This was my de-fac-to vague personal identification object at some shindig recently, as my previous assortment of them curiously eluded my grasp, possibly out of fear of sharing display space with this artifact.
I’d like to tell you that the curious red lump near its mouth was a result of my walking around with a painting in a sensitive medium on a series of moderately rainy days, so sure, let’s pretend that’s what it is.
Wednesday the 29: I have a headache
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Monday the 27: In my previous life I was a piece of string.
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Friday in the AM: It is potentially contrary to my own interests to give out cards with this url on them in a place congregated by some of the people who do the stuff I’m complaining about in it. However, I don’t actually expect anyone to read this. I certainly didn’t.
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Wednesday in the AM: Part of the ceiling in my apartment just collapsed. So if I don’t update this thing this week, it’s because I’ve been crushed and ceiling-murdered and not because I’m attending some frivolous gathering in Pittsburgh.
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Fur-affinity, I mention that a lot. It is a website that I post my silly drawings on. It is designed to provide a place for egotistical people with no imaginations to draw boring humans based on themselves who happen to have tails and animal heads standing around doing absolutely nothing. I already meet several criteria and they are generously working to bring me up to no standards. All the same I get more attention there than other parts of the internet. My comfort level with it varies; I feel less welcome than I did a year ago (writing stuff like this probably doesn’t help), but I’m not thumbing my nose at it entirely like I was four years ago. Once non-affiners learn about it, they can make a fuss over the website’s explicit content. I don’t like it either but in all honesty I’ve been having the unprompted, unwelcome sexual fetishism of other folks shoved at me my entire life. Ads for doritos, ads for telephones, ads for terrible movies, ads for cars mostly in ads. It is a classic unquestioned fact that this is a prime selling point of a fair quantity of products that are largely unrelated to naked dealings. Doritos in fact seem like they ought to have the opposite effect. Doritos ought to repel all potential company.
Including Reggie Wedgie, but only because this would violate his exclusive contract with Generico McDollarstorito brand.
I think one of the reasons the risky business business and the talk show show so so irked me is that I have long taken issue with underpant exhibitionism in general.
I hate “cute” words for underpants. Under-panting of this sort only exists to restrain the perspiration and any accompanying negativeness of the traditionally least ventilated place on a clothed person, and covering it with such a small object only makes it less ventilated. The reason it does not get ventilated is because that is in addition the part excrement[s] (also incredibly not cute) come out of and few people take the time to thoroughly scrub down everything that touched it after it’s left. They scrape paper against it! It’s horrible. Why draw attention to it with garish colors?
This is also the only section of a humanoid in which three or more large independent units converge, and the friction heat generated by standard bipedal locomotion cannot be understated when one equips winter layers. One essentially cooks one’s own pelvic intersection by walking. I find nothing enticing about the thought of the thing we use to contain this. Imagine if you found a discarded cow intestine that had been rotting in a desert for a day. And then imagine you put it in a bag and carried it around with you. Why would you do that? And why do you call the bag “Finkledy?”
On a more easily arguable note, I hate the use of pluralization to refer to what is obviously a single object. An underwear triangle is not a “those” or a “these.” It is a that.
The furry junk, I’m allowed to screen out the inarguable pornography (so long as the uploader has properly tagged it), but I can’t do anything about the incorrigible bonanza of nearly naked triangle-clad beasts doing absolutely nothing. Triangles are jerks.
This is not a nearly naked triangle-clad beast, but it’s almost worse and will likely lead to that anyhow.
Even if I had conventionally normal inclinations where physical contact with other beings was concerned this would bother me. Wouldn’t it? Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe I’m in denial about all this.
Facebook seems to be trying to tell me that I am sex.
Sex: ALL OF IT
Prior to such a revelation I’d have been surprised to find this outside my apartment.
*(don’t type that in the comments here. It will get eaten and porn doesn’t taste good)
And yet it is not enough. I must have more power!
More and more power!
