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.
Jaypeg jaypeg. It would seem that people at document printing places are instructed to use that as generic terminology for all image files, because both times I had junk printed at Staples, persons took my flash drive behind the counter and had their way with it, loaded it into a computer I could not see and asked me if I wanted “these jaypegs” printed. Which I found worrisome, because my pictures were png. Ping. Does that mean there are some other pictures on there which I forgot about, possibly of an embarrassing nature (egg: anything on this website)? How can I direct that person to the right pictures without going back there myself? I can’t just say “yes” and assume the person is inaccurately describing my pings and risk having an enormous 11-and-a-half-by-eight-inch picture of Dennis Swanberg come at me. Not so much that he even scares me little on a screen, but then I have to explain both that it’s not the right picture and secondly why it was there, but I also have to do this in such a way as to not present an opinion just in case I’m talking to a fan or a shaming-me-ly openminded person and oh the chaos. And when I went to CVS, where the customers have to do this themselves, the machine wouldn’t even acknowledge that there were images on the drive because they weren’t jaypegs. Somehow it picked up the “Sandisk” logo, however. Yeah, I came here to print that. Imbeciles!
At Wal-mart, ever the haven of cowards, the big yellow Burger King playground-inspired monstrosity insisted I had yet to insert anything. Only after making me wait while it whimpered for five minutes, that is. Even though I most certainly did insert something and what’s more the device itself acknowledged it had been plugged in by putting its green light on.
Oh, and by the way, that’s NOT “ok!” It is unacceptable!
What we were attempting to print were these frightful things:
Yes, that picture only existed so somebody could make stupid “christmas cards” with it.
As I neither buy cards nor harbor pleasant/functional memories of snow mischief, in addition to not desiring to associate characters whose backgrounds I keep intentionally vague with any pseudo religious ceremonies I have no reason to assume they’d even know about let alone go along with, there was difficulty in coming up with an acceptable image. “Your characters building a snowman” was one suggestion, and this was the first way I could think of that such a thing could be allowed to happen. That one actually beat out others. (And that’s exactly the way I presented them). As ought to be expected, I didn’t figure out what about the green animal (“elpse”)’s head bothered me so much until I saw twenty of them in front of me. I made it shiny in the wrong place, so elpse appears to have a deformed, almost jowl-like, wayward cheekal region, when it in fact should not have one at all.
People did buy these, but I assumed they felt solly for me. I acquired some dollars out of it, so in theory I could buy someone something, but I still don’t have a credit card so it probably won’t be you, across the internet.
On the whole, the card affair (plus another thing we’ll discuss later) was an apparent improvement over Jope and some Dopes, which was, at least as far as my contributions were concerned, a total disaster and far less discreet.
All the same, if you see these people, tell them I miss them.
I have not added a new page of stupid non-storyish pictures recently. Ah, there we go. The delay is not surprising: look at how big they are! They were heavy and quite difficult to lift. If you’ve seen some of them already, then I must have been the victim of art theft.
Your ignorance and decadence shall be your downfall.
Do you remember when I could make twelve pictures at once? Those were good times. You know what else was better then? THERE WEREN’T ENORMOUS RIDICULOUS STUPID DOPES STOMPING THROUGH THE STREETS AT ALL HOURS! I’m impressed anything gets done around here.
Are you sick of these things? I’m sick of them too! However, the level of collective intelligence necessary to devise a means to take down such a large dope is alas just the slightest amount more than the dumbness needed to make a dope that big.
We won’t know how to beat a dope that big until it’s even bigger!
What people don’t realize is when they get smarter, their old stupid has to go somewhere. it goes to DOPES. When people get smarter, dopes get bigger. I’ve heard of entire communities of intellectuals wiped out by a single giant smiling dope. Thankfully, the persons depicted here are just more stupid beasts that aren’t worth saving. Still, it is a matter of great concern.