it was complete and had a point I suppose I would have put it here already.
People think Dan Whitney is insincere and phony not because he appears in movies, bad movies, as Larry The Cable Guy, but because he’s Larry The Cable Guy as whatever the character in the movie is. They just don’t realize it. It’s like when you have the cast of Tiny Toon Adventures AS the cast of Star Wars, or the cast of Muppet Babies AS the cast of Star Wars, or the unendurably enduring cast of The Simpson AS the cast of Star Wars AS the cast of Monopoly*. It just seems less than valid. The flanlike Family Guyites actually had a full length “movie” that was somehow for sale where they were the cast of Star Wars. And Larry’s not making fun of bad movies, either. He’s just making bad movies. I have to think this may lead to serious psychological problems, for him, if it hasn’t already. He must know the movies are bad, and maybe he thinks
*the unsettling corporate synergy of the Robot Chicken Star Wars Episode Part 2 eludes inclusion in this sentence due to not making use of a specific nonexistent “cast.”
And if he did drop all the fat points, these non-typical results legally required to be presented as non-typical results were supported by an additional incentive of getting paid heaps of dollars to appear in the ad for the product. Us proles without personal trainers to keep us on the program and make sure we also eat
Oh, I see. I forgot that Chowder Pot III, my favorite least favorite local restaurant, now offers call ahead seating. I just hope a pot will be enough. You may want the Chowder Cauldron, Mr. Guy.
I already eat my own food! I’m not going to pay you dollars to let me continue doing that! My own food. Yes, I imagine obesity is rarely a concern among the section of the populace that sustains itself by stealing pies off of window sills. Haaa ehhh. I think these things only ever required people to buy special food so that at some point the requirement could be dropped and made to seem like a special privilege.
I try not to insult overweight people as a group (really!). Fats are one of the precious remaining groups about whom cruel jokes are socially acceptable forms of discrimination, along with nerds, gays and hill folk. Which possibly explains how they’re so easy to get laughs with. However, it is my personal goal to make every task as difficult as possible for myself. I only hope this is as hard for you to read.
But! I eat many horrible things and owe my scale stability mainly to an overactive metabolic processing system. I expect one day soon it is just going to stop and i’ll look like a mancubus within a month.
And it only gets worse from there. You may be surprised to learn that there are worse things than living in hell and being regularly gunned down by little men in green suits and your co-residents. You could be so out of shape that you can’t lift your otherwise incredibly useful metal, handless arms to swat a dope off your head.
Do you get the impression I didn’t draw that with the expectation that I would be showing it to anyone? Or does the rest of this entry rule that out?
Oh schnozzle, is this another entry about that Fallon bloke? Hooray for us!
Do feel free to just look at the pictures and imagine what the tiny little letters are going on about.
Yeeah, I saw’d Jimmy Fallon, doing his things on the television show. Some stuff worked, some didn’t. Some stuff seemed to work that I hated a lot. And verily there were curtains and bands and suits and desks and clips. But one thing stood out to me as particularly indicative of why I should not continue watching the program, and it surprisingly had nothing to do with the frequent bits of product placement. I could give a bushel of Del Monte brand canned beets that the three items Mr. Fallon invited three audience members to lick in exchange for ten dollars across fifteen minutes in a showbituary with no other aspect called “Lick it for Ten” were properly identified by the gorky announcer. Really, it’s no worse than the Price is Right, which I also could never watch on a normal basis for reasons completely unrelated to its commercial cooperation (for example, were you aware that it is a game show about guessing how much stuff costs?). That junk’s only going to get more prevalent if we don’t want commercial breaks to get even longer. Somehow. I don’t know what is keeping television from going back to being entirely written by the sponsors. Not “integrity,” certainly. Anyway, that was the first show. The second was better. Still not great, but I don’t want it to be great because I don’t want to want to watch this. I just want it to be so unremarkable that I won’t remark upon it again.