ABCDEast and west, going on a POWER QUEST
I must exceed the incredible power of Norton and Sandy Duncan!
Feed me power food!
Feed me ULTRA power food!
You FOOL! Give that to me!
At last! Aw haw haw ha hwah uh!
What are you getting at, fiend? How dare you appear before me in such a powerful pose!
No!!! Natural human reproductive inclinations! My one weakness!
If only… I had not acted in such haste…
I’ve run out of ideas. I don’t know what to do about it,
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I decree that as per the terms of my trying to have this website sorted better that a meandering editorial like this need not be directly attached to the thing that it relates to. I did not intend for it to meander, but I ought to have noticed that it did so. And lo, I did! So there, lo. I don’t need you judging me all the time, lo. That’s really low. Ha uh.
Four years ago I would never have dared make such a picture as that, much less display it publicly. How do you feel, internet, to have allowed such an atrocity to occur? Yes, yes, I realize that’s what you DO, internet, and therefore you feel just fine if you noticed at all; my question was rhetorical!
A few persons commented –not necessarily complained, but I interpreted it as such because I am a whimpering weasel of a human being– about the creature’s conspicuous lack of trousers, and indeed even before such comments existed I was hesitant to display the image here for that reason. I didn’t put up the one I linked to within that link either, but now it is relevant and thus I must. As much as I appreciate illogical character design, that one aspect is hard to justify, as I’ve probably mentioned many times before this because I’ve always thought it very strange, not in a way that is inherently funny, and I am somewhat miffed at myself for proliferating it. I do not do this out of pointless adherence to convention, I merely came to find it a pleasing aesthetic in the past series of years for some completely baffling reason. Perhaps this was the tradeoff for no longer preferring a computer operating system environment that looked like this
I think I remarked about such remarks before, but I don’t recall where, I felt bad about it, and in any event this is not an attempt to excuse such a peculiar anti-dress code (Or it sort of is, now that I’ve seen the end and my two subsequent uses of the word. I was hoping it wasn’t that but it is).
And It’s my own fault for showing that midway image to begin with. My own self-consciousness about the issue drew attention to it that it would not otherwise have gotten, or gotten stated. As I said I think this is strange too. I agree with you!
While I can cannot recall a great quantity of images that the dumb beast ever wore respectable thigh insulation in, the lack only becomes conspicuous when the fool elects to wear a shirt and other accessories. It is like Eve and Adam of Adam and Eve suddenly being ashamed that they are naked, except this thing isn’t ashamed and we wonder why it isn’t.
The famous doughnut picture is one such image, and yet it seems not so blatant here. And why? The demi-dressed deinonychus itself is less prominent, but also it has not adapted an iconic commercial dress code to match this odd preference. Unless we consider
this guy. I’m guessing that we don’t.
And that’s far from an excuse!
Essentially, stuff to distract viewers from the shank-shield shedder’s lack of pants without actually giving it pants. That is still its dumbest style choice but no longer the only dumb style choice. And you might ask “why not just give it pants then? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Yes, it probably would. Please don’t ask that.
Certainly nobody would accuse this of being respectable, after uh.
However, the creature’s legs amuse me. They are so blatant. Almost like its stupid nose. It cannot be helped. They must be seen. Yet anytime I see a reasonably proportioned, cartoon humanoid animal wearing partial pants I can only think of
or worse. Even without elbow pads and a skateboard it’s going to remind me of Chuck E. Cheese and the Kool Aid Man (incidentally the name of the detective drama I pitched to CBS) circa 1995 and honestly I don’t have the time to put that much obnoxious photoshop blendy colors on everything. Thus the solution would be to have the atrociously attired agathaumas wear a skirt or similar noncommittal leg adornment.
