The internet hates the humidity. Once the temperature here goes over 80 degrees my connection passes out from exhaustion, which is a surprising impediment to my ability to upload junk here.

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I don’t need Mac Tonight watching me use the toilet. Nor most people, now that I think of it.

In search of a good fake-mistaken reference for pink hands (I went with “demons”), I thought for certain, –because superheroes are inherently funny and everybody but me knows stuff about them who would thus be in position to appreciate such a mentioning– there was a DC or Marvel character who had pink gloves that I might use. Not because I remember there being one; it just seemed like there was a good chance. I didn’t find one. Not one I could pick out of a crowd, anyhow. I did come across this picture (from this page this page.) There are a LOT of weird looking goofs I don’t recognize in there, and there’s no sense in asking about them all. However…

who’s that oaf next to Wonder Woman that isn’t Superman? MAILMAN? Or is he a train ticket collector, maybe? He does an important job but he’s not a hero of intergalactic acclaim! In fact, he’s a monster for plundering and combining the DNA of Herve Villechaiz and Gary Coleman in an attempt to create an ultimate being. It’s still too soon, Mail Man! Not to mention likely to make your Jim Morrison/any actor from the 1970s clone jealous. Additionally, I used to think Jim Morrison, Van Morrison and Morrissey were the same person. They are all exhibit equally morris-like tendencies in my eyes. I would not be surprised to see them shilling for cat food.

I am also of the opinion that Plastic Man is getting a little chummy with Darkseid and Orko back there.

Oh, OH. ExcYUSE me. Are you two friends? Man, that guy’s so touchy just because the doctor who filled out his birth certificate came down with a bit of dyslexia. That’s even weaker reasoning than

Lex Luthor hating Superman forever over inadvertently making him bald –a condition easily remedied by either of these two who regularly create exact robot duplicates of themselves out of stuff they just find lying around, sometimes while in prison,— which I’m told was largely written/fired out of “canon” not terribly wrong after this story was published. Darkseid’s name is STILL misspelled, so many years later. Whenever I see his name I always think it wants to be pronounced “dark seed.” Clearly he can’t be all that evil since he keeps his bit torrent ratio up. At worst he’s a pointy 1970s roller skate.

And… I expect to be at a hotel before I get this posted so don’t be surprised if I end this without any sort of conclusion.

Hey how about that I ended up staying at the hotel before I got this out because my computer is too dumb to recognize certain types of wireless internet and I’m too dumb to know which or why and thus I now have plenty of time to give you a conclusion.

I do not always make good use of my time.

But sometimes I do.

I can't... move!, popular with the robots, world's finest toilets | How to lose a guy in (5) days | !

I gave people cards with this site url on it. I wonder how many who actually attempted to type it out got this far on the page.

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I remember, long ago, at the ripe old age of seven years my grandplum said to me “huplix (grandplum always called me huplix)” “Huplix,” Grandplum repeated, quite redundantly I must say, “don’t say anything! I’m talking! And Huplix, it’s about time you learned to eat an Oreo.” Grandplum so set off for the vault to fetch the ancestral family oreo, when the house candle-stick-maker rushed in saying “Huplix! there’s a telegram for you! I left it outside by the lampshade. Go get it.” I did so and fetched the telegram. It was from my long lost potato, Turnip. The note read, in part: IT TIME WE SETTLED OLD GRIEVANCE STOP HUPLIX (everyone called me Huplix, actually) PAUSE I CALL YOU OUT STOP IAPOSTROPHELL SEE YOU ON THE RICKI LAKE SHOW THIS SATURDAY STOP. I immediately boarded a automobile for the Ricki Lake Show. When I arrived I only found an elaborate cone of rubble, overgrown with colorful vegetation. I searched through the plants, finding several rupees and a piece of heart but no Turnip. That was when I remembered: this was the old Ricki Lake Show. It burned down twenty years ago. The new one was across town. I quickly crossed town but discovered I was too late. Turnip had dueled without me, picking fights with several random civilians who quickly beat turnip to a fine mash mass. It was the saddest day of my life.

Mortis, the Angry Mail Rabbit (the left one) of Scurrow has observed that while not the worst customer in the world, nemitz (the crumbag) is nonetheless a bad customer (that eats pens).
Nemitz is also a bad doctor.

This was not intended to rip off the color scheme of the famous “HOPE” poster, although with the way that oil leak is going it might as well. Everything is hopeless with nemitz around. I went to a frame shop once (because I didn’t want to go twice) and every color limited thing in the place was like this.

Hello. Today is Thursday. I am at a Hotel. I have internet and I have my computer, but not at the same time.

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another week so soon? I am making an attempt to update this for wednesday, so you can likely guess how that will go.

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Sadly, these little inexplicable smiley face things being sold yet more inexplicably in the frozen food section of Stop & Shop no longer adequately convey my emotions…



Join me as I pause and pay homage to our fallen friend, master meatsmith and former muppet sympathizer, Jimmy Dean. Our breakfast bowls become breakfast bawls.