But! My justification for bringing up this topic. On the Friday show there was a food preparation segment and it ended with Mr. Fallon having constructed an edible object. It has been my understanding that the whole point of cooking bits on these shows was that everything went wrong and that it was fun to see how they could go wrong, in contrast to the typical outcome of the chef guest’s own television programs (naturally, there’s no reason to speak on tv to a chef who has no tv show). More basely, it is fun to play around with food. I don’t like seeing edible items get wasted, but realistically one must assume that regardless of outcome most of that stuff is getting thrown away as garbage whatever happens.
But that’s the best kind!
Curiously, one of the promotional ads that appeared prior to the show’s daybew depicted just such a mistakeful occasion. The woman on the left, who the nbc.com file name informs me is the domestic cyborg 215_RACHAELRAY_001, has a run-in with a wizard who magically transforms her into a flaming stunt-person who is too embarrassed to face the camera. No such sorcerial chicanery took place on the actual broadcast, alast. And despite the goggles not even a simple Family Double Dare physical challenge dared break out. Just a couple affluent goofs clinging classes together while watched by millions of pitiful proles.
Although I mentioned not being bothered [more than I usually am] by the sponsors, I couldn’t help but notice that when I looked up the internet version to get the illegal pictures that it was accompanied by full-screen Subway Restaurants ads with a banner aftertaste and Jimmy actually spoke “subway eat fresh” before he bit into the thing he was biting into (and then he pimped his own website). A joke, perhaps, but the best joke for a situation is never a current marketing slogan for a product roughly equivalent to the object you see before you. Earlier in the week Craig Ferguson, who I have been watching again because I felt about about the way I dismissed him two weeks ago even though there is no logical reason that I should since it’s just a dumb tv show that has no feelings, had his own needless chef guest who prepared little hamburgers and I am certain that at no point did it as much as occur to Mr. Ferguson to state “I’m lovin’ it!” or some other related meat-mash market mumbling.
Everyone knows the Scottish hate the British. Truly tragic, because, as a helpful person reminded me, Scotland is part of Great Britain.
I have no problem with the idea of cooperation, and if put into such a position I would also likely attempt to follow the foodmaster’s instructions, just because I do so hate trouble (Not even complimentary popomatic bubbles can change that). But I would never be given a show like this! But if the world broke and I was, and I still wasn’t willing to mess stuff up just to amuse people, I would at least look over the items on the table during the preceding commercial “break” and try to think of some stuff to say about it, secure in my knowledge that watching people make food is kind of boring, and upsetting in additional ways for people who will not have any part in consuming it. I suppose I really do owe it to them to sabotage the situation, even at the risk of having a man dressed like a buccaneer yell at me. And beside all that I have to imagine that not quite having his expectations met by a culinary amateur is less of an insult to a legitimate chef de cuisine (I’m assuming) like Mario Batali than is comparing his work to a Subway product.
The Tonight Show W/ J. Leno, January 19 2009: Jimmy Fallon films his own head for “webisodes” despite multple stable professionally operated official NBC cameras already filming him better. It should be noted that he said “webisode” at least seven times so it is safe to assume he has reviewed the terminology and found nothing wrong with it.
You, world, never got me to say “podcast” or “blog,” I suspect webisode will meet a similar fate. Specifically: everyone else disregards my protests because my opinion actually has no bearing on anything.
Look, he has the preview thing open despite not being able to view it. Decadence!
Do we really need two annoying, internet video dependent desk show hosts who call themselves “Jimmy?” Can’t one be James or Seamus? At least the two Craigs agreed to work in shifts and only one insisted on “Craiggers.”
Do we also truly require more videos of just immobile heads in little boxes saying stuff at us? Is anybody really so entranced by mouths? I put up with that during my first half in King’s Quest V and Faxanadu, but shouldn’t we have made some progress since then? All we’ve succeeded in doing is making the heads larger and needlessly better animated. I’m weak of mouths.