But nobody yet has suggested that, so until someone does I shall ponder my excuse
and I shall hope that it is not inexcusable.
or Solicitor General calls for efficient delivery of justice. There’s one site where I upload these pictures, where all my titles are pulled from vaguely relevant news headlines, because I didn’t want anybody to be able to type the normal titles of my pictures and find out I used that site. Three seconds later I realized nobody is stupid enough and I’m not important enough to make anybody stupid enough to actually try that, but my compulsion usually outlives my rationality. To my great dismay LAPD Apologizes for Bogus Alert About Terrorists Buying UPS Uniforms on eBay was over the title length limit by a considerable amount, even when I eliminated the word “bogus,” first because I’m just not gnarly and tubular enough to use such vernacular and also the alert is probably valid in this situation.
Eh so two people expressed a willingness to see this lamentable lump of imagined existence again and at least one of them meant it so now everybody has to suffer. The time now is to make a decision. It is too late to change your address.
This was supposed to go under the last entry. Whoopth. I probably forgot it because it is absolutely unimportant.
Maybe dopes are like metroids, in that they have several stages and each takes more missiles to destroy than the previous. I wouldn’t say they are like pokemon because I always imagined a dope pokemon would go something like this
I wish I hadn’t.
I mentioned this briefly before, but more bears mentioning, if we can bear it being mentioned. Mustid dope bran costs more money to produce than most cereals because the dope’s contract requires that both its ears be fully represented on the box and all promotional imagery. But why does the dope GET a contract? What position is IT in to be making DEMANDS? How did it SIGN its name on the contract? Does a person have power of attorney for IT? What IS its name? Is it truly content with people just calling it “the dope?”
Uhhghghghg… mustid dope bran. That has to be dumbest cereal on the market. It HAS to be. It is required by law. And it is also in the dope’s contract. It’s even dumber than raisin brain, and that’s saying something. Specifically, it’s saying that dope bran is dumber than raisin brain. Raisin brain… what a dumb cereal! I lament that I have not brought it to your attention prior to now yet also it surprises me that word of Raisin Brain has not come to you through another source.
Raisin brain is the cereal that makes you incapable of thinking of anything except raisins when you eat it. You cannot act, since you cannot think about moving. Only raisins. It is surely one of the dope’s favorites. The dope is not legally entitled to enjoy things.
Yet we must not relax our vigilance for but a moment. Mustid is on the march, and our great warriors seem strangely preoccupied with other matters.
Ayato drew a dope once (I do not advise this). He has additionally drawn many great things which were not dopes. Lovely backgrounds, also! Not like this. I’m not sure where this is supposed to be. I initially was thinking of some space shippy sort of environment like Ayato often produces but it wanted to look more like a Romanesque era church that was converted into a shopping mall and then into an Amiga game.
Ayato. He openly admits that his name is Brandon so I may do better to say that, but it’s too close to my own name which I’m not at all fond of, even less when someone misspells it, and if I get confused and momentarily think that I misspelled it myself then I will feel very silly.
The orange creature is an upright walking wolfish being with the appropriate name of Lupine and the grey creature is a space alien called Scott. Although I suppose they’re both space aliens because I’ve never seen either of them around here. With that in mind I don’t know what Scott is at all. They are supposed to appear in a comic strip which has itself not appeared because it is better planned than mine. I don’t have time to plan things because it takes me a month to make one page when I am unencumbered by other obligations. I’m pretty sure Ayato made
page 1
page 2
page 3
page 4
this sequence in a few hours, just on a whim. I couldn’t even draw the car. I couldn’t conceive of the frame where the hand grabs the gear shift thing because I cannot DRIVE a car. Not two years ago, anyhow. I shouldn’t have looked at that. Now I just want to eat horrible things and sulk, and I already did that today. Not efficient.
My drawing was supposed to be quick and thoughtless, because I don’t have time to do substantial things these days. Unfortunately, I spent that time on it anyway and so the thoughtlessness became glaringly apparent, but perhaps that is appropriate given the presence of the blue unmentionable in the lower left. The dope is so dumb that I typed “right” instead of “left” the first time. How dare it make me do that? It is drawn to and in places where thought does not occur. Ayato remarked “somehow I think Scott and dopes would get along all too well.” I don’t know what dopes are anymore than what Scott is so perhaps they are both dopes. One just happens to be better drawn than the other. Don’t need no pair-a-dopes.