What do you… I said DEAN. Beans are still around.

Dean, best known to members of my supposed generation for his inadvertent mention in Ma Donna’s 1990 song Vogue, which actually referred to actor James Dean, will probably continue to be known for that anyhow.

These sausages escaped from their enclosure to begin the long hard pilgrimage to

the internet so they could look at the official Jimmy Dean Brand website, only to find it either unaware or unconcerned that its namesake is dead, because he was actually pushed out of his spokesing duties which were his last personal ties to the company six years ago, ostensibly for being too old.

This guy exudes youthful appeal, though. He’s like the Nabisco Snack Fairy without the dignity or product with the nutritional credibility of Oreo Cakesters.


He’s such hot stuff that the website’s temperature management department is overworked and has to pay visitors to take up the palm frond-waving for a minute or two. Which sounds ridiculous but it’s slightly more plausible than bribing people such a pitiful amount to pretend to be your devoted follower on the internet. Not plausible at all: paying somebody to design a costume that’s not deliberately lazy-looking. The only thing more appealing than low budget ingenuity is high budget low budget imitation. Much time and effort was devoted to making this look like so little time and effort was involved. “Hey guys I should probably take my watch off for this, right? No? Because the SUN probably doesn’t… oh okay. I mean I’m just saying, because it’s actually the very thing we tell time by– alright, forget it! mumblerhubarbjusttryingtohelpmurph”



Appearing in the notorious MC Rove sketch was Colin Mochrie’s penance for this. Or maybe it was for those weird flash cartoons. Or maybe I’m the only person who doesn’t find instant emasculatory hilarity in frumpy men wearing pink skirts and so need not waste effort complaining about an obsolete advertisement series which I don’t actually think about all that much nor bear lasting resentment toward the actor for appearing in. I will say that nobody frolics into my mind as having the potential to be less intolerable in this role than this person. He surely did me a favor by not letting Greg Proops or French Stewart get the job.

For all new customers know, “Jimmy Dean” is the name of the product itself and/or the source of its meat, and given Mr. Dean’s current physical state that would almost be plausible if not for the general absence of legitimate meat matter in most frozen food. Consider that the Breakfast Bowl(s) is apparently ripping off a Kentucky Fried Chicken gimmick, –right down to the forced pluralization in the product name– a thing noted for its perceived* low quality, and also that ripoffs typically are less meritorious than that which they ripped, and that 90+ percent of the people who buy this will opt to heat it in a microwave oven without so much as considering less sog-like alternatives. I already considered it so I figured I’d inflict that thought upon you as well. For Krimpet’s sake it’s a plastic bowl in a box. Plastic bowls are for takeout food, maybe for putting chips in at a barbecue. I’m expected to provide my own fork, right? The one on the box is clearly made of a shiny metal. If I’m eating in my house I have real bowls I can use, too.

*granted, all these perceptions are my own and they are as close as I have come to actually eating the things I am talking so much bowl-filler about. The thing I’m using to support my unverified claim is just another unverified claim of mine. I additionally ought to disclose that I am fairly fond of Stouffer’s stuffed peppers, which also come in a sealed plastic bowl in a box in a freezer. However, the bowl is not given top billing.

And this! Hello again. If ‘the morning fade’ was a real thing that you didn’t make up, you wouldn’t have been able to trade-mark it, O Deanco. It sounds more like a mysterious ultimate villainous entity or invading force from some bad fantasy movie, particularly when you order me to fight it with a special enchanted apparatus named after a former legendary hero. Young traveler, as the one chosen by the Snack Fairy Sun Pixie only you can take up the Sausage of Jimmy Dean and venture forth through the lands of Hangover to do battle with The Morning Fade! Meanwhile, “choose your breakfast” seems like a threat somehow. I’ve been challenged and in the typical insincere show of gentlemanly decency by one who intends to see another done in this is meant to be my last choice in life. This town ain’t big enough for the both of us, son. Choose yer breakfast. It won’t do ya a lick a good, pardner. My pancake-wrapped-sausage on a stick sez you die at sundown. And if you eat it you’ll die sooner.

Why eat right when there are so many other directions to choose from?

I have one of many headaches. I am going to sleep.

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page 9 (scroll down!) of that. I’m always looking for a way to speed things up. I’m always failing, to, too. It won’t be necessary to remind me never to try this way again because I’ll remember.

No, actually, I just remembered that I’ll forget. I should have reminded you to remind me sooner.

Also, I realized I ought to have made a better/any plan for this whole “remake” business and rearranged events so that no memory scenes were necessary, because they’re awkward and unprofessional. However, I do not believe that I did. That is to say, you can be sure that when I make them they will be awkward and unprofessional. I like to think this way is less jarring than the old way, but I also like to think I’m less likely to get hearteriosclerosis because I eat boring and chewy Kashi cerealdirt instead of corn flakes like I used to even though I still eat just as many hot clogs. As for lope(the lizard)’s ridiculous automobile, it’s in just one frame here so there’s still time to not get around to redesigning it into a more visually appealing and practical-looking thing whose drawing process is in any way logical.