Of course I wasn’t expecting to be “friends” with somebody named GPSHyphenFitness, but I get so few “friend” notices, even junkety ones, that I always look over their pages with the slightest, most naive hope that maybe this ambiguously named entity I’ve never heard of really does want to be me best pal. Perhaps, even if it is a robot, it is just as lost and confused as I am. And maybe I really did in fact know a bunch of Russian live-journal users and I just forgot about it. But anyway, whatever disappointment I deserve for my foolishness, it ought not to come in the form of this human fragment yelling at me about fitness the instant that section of the page finally shows up. If you want to sell me on fitness but really just don’t have the space to pan out, at least show me an arm or something. All this proves is that your clothing is starting to merge the frame.
If he doesn’t want me to see his Slim Goodbody suit, he should have worn something else.
Hello.
Hey hey, somehow Jay Leno mentioned “you got married since the last time you were here,” sending Jimmy into a totally spontaneous rehearsed bit about the crazy characters you meet at weddings! Which required him to stand up and walk across the stage several times as different people his mimicry skills were inadequate to distinguish. When this was done Mr. Leno asked if Mr. Fallon intended to deliver a nightly monologue, and yes! Jimmy does! He also stood up again, to give an example, and got bonus applause for standing up, and then proceeded to say much the same sort of things as in his pre-plotted interview. Only while standing.
How does Fallon expect to stand out after two hours of talk shows on his own channel, nevermind with more and more viewers straying from nbc anyhow, when he’s still relying on the same phony setups in his own guest appearances? He also mentioned that he plans to have a personal band and I’m past the point where I wonder if he’ll have a desk. How long before he acquaints himself with Electric Lincoln?
Jimmmmmy has said on several occasions that the band is called “The Roots.” Like this matters (although it is a better name than Toby). I’ve seen bands on these shows and they all do the same stuff: noisily waste time with varying degrees of tolerability. Mr. Ferguson forgoes one (though probably only for budget reasons), and while it does deprive him of a consistent on-set target for abuse, I don’t see why this necessarily needs to be a musician beside a bunch of other musicians who don’t get to say anything. Regarding strictly music-related matters, disregarding its necessity, as a home viewer I can’t tell the difference between live music and the other kind. As an in-studio audience member, however, I preferred the pre-recorded music because it wasn’t as loud.
Jimmy again, with Conan O’Brien, standing again, reading off a little card again. This occurred the night I was in the audience. It’s hard enough to pay attention to the designated chat space when you can see the whole room, why did they have to bring out a guy I had written annoyed things about before I had posted them? How am I expected to appreciate the parts that went well when it is necessary for the waiting website entry’s completion that I maintain a contrary attitude until then? Do you even think? Jim only said “webisode” once, though, so maybe there is hope yet.
Regardless, prior to then I assembled this totally unnecessary, overbloated sega cd-looking animated gif of Jay Leno tossing water on Mr. Fallon. After about the thirtieth time I watched it I started to feel bad about talking trash about Fallon, even though the act only happened once and Jimmily poutily swiped the mug off the desk afterward, almost hitting somebody with it. But maybe if I find film of every person who sort of bothers me suffering misfortune and I watch it a lot I will become a less complaintive person overall.
Be aware, however, that the dope is not a “person.”
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I spend a massive amount of time making things which have no purpose. Some of them I don’t even put here.
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Ohhhhhhhhhhh busybusybusy.
In memiriam
“Laeta,” the uninspired small smiling imp, violently, horrifically decapitated at the moment of its much awaited debut.
As to why, if the website knows the edges will be chopped off and precisely how much of them, it does not make a bigger point of informing the non-paranoid non-artists using its site of things like this, or why it can’t factor the chop space it knows to within less than an inch into what size stuff is printed at, eliminating the need for every user ever to deal with it, rather than just making some lazy psd file with a red border that nobody is told about unless they ask, it’s because business. This website is advertised in tiny little letters on every one of my cards.
Though never myself a great proponent of its merits, I was disappointed at “laeta’s” misfortune. However much punishment the creature may have deserved, this was too much. A lethal injection would have sufficed. Another injustice: the blue dope toward the picture’s center came out totally unharmed.