Page 12 (eventually, scroll down I advise) of that.
The imagery is somewhat underdone because my mouse sustained injuries recently and evidently lacks the strength to complete most left button presses. I actually subconsciously started to feel bad for the miserable thing and would highlight commands with the cursor and press Enter instead. I’m assuming nobody cares what the interior of the lizard’s “car” looks like, nor the laws of perspective it violates.
With this the last of the initial drawings from 2001 are covered. I’m not sure if I beat the deadline to hide them all before they were fully ten years old, but fortunately I suspect you don’t care about that, either. So now we are getting into the remakes of the remakes. The new pictures aren’t totally necessary, but they must change slightly to accommodate more competent and less fonty word layouts. Yes and also the fact that the next few pages are mildly illogical in their current forms despite being themselves attempts to amend a not-quite-sensical script. It’s sort of like when you build a new bridge to replace an old one but people still drive on the old one and you can’t just take it down altogether for a decade or so, and build the new one next to the old one, in a less ideal spot, meaning it will never be as good as it could have been. It’s not like that at all in the respect that my old comics get very little traffic. Ha ha, like car traffic on the bridge.
I blame the previous paragraph on my broken mouse also. I have the power. What’s important is that there are no ten year old drawings left. Just seven year old drawings. Don’t tell me I began the task of replacing the ten year old drawings three years ago. I already know that. I just said so.
Hey
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I sort of posted that, but then hid it because I wasn’t sure if it was interesting or not. Now I have had time to think about it and have decided that it isn’t, and I appreciate the closure. Yes so they took some annoying thing that had been floating around the internet for a few years and decided “let’s make this everyone’s problem suddenly and think ourselves clever.”
Deviantart was really late (by a standard that is for the moment not pertinent to my own variety of lates) to declare “ha ha, NINJAS and LLAMAS!” also, but at least either were funny in one context at one point in time.
Ninja tools, incidootily, are forbidden. The is the first time I haven’t been glad Mitt Romney is not a ninja.
I have never seen the “troll face” symbol –so named because it doesn’t let gruff goat faces cross bridge faces– invoked by anyone I didn’t want to force-feed aluminium foil and detergent cakes. If the troll would only let the goats across they would eat the stuff with less trouble.
In case you’re not acquainted with that particular floating head, then great. Floating heads, in general, are bad news.
Unfortunately, I will explain anyhow. The idea is that since some people get way too visibly upset over stuff that doesn’t matter, nobody else can ever be upset about anything deliberately done to annoy them ever again. If you do then legend has it anyone who is aware of your upset assumes this painful-looking expression and has triumphed in some way.
I’m not mad because you “got” me. I’m mad because you THINK you did and are proud of yourself for it! I’m pretty sure we went over this last time.
Kristof, my personal favorite inside joke is Wanderers from Ys and I would never call that “beloved.” In fact I’m ashamed and we’re estranged. I don’t expect anyone else to find that as funny as I do. They couldn’t possibly and I wouldn’t trust anyone who claimed to.
Inside jokes only work when you’re INSIDE. When you jump on a joke, or really anything that you are outside of and try to make it institutionalized and ubiquitous it’s just obnoxious and annoying.