I initially intended to replace the title with a better thing once I thought of one, but it turns out this is just dumb enough that I like it.

Josie Hay, the keeper of Koshizu, and also the only online artist whose character I’ve drawn that doesn’t take effort to conceal its actual name, likes to take photographs of things. I think she should instruct her pointy-headed protege to pick up a different hobby, though.

I deliberately limited the colors in this for alleged stylistic effect and tried to keep myself from correcting every blemish because I don’t need all these silly animal people thinking they matter to me, particularly when they’re content to waste my effort of making them look nice by stumbling into lakes and canyons and such.

They stand together against unknown challenges.

There is no symbolism. The light and dark separation is purely for aesthetic value. I tried putting the plants and the acropolis thing on the “good” side and the evil power plant thing on the “bad” side, but it didn’t work. I like pipes and scaffolding. What can I do?

Also, I should really consider making “elpse” (the green creature) be skinnier, also have fur, or wear clothes, or something, simply because I’m generally at a loss as to where muscle definition is supposed to go on body types that don’t exist. And on ones that do, also. I have tried to figure this stuff out, but I generally end up more confused or worse. “Muscle” is one of those words that is dangerous in image search engines.

Fairly late in the process, I amended some wrong hands. However, they were more aesthetically functional the old way! Alas. Stupidly enough, I had made them “accurate” in the original sketch and then couldn’t figure out what was wrong with them when I went over the picture more recently and so “corrected” them to be wrong. Yes I can see you’re enthralled by this story.

Also the whole time I had this on other sites only one person commented on the fact that these idiots are standing on railroad tracks. Which would be understandable usually, but I tend not to make company with a subtle bunch. Like I might draw spaghetti and that would be the point, and thus not necessary to point out, but inevitably somebody would say “lol spaghetti.” If that doesn’t happen then I probably failed! And in fact it didn’t happen because the person who did mention the tracks was sensible and well-spoken. I can’t believe people sometimes.

elpse, NEMITZ, unsightly | May I have a word with you? | !

Evidently I was not done wednessing and missed my imaginary deadline again. Neither of us was surprised.

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Wednesday: I did so much wednessing yesterday that I had no time to update this website. If only I’d known it was just Tuesday then. Whoopth.

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Do you remember when I said I am one of the most boring people in the world? No, of course not; it was so boring it could not possibly be remembered.

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After overwhelming public demand, which I ignored, here is my own incest story:

Once upon a time Hansel and Gretel lived together in a house in the forest. The end.

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Treat a child as though he’s already the person he’s capable of becoming. I thought, that makes sense. I wish more parents and producers of fictional and/or ostensibly educational media would acquire such an attitude. Stop condescending to your target audience’s basest comprehension and maybe they won’t insist on eating fruit snacks named after their favorite brand of farm machinery. Show them some respect.

However…

I don’t think the proper place for this message is the inside of a public restroom. Nor the outside, for that matter. “You may only be twelve years old, but yer a MAN to ME.”

And so I propose we train our children to become killing machines.

I wasn’t intimidated until you clenched your fists.

Thankfully there is an entire section in some stores devoted to the purpose. America must be the greatest country in the world to have invented the plastic helmet aisle. The only thing stealthier than a ninja is a shiny one that clunks a lot. The plastic helmet and assorted armaments aisle, ah yes. Unlike normal munitions, which have a history of exploding when fired upon themselves, these just deform and produce toxic fumes. So they’re safe. And they’re discreet about it. Apart from being brightly colored and shiny and clunkity, I mean.

I had been under the impression that one of the factors in the effectiveness of terminators was that nobody could tell they were murderous cyborgs, because they disguised themselves as humans, but realistically, I suppose when you’re a nigh indestructible machination of death it doesn’t much matter how well you conceal yourself among the puny frail beings it is your goal to eliminate. A human disguised as a cyborg makes a lot more sense.

Incidentally, despite nearly eight years of more or less regular updates I still apparently type things, “cut” them to paste elsewhere and then forget to do that, but not to ‘save’ the document I cut them out from. In this case of jokes about predators-of-children, however, it may merely have been an intervention by the decency fairy. However, it’s not an effective defense, because I sometimes remember what I wrote the first time, and in any event I’m getting this stuff from all sides:

Well I’m certainly not going to PAY you for my FREE incest pics, regardless of how mature and responsible they are. I’m also not interested in incest content that does not depict interfamiliar dealings. It seems wrong somehow.

At LAST, the sequel to

As usual, George Lucas makes us wait and doesn’t give us quite what we expected.

Also, as long as you’re here, with all this confusion about, don’t forget to wash the hand part of your hand.

(Blue plastic arrows appear courtesy of the Fisher Price acupuncture kit) We’ve seen the sort of visitors this area attracts. I really think the maintainers of the facility could stand to discriminate against demons, though.

Go on, gyit. Don’t give me that face. You know you’re not supposed to be here. You’re not washing off that glowy green stuff in MY sink.

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