2000-2008
In other news, some amount of years ago, a mysterious human known now only as Uncle Uterus told me, concealed amongst other bits of helpful information, that “laeta bovis” was the Latin way of saying “happy oxen.” (this was back when “Latin” was a dead language spoken by dead Romans and not a marketing buzzword to make Spanish people think The Media at large gives a chimichanga who’s in their murals so that they buy tacky de-harmony’ed sped up remixes of Train singles) I assumed the first half was pronounced “lay eat uh” and that it would make a good name for a perpetually happy thing but it seems to me now that is probably incorrect, so it is for the best of us all the creature is deceased. There is no other way this name which I have never actually applied to it but in my mind and sometimes not even then could have been amended.
And that is it! It is that! I am done for the year! I look forward to several hours of rest.
Yes, well, we must be getting back to business soon.
I’m sick sick weak of hearing about the JD Power and Associates award. I don’t know how many are given out per year, but I hear about and see them in enough indistinct, ubiquitous car advertisings that I just assume every car automatically gets one and I don’t notice when one doesn’t brag about getting one, and they always brag about getting one. I probably have a JD Power and Associates award in here somewhere. The bow tie that won a blue ribbon probably won a JD Power and associates award. And that Motor Trend bent coat hanger award. The incomplete 1800s oil lamp award. As everyone knows, the Motor Trend award was created when some hobo in California started collecting Uri Gellar’s bent spoons out of local waste receptacles and taping them together and magically inherited all his credibility. I think if I buy that car the award should come with it.
The award is small yet in the ads it’s always bigger than the cars. It looks like the people are using the car to sell the award. There was one ad where some oaf drives a big dumb dumptruck car up a mountain and then hoists the award like it’s the lion king or something. Heyza, Not even a politically repressed zebra is going to bow before your shrapnel sculpture. It’s as if the car is trained idiot slut ladies and the award is Bud Lite. I don’t even know if beer ads like that are made anymore but if they were I assume that award would remind me of them. As pleasing as my sudden awareness of my lack of awareness of recent beer ads is, I know that they’ll live on as long as there are videos titled “FUNNY COMMERCIAL” because those almost invariably involve beer, cars, or objectified women in some way.
As far as I can tell, all you need to do to win that tag-sale Tinkertoy towel-rack award is to drive just any old dopey car up a hill or through a field. If I’ve been being shown the exact same driving filmage for the past twenty years of this happening I would not be surprised. I would even be relieved; I hate to think of all the gasoline that’s wasted sending dumb cars to and all over Missouri just because a trendy motorist threw dumpster trinkets at them.
Motor Trend, whatever that is, –as far as I can tell the only trend is to shove that award at me– may have given your car an award, but it didn’t have to deal with THOOM THOOM, THOOM! your awful ads. I think citizens should be allowed to revoke awards from winners who are too proud of them. That applies to you too, Forrest Gump. I won the Kind of Good Artist award at school in 1990 and you don’t see me floating that over the chroma key. Indeed, I reckon you don’t see me at all. And I’ve just realized that I don’t see me too much, either. It’s worrying.
I would be a remix (and that’s usually bad) if I did not mention this rebuttal to my previous rebuttal.
The Iron Curtain writes, on the magical comment form:
Surely Nemitz is at least Elpse’s pal.
When I was a wee lad, I used to think that fund-raisers were in fact known as “fun-raisers”. ‘Twould seem I was far from the only one, as years later when I entered [Rock n’ Roll] high school, there existed some sort of extra-curricular group which would periodically increase its capital by hocking boxes of donuts bearing the words “FUND Raiser”. Personally, I always thought it somewhat inappropriate to refer to any food product as “fun”. Ideally such an item should be pleasant, of course, but “fun” suggests a far more active engagement than the semi-passive activity of eating really seems to merit. I’ll give McDonald’s old “Food, Folks and Fun” slogan a pass, though, if only because most of the associated restaurants feature a so-called “playplace” which could serve to fill the last requirement. Mind, at the time, I actually thought the words were “Food Folks are fun”, the Food Folks in question being the various McDonald’s mascots, most of whom are associated in some way or another with a food product, and who are normally portrayed as being quite the merry bunch. In retrospect, this may have actually been a more effective slogan than the one ultimately used.