Like when advertisers started using the phrase “bling” in earnest and later when they used text message jargon ironically. They can’t win. It isn’t their place to do these things. Even if Deviant Art is in some way inside this, and if it IS then I have less respect for it than I did, I most certainly am not in it and I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see the troll face, I don’t want to see Chuck Norris, I don’t want to see badly drawn Luigi, I don’t want to see Doug bangin on a trashcan or whatever unless I take the initiative to see these things. Don’t act like you’re Marco Polo stepping off the canoe from China with a barrel full of spaghettios, because you’re not bringing me anything special, and in any event I can’t eat mudkips. And unlike a usual annoying internet fad I can hate this on its own non-merit because the idea behind it is inherently antagonistic. A business that operates for profit with thousands of customers is getting behind the bullies among its by and large childishly oversensitve userbase for a reason I can’t fathom. It’s so unfathomable that a page was set up in an attempt to justify and explain the “joke,” which a functional joke oughtn’t need. And now I’m explaining it again. That’s surely even worse.
Hey! Hey! Look! I’m cool! Somebody who can afford to have stuff custom made yanked something another person made off me once! Deviant Art pulling out the troll face and talking about interwebs is like an eight-year-old buying Big League Chew and saying “damn!” a lot. It’s like the gangs from the West Side Story jumping in the air and just shouting “COOL!”
I started to feel silly when an examination of the original image suggested exactly what I’ve been saying, and that I missed the point entirely by thinking it meant the opposite. But that has the exact same effect! You can’t get mad at it because it doesn’t mean what you think it means, even if it’s used in a way which implies that! Deviantart knows its prank is lame and ducks responsibility by admitting the prank is lame!
It’s the “lazy artist” webcomic excuse! But you can’t get mad at it if it means the opposite either, even if it’s used incorrectly by someone who doesn’t understand! Everybody involved has everything both ways and is just as satisfied and insufferable with their deeds!
But then I got distracted when I realized that the “joke” which everybody on the website was subjected to was primarily an excuse to shove merchandise at people.
once you’ve pasted something over Che Guevara’s face and tried to sell it to me for $20 you lose any ground to claim I’ve missed the point.
Why would a business align itself against its whiny customers? To tell them they can be IN on it TOO for a few dollars. I was wrong. Most paying deviant art subscribers wouldn’t be disappointed; consider what they
You could say “no ads,” but this IS an ad, isn’t it! They pay a monthly fee to get a little star next to their name that tells people they pay. They’ll be OVERJOYED for an excuse to give more money.
And then I got further distracted when I saw that troll+face was one step removed from a rape joke
whose most trusted information source was one of the world’s worst websites [that was recently replaced by a website that is worse through being a soulless tepid sellout version of a merely soulless collage of misery that at least was unique in its anarchic approach to archiving anarchy].
Do you remember “rickrolling?” Well I hope not. A rick roll is the third worst roll after tootsie and honor. It was when somebody would post a link to a video and say it would be one thing but it would turn out to be another thing. HA HA! I LIED! Except rather than being something that would personally communicate to me that I had been made a fool of, that was relevant to my existence or that of the link poster or the topic at hand in some way it would just be the same thing that some other mythical idiot deemed was funny. I’m tired of the industrialization of comedy.
Posting a rick roll or a troll face or an oh, really? bird is the same thing as going to Pizza Hut. Sure it’s ubiquitous and successful, but it’s not the best and you should know better. However, unlike relevance, making a pizza is a mildly complicated process. I quit some forklogan’s video game project not because he had no initiative and wouldn’t say one specific thing he wanted done or do anything himself but draw sketchy “concept art” (I SHOULD have…) but because instead of answering me when I asked “so what precisely is it I’m supposed to do here?” he posted a picture of Captain Picard with a hand over his eyes and some serif-fonted caption telling me I was stupid. We go out of our way to make our insults seem mass produced. Sure it’s cheaper than buying a greeting card at Spencer Gifts but it’s still lazy. It’s like the olde myspace fake surveys or those “this user is a:” icons on wikehhhpedia. I wrote a few hundred words on that topic once and luckily for you it didn’t get as far as this. I’d love to receive a handwritten letter that explained in detail why I specifically was an imbecile. I was accused once of being a schnorrer by a post-delivered note but this was typed.
Next time: I don’t make any hint as to what I think I’ll do next time because inevitably it won’t go as I like and I’ll put up something else.
Also, my internet is still awful. Transmission of necessary data is decreasingly possible.
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In my mind, “my name is earl” and the show about the guy who moves to stuckeyville and buys a bowling alley had merged and I suspected I was best off keeping them that way. Then a few weeks later I remembered the second show was titled “Ed” and I became depressed.
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I forgot completely that bimshwel’s birthday was on the eleven of may. This is probably for the best. It is only nine years old but the sooner it gets used to people not remembering its birthday, the better for it, I think. That also allows me to more easily forget the date permanently, thus averting such awkwardness in the future. This is good in additional ways because I have also not yet permanently forgotten that I specifically chose the 11 because that was the same day my Spam luncheon meat book informed me that Spam luncheon meat was invented on. That sort of thing was important to me ten years ago. I said nine up there but the first year didn’t count. Most people can’t at such an early age. On to more urgent business:
I’m tired of nemitz pretending its name is just “mitz.” It is LYING to you. I can’t stand it. It thinks putting “mitz” into a fancy serifed font makes that factual and official. Guess what, iditwit! Your name isn’t just mitz! In French I might if I understood it say “tu ne mitz pas.” (more accurate would be “tu n’est mitz pas” but it doesn’t look like it should be, does it! (and most accurate would be “tu n’es pas mitz” but I didn’t know that)) I use the informal tu instead of vous not because we’re friends or but because I outrank you. It also does not mean that there are tu nemitzes.
For some baffling reason evidence that there isn’t even one nemitz yet eludes me.
Ne indicates that the statement is negative. As the negativity has already been established it would surely be redundant for pas to also indicate negativity so that must just mean that nemitz is not my father, and so I shan’t be honoring it in June. Its absense on a counterpart occasion in May also proves that nemitz is not my mother, although it possibly then is my older brother, who doesn’t find such arbitrarily declared holidays worth his time. But at least HE has a job and some marketable talents. Nemitz is a worthless layabout with no skills and just as many excuses for not paying homage in buffet form to the being that gave it life. ME. I am your mother, nemitz. How DARE you.
Mitz. MITZ. Do you think you’re Odo of Metz? Odo is a dumb enough name for you to think is good. Incidorkally, Odo is the earliest known to wikipedia architect born north of the alps.
Come now, do you honestly think that helps?
Understand! I’m not mad because you’re getting the better of me! I’m mad because you aren’t but you think you are! And now I will talk about something else!
I have nothing to say to you.
TOO PROUD!
This follows up, as I threatened, on the previous item, in which I seemed to take issue, without specifically saying so, with abuse of the concept of non-sanity for no great purpose. This isn’t very good but it isn’t very long either. I observe that in fictional media it’s common to see the “crazy” depicted as wearing straight jackets, babbling incoherently, getting tossed into cushion-covered rooms and then just being abandoned there.
Showing your less preferred presidential candidate wearing one is a step up from a Hitler mustache in political activism. Just about everybody involved with the previous presidential election has been seen that way by somebody. Except, oddly enough, Joe Biden, the one actually known for being difficult to control. However, he is also the only one that I found in Cabbage Patch doll form.
So eh sure, it can be funny, but let’s not pretend this has any basis in reality. It is a very unfortunate stereotype which I suspect we can attribute to the 1930s era cartoons which too many people use as their sole point of research into the mental health field (also, coincidentally, the 1930s were the last time Hitler mustaches were fashionable). We accept that their depictions of ethnic minorities and non-American cultures are often less than accurate but don’t give much thought to the dated, extreme measures used to restrain the slightly less brain-stable.
I’m glad to say that actual mental health institutions are more compassionate. They’re still pretty boring, though. Unless you have something to read or somebody to visit you you’ll just be waiting around all day while the staff test their medication on you. Well I hope they’re enjoying themselves. Unfortunately, sometimes hospitalization is used as punishment rather than treatment, for even many people in the field of special education regard the students as inferior, almost criminal beings who must be medicated and restrained into compliance rather than fellow humans who aren’t there through their own deliberate action. Or maybe that happened just one time.