Ah, but of course! I understand now. Verily, many people these days have too much fun eating their food. I will make the appropriate changes.
The dope thinks it’s so smart just because it has its hands like that. Guess what, dope! You’re not smart just because you have your hands like that! That’s a dumb reason to think you’re smart, dope! Although any reason you came up with would be dumb, eh? Arrrgh, why would I eh at you, like you were capable of inferring anything? Dumb, dumb dope.
At this point it must be noted that just about any statement which begins “guess what, dope” is going to be derogatory in some way. And whose fault is that?
And it has no idea how hard its hands are to draw like that. None. Hey dope, apparently it didn’t occur to you that I might not be able to use my own hands as reference when they are behind my back. Oh right and they have a proper amount of fingers. Imbecile! I actually drew you so I could practice making your hands in that position without messing up a different I picture I needed that position for, to save myself trouble, and you just had to make me mad at you for additional reasons. Horrible. In short: the dope is ignorant, inconsiderate, arrogant and decadent. It is a woeful, happy parasite on society. Get a job, dope! Don’t just stand around smiling all day! There’s work to be done!
I hope the New Haven Register front page headline tomorrow is DOPES UNDER FIRE Area dopes face harsh criticism. The dope will, of course, decline to comment, only making its guilt more obvious. I mean, its name is actually “the dope.” What am I supposed to do about that?
Consider that doom imps, the foul, wretched murdering demons, are related to dopes and won’t admit it. Some people even believe that is what turned them to crime. Not being able to express their anger over being related to dopes. Sometimes I’ll ask “hey imp, how does it feel being related to dopes?” and they just screech at me. Dopes ARE imps.
I had a dream in which at some point, for whatever reason, I was made to control a dope on a map screen type thing in a video game which was not Doom. I left it idle for a few moments and it started to walk around a bit and look at the scenery. It made me mad. dopes like nothing better than to flap their feet all over town doing dumb dope things. They should not be allowed to do things they love doing. We need to find out what they hate and make them do that.
A serious moral dilemma: is it more important to uphold the ban on dopes having property or to keep its controversial ears hidden from view? Solution: CONFISCATE the ear muffs and cut off the dope’s ears.
Let me tell you something: I felt so wronged by its hostile and dishonorable acts that I challenged the dope to a boxing match on any date. It has yet to respond. That sort of apathy and indifference is one of the reasons I would like to box it. Lazy dope. The incrunchable, punchable dope. It is incrunchable because it lacks bones and cannot be destroyed anyhow. But I can still punch it.
One of the reoccurring problems with dopes is that they don’t know how dumb they are. I suggest the appointment of a special counsel whose sole purpose is to attempt communication to the dope of how dumb it is. That plan will fail, but we can say that we tried, which is more than the dope would do. Although if the dope could speak it would probably tell many lies, I doubt this one would occur to it.
Arrr, that dope. Somebody should stuff that thing in a sock and that sock in another sock and toss it in a river. It couldn’t be too much worse than 8000 litres of Sunny D. It is my theory that dopes are made of condensed Sunny D. It has the sort of vague, sinister sounding name which would be an ingredient for something like dopes, that Sunny D. Sunny dope. Typing that made me sad.
A few months ago I saw a bird outside, on the ground, when I was at the The Bathroom. The bird flew away when I started fiddling with the window, which I possibly did just to see if the bird would fly away at the noise. The bird did. Although it’s pretty stupid of the bird to think I can get it from here, I don’t want a bird that dumb hopping about in my yard. It might as well be a dope, and THAT would be 3000% unforgivable.
The dope refuses to be less dumb. If you were to say “hey dope, could you please be less dumb,” it would smile at you. Almost mocking you for suggesting that it might be less dumb. I believe this information is worth paying money to put on the internet, yes.