The American special education system is most recognized for its funny looking transport vehicles. The reduced size buses used to segregate us problem students from the ones people care about are somewhat degrading, but they are a lot safer than the large buses; their turns aren’t nearly as wide and they have seat belts. In fact the primary reason for their design is just to be more maneuverable. Perhaps we ARE special.
Not that any image conscious child will wear a seat-belt unless commanded to… once they find out the small buses have seat belts the other kids are glad to not be burdened with them. Faha! Who’s smart now? (none of us because I didn’t want to wear seat belts either). Not that it’s possible to be image-conscious when you attend an institution of education on a comically abbreviated bus and everybody knows that you do.
School employees insisted these were not buses at all but rather “vans.” This was very helpful in precisely zero ways, because first of all they are obviously not vans and second of all when I actually started going to schools by vans instead of baby buses it was worse. They had yellow signs on their roofs stating “CARRYING SCHOOL CHILDREN” ostensibly to guilt reckless drivers into reconsidering their state of reck, because one generally drives haphazardly out of misdirected selflessness. It also has the benefit of alerting all literate persons that I must be more messed up than usual if I don’t even rate a funny looking bus. Another few years and I’d probably have to go in a Barbie Power Wheels wearing a bright yellow styrofoam helmet that says “I AM SCHOOL CHILD.”
The students I knew in those old days would call a small bus “the tart cart.” Some of these people rode on it with me. An inspiring example of “owning” one’s derogatory abuse words or a bunch of kids too dumb to realize they’re being made fun of? You eat the fudge. That’s “tart” as in “retart*,” incidibally. Well maybe some of us deserved to be there.
This is actually a trolley with monster truck wheels but people assume it’s a badly drawn bus so it works here. This may be the first time it’s worked!
Unfortunately, I wasn’t born smart enough to figure out the secret to succeeding in art.
*you would not ordinarily eat this kind with your fudge
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Get out of my sight!
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Monday: I was going to update this today but everything came up.
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Also, I evidently broke the internet at my home so this is now more difficult than it was.
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my name is finkledy breadcrumb stagecoach mcgandalf
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Friday now?
I didn’t forget, I was just really, really disappointed. And quite busy, also killing Osama bin Laden.
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Legally, my notice about the disappointing post happened on May 1.
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I will post something on May 1! It will probably be disappointing!
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That’s just irresponsible. This should not be encouraged and we should not be excited about it.
I really don’t feel safe. The mango level is out of control. It has become a danger to itself and those around it. Medieval restraint devices have been brought out. We couldn’t possibly just call this “mango flavored iced tea”, given the circumstances.
It is not at all sensible. It is not moderating its own actions.
Beside the point but no more sensible.
Now we’ve given them guns! This is not the way to help them!
That’s safer, but still not addressing the problem.
I like your enthusiasm and elbows but this isn’t helping either.
Can we not recycle or eh resume in a responsible manner?
And should we really be enrouraging people to use so much junk that the bin is philled up?
To be fair, one’s sex attraction is not typically filtered through logic or reason.
In the interest of vertical balance I will post the wordy part of my madness spree later, with less pictures.
I’m sure you’re excited to know there’s more where this came from. With that said I will refrain from commenting on the shape of Phillup’s waste adornment.
So, I found a curious image of a piece of waste being flushed down the toilet lying around in the coffee shop the other day. I have no idea where it came from, but I thought perhaps you might want a copy of it for some reason. It seems like the sort of thing you’d enjoy.
– Karaboudjan Morrismorrow “Buckety” Gibdos III
This is a colored and disgustingly over-processed version of a drawing that I did for another person during the 2010 anthro-con-vention of Pitt’s Burgh, United America. However, I was not actually within the convention premises and the recipient just happened to live in Pittsburgh and was not attending the event at any point. Then this might have been weird!
Lest I seem hypocritical for denigrating a toilet enthusiast and then posting this, I point out that he draws/arranges for others to draw things on toilets and I have drawn something in a toilet. Far less gross.
That signature in the corner is probably unnecessary.
I suppose this is part three of a series. A year ago I would have stayed up all night making sure they were all in one post. Ha ha, I was such a loser then. Now I have 600 watchers on Fur Affinity. I am hot stuff. That’s almost half as many as the guy who draws popular cartoon characters on toilets. By the way, he thinks your fetishes are weird.
Donkey Kong’s trouble with premature gravity reminded me of another ad type from past years, the “game” that orders me to do some misanthropic act which I should never do in the hope of earning a reward which has no possible connection to the deed. There is probably a proper retrospective of them somewhere. Me not looking for that and inevitably having a problem with it will help ensure there is no part four.
There was one, though, that instructed me to “SLAP SANTAS BELLY! YOU LOSE!!!!!!” Whenever “I” “lost,” the creature representing me, and I know it’s me because it says “you” on it, was flung forward, apparently painfully, for no reason. That’s not important, I suppose. What matters is that I LOST at SOMETHING and therefore my pride is impugned and I am an inferior being. I must play until I WIN. I don’t particularly need a ringtone because I prefer my device in vibrate mode but after watching that animation I have become strangely opposed to the idea of vibration. “Participation required.” It doesn’t even imply that my participation is required to win the prize. My participation just IS required. It’s like Stations of the Cross when I was in Catholic School. Nobody knows why it happens or who it benefits or who demands that it happens.
Or even WHEN, apparently. You’ll never see it coming. It’s like Bat-Man. All we knew for certain was that we couldn’t go home until 3 pm instead of 2:30. We all had these corny books from the 1960s with these illustrations of kids carrying grocery bags while the priest’s posse inched around the room ringing creepy bells while others took their time taking turns standing at a podium giving verbosely worded and completely emotionless accounts of Jesus having a lousy day. It took at least an hour, and happened three or four times roundabout this point of the year. If you didn’t go to Catholic school then you’re probably exactly as confused and bored reading my vague allusions to it as I was living through it.
Anyway
Slap Santa’s intestinal shell or be physically abused! Clearly there is some sado-masochism thing going on. Much like with how fun Christmas should be, Santa and Jesus have differing opinions on the merits of being assailed with polearm weaponry by way of pre-ordained destiny (and it is arguable whose got the better video game) and when Santa doesn’t get his precious pain he inflicts it. That explanation would almost amuse me, except there is no animated object that appears to be flinging the character that I remind you is “you” who is me. It is propelled entirely by the shame of losing this strange contest to the rival Santa’s team. I assume if I actually participated in the ad-game the other character would eventually be punished, and… how did I get myself into this? This goes against so many of my personal principles.
Obviously this one doesn’t even have the rival santa which either means I misremembered or somebody thought this idea was good enough to rip off. What kind of a world do we live in where I have to hope my mind isn’t working properly?
…………………………………………………………………………………..!
Oh, jolly good. Except this is a totally different santa-slapping apparatus.
Hey kids, set Santa’s head on fire! He’s in no financial position to tell you not to! He spent all his money on
Too many people spent way too long painting these.
But how many watchers does it have?
Page 43 of this. It still has no name.
This is one of those pages where I’ll have to come back and edit stuff later. Don’t look at the orange picture right here until after you looked at the link. Unless you don’t care about the comic, but if that was the case I don’t imagine you’d care about its construction phase, either. Not in a sincere fashion that it would be worth my trouble to accommodate, certainly.
I added the letters this time with a dippin’ ink pen. I’m sure this is reflected in the improved legibility of the text. The pen ran out of ink really fast. I didn’t try to render the creatures with it. I may need to switch paper types again. Not right away, though; I want to savor my last remaining excuses for unsatisfactory quality