This one is sort of frightening itself. When does it stop, ehhh?
regarding the website item immediately prior to this one:
Yusk, was I really that mad about “milf?” Jim, why won’t you talk to me? It’s been almost three weeks. I think I’ve finally gone fully psychotic. We need to get me eating some mad pills, yo. I was obsessed with the fear that if I did not complete and upload that there soon, the season premier of Saturday Night Live would steal my points and I’d look like I was copying it, and badly, because despite talking big rubbish about it for years I obviously still watch it. That is not a fear a proper person has. Nevermind that this is national news which people, among them superior satirists who don’t take the whole summer off, have been discussing for quite a while now, and the closest anyone has come to accusing me of plagiarism was suggesting that the frightfully proportioned proto-dopes in my ill-everythinged Doom levels looked like Pikmins, which I had up to then not seen and had assumed to be more retroactive pikachu ancestors I didn’t need to worry about.
In the end it didn’t matter because I failed to get the piece out before 9:34.24 pm, and I checked and there was only one recorded access to “milf.png” between then and 11:45 pm eastern normal time other than my own so it is still plausible that I watched the first sketch and shoved it through an eemo filter in the fifteen minutes before Sunday. Or worse, I wrote it right now and just changed the date. Even if nobody thinks that, just the fact that I thought they would means I need/have some real problems. Even if nobody who watches that show also reads this, because it is essential for my survival to pretend everybody reads this.
Inexplicable topic change:
Regarding the recently deceased Don LaFontaine, I found it odd, and I found it odd that I found it odd, that a man who had been dead for three days was talking to me through my television about movies which wouldn’t be released for another three. Including making specific reference to the near future, as in “starts Friday!” or “starts tomorrow!” You can’t say it starts tomorrow because you were dead yesterday! The only way you can mean that would be if it actually started the day before yesterday, but it starts tomorrow! Of course he recorded those in advance, but it was still weird! But now I find it even odder, hearing “now playing” ads in a different voice that’s trying to sound like his voice, as if he’s Porky Pig or something and a new guy can just take over. Yes, but no!
Clarification:
My problem isn’t just that Disney suddenly has a food brand, but that it’s a major food brand, getting prominent placement in a super-market where one of the primary features is usually cited that all the big brands are there. Also, how many other companies make ravioli and raisins? Would you buy a Ragu brand graphing calculator? More to the point, if Ragu made graphing calculators, would you expect to see these in a store without a special obligation to sell every type of graphing calculator?
Christmas Enzyte Watch: last sighted August 29. By Yuri, this will stop it. And when I say watch I don’t mean actually watch the ads. Not even for a second, not even with the sound mute. They’ve come on so many times I can detect the specific analog frequency of their scan lines.
Hello.
And the previous…
And the rest… (are here on Gilligan’s Isle)
There are a couple undeveloped ideas here, all of them minor, and after two months they probably aren’t getting developed so there’s no sense in fussing over them further.
By now I have forgotten what happens next, so surely you can imagine how enthused I am to look at the next layout and see how many needless, ill-defined objects I have already sentenced myself to making space for and drawing properly in the finished version.
ARRRRRRRRRRRGH! No one is safe!
At important gatherings of magnitude significance it is good for one’s transportation to be stylish to match.
Wow, look at how fast we were going.
This is the place, I suppose. “Small Space” will reveal itself to be terrifyingly accurate.
Because of slightly vomitous colors and what appear to be very prominent inkroller lines, my pictures looked like they came out of a printer at Staples. Which they did. Nobody else’s did. Even the ones that did come out of printers. Due to all the wide areas of color, additionally, the stupid way I wrote names on them (which I ordinarily would not do, combined with my needless desire to do all feasible things in difficult ways creating an amateurish presentation) made the frames look strange, but I had no contact with the framer. Yes, so, you can see why they stuck most of my pictures in this dopey cubicle here where no one would presume to look unless they accidentally looked inside first, which I have to imagine few are inherently curious enough to do. Rather than in the main hall-type area or the eating room. The actual gallery room was out sick. By the roy, the person here is Jayred, a friend of my sister Seabass. Which is odd, because as far as I could discern she wasn’t here at all.
On this side, owned by the cubicle’s normal resident is artwork which it appears I either made or am in direct competition with.
This one, 44.Self Defense is the worst. This big blank section and it just says “umiliphus” on it. Who cares that it says umiliphus? If it’s not my real name, why is it there at all and why is it that big? I don’t know! I regretted it over two months ago! And it’s in a frame! I just look like the biggest conceited moronaff in the world. And the picture’s not even that good. That’s one of the pictures where I tried to use smooth shading with hard black outlines. Those ALWAYS look bad because I don’t know how to do it properly. And this one now looks worse than that.
This is the food table. As a result of the plates being covered, you can’t tell what’s on them. Lucky you. Additionally, blurriness caused by my hands twitching with excitement over the thought of free seltzer.
As a result of the cramped space and inexplicable attendee quantity, I could not get pictures of all things. I didn’t even get to explain to persons who ended up in my kickle cubicle out of simple space-time necessity their misconceptions about the visions upon the wall. Wearing the sweater-shirt is Alison Hummel, who luckily wasn’t offended when I asked if she had hurt her neck.
Back in the conference room turned stand and mumble inaudibly room, the culprits were instructed to stand against one wall, police line up style. While I will not doubt I have done something illegal throughout my involvement with this program, I thought I would at least get arrested and rape-searched first. I thought I had rights.
Some people took photographs of me, of “us,” but I don’t know what became of the results. I assume the camera-users’ employments require faster response time than whatever this is that I do for free does, so if the snapsh-… shots haven’t been used yet they probably won’t be. I have to imagine in the photographs that the person in my place comes across a tad jackassish beyond acceptable levels, because I could feel that my facial expressions weren’t working properly. I kept trying to raise an eyebrow but it just wasn’t happening. I was so preoccupied with doing that, I forgot to vary the expression and pose at all. Life is hard.
I put “us” in quotation marks back there because I probably said less than three sentences overall to the five artists I shared wall-space with. I didn’t feel like I was a “part” of anything with them. But that’s normal.
After the pictures some people asked questions. I remember few. My responses were suitably useless. The closest thing to “getting a laugh” occurred when I said I used to make horrible Garfield ripoff comics, possibly the only thing which was true. I wanted to take the opportunity to ask somebody “ahhhehahh yes, ahtist number three: why didn’t you add me on facebook?”, but I’ve found that the more ridiculous my questions are the more I sound like I’m serious, and at any rate I don’t need people coming here and thinking I use facebook and deeviant art.
The peculiar individual wearing a street urchin’s hat was a surprise, and really helped top off the Ellis Island feel of the area. Through unknowable circumstances I spent a single digit fraction of the two hours having things resembling conversations with that person, and on the whole it was one of the strangest non-painful experiences of my life. I gathered from the proceedings that he had seen this page, and numerous past pages which have occupied this space and/or been referred to by it. He brought an alarming number of questions about “dopes.” Of course, any number of questions about dopes is alarming, so it may have only been one. But there also were comments made regarding nemitzes and vaguely reptillian muffin-aficionados and there simply is no excuse for that. We both thought the room was needlessly warmth-saturated, but we also both were wearing coats indoors.
The visible woman near left either thinks it’s hilarious that I am taking pictures of the photographers or has quickly descended into manic delirium from cheese on sticks and weird trail mix…
There was some debate as to whether the green lumps were trix, peas, some sort of beans or meow mix. Nobody who tasted one survived.
Here brother Cochise takes notes on the art of pointing from the mysterious person. I say “mysterious person” not to be vague, for once, but because through the entire length of time he eluded anyone discovering his actual name. Quite mysterious! He seemed to me to have traveled an irrational distance to attend, and done it on a bus, at that. Combined with the interest in imp activity I could not deny that his was a life of great suffering, even if the restroom graffitists are less lazy where he comes from. I felt special to have met such an individual.
Due, perhaps, to the highly unusual nature of the event, I quickly forgot about my civil duty and did not produce nearly as many camera babies as I should have. Notably lacking from the collection is my late arrival mad-dome-getting brother Eeple filling out every remaining name card with nonsense, the mysterious person signing the guestbook as MEEPLESWORTH, and the two of them discussing the tendency for small children to only color sky in the upper inches of a drawing, with a 3/4 obscured sun hiding in a corner. I mean, those sound stupid if I just mention them without showing something.
Well there’s one, anyway. He is occupying one of two chairs available to non-employees.
A numerated list with work titles was provided to attendoys so they could identify what they were looking at. Beside each picture was a number corresponding to one beside a name on the list. Why this was considered easier than printing names rather than numbers besides the pictures themselves is just one of many reasons I would never be hired to do something like this.
A result of confusion and inaction by me and possibly other people, the official list of titles referred to my units as “Untitled.” I was graciously given the opportunity to write in the proper, stupid titles and have revised lists printed before guests arrived. Another oversight on my parts (those parts being eyes) left 41.”repent, sinners” as “repent, sinner.” That makes it seem like the dope, not the people being menaced by the dope, is the one sinning. And that’s ridiculous.
A couple of the stranger pictures got themselves sold that evening, not even the first official day. As it is necessary for them to remain in place until the date at which it is no longer necessary, the updated status was represented by red dots placed beside the frames. I just assumed they had converted to Hinduism or had a really bad game of Bingo. Because I’m a moron.
Nobody bought my ugly printouts, and I don’t blame them. I think management’s insistence on labeling mine “$50” may also have been a factor, but grapes, scary people sell tacky illegal mickey mouse prints at kiosks in the mall for twice that. A few gallerists with the power to alter the list asked me what price I’d prefer to charge and I said I was willing to haggle. That’s another problem of mine. I’ll complain about their price but I won’t come out and commit to a lesser value. Maybe I’ll go there tomorrow and try to change the prices. But then it will just look like I’m desperate to sell one. Or like I’m an exclusive TV offer that crosses out 49.95 and prints 19.95 next to it for a set of stainless steel tape dispensers only worth fifty cents. But wait! You also get the Hiyaguchi Magic Tongue Depressor, an eighty dollar value no one would ever actually pay totally free! I’m not even giving anybody an extra thing, aside from an unverifiable space wasting signature.
I once saw this whole awful pandery series of Looney Tunestm creatures dressed as various baseball teams and I don’t think one of them was priced at less than 500 smackeroos. That’s the sort of person who wants that. Somebody who says “smackeroos.” Maybe they don’t deserve to have that much money to spare, but I don’t necessarily want to think I appeal to their buying interests, either. It’s an ongoing internal struggle. I’d love to find somebody who got the New York Yankees one as a gift and say “look! they’re the Red Socks too! They’re only in it for the money! They have no integrity and aren’t actually doing anything entertaining! They have no reason to continue existing!” But then I’d either have to buy it myself or have had taken a picture of it, which I did not do, merely out of fear of the people running the store.
In addition to batheball, there were a surprising (because I’m so very naive) number of scenes based around the “these are REAL people on a film set!” awful theme. And Bugs Bunny is ALWAYS directing or hitting the home-run or in some way getting the better of someone else. So yesh, pretty much if you have a framed picture of Daffy Duck you probably got ripped off. It seems so obvious when you put it that way.
There were also baseball pictures which did not have official Looney Tunestm characters, which managed to be almost as bad. To be fair, this was in September, when base-ball season was going on, in full swing, if you will, be a moron. But I was talking about the Full Spectrum art show. Because I need to identify the elements in the meteorite I discovered.
Maybe I spent, and spend days working on things, but that’s only because I’m slow. And you wouldn’t pay me $50 to fill three days kicking a bucket really slowly along a driveway, would you? Abyssal Jeff Tell only charges $35 for 26.Tranquility, and you’d get the piece of paper he drew it on! 36.Wonder… is in color, without lines, and while it costs the full fifty, Jefet can’t just roll out another one. There is actual paint contained within the frame! I’m so ashamed. Almost as ashamed as I am of my awful signatures.
My most sellable picture, Stop the Violence, was mysteriously absent. How can we hope to stop the violence if the picture that says to do so is so cruelly and brutally suppressed? It just wanted to help.
GUWAAAAHHHHH! That was truly uncalled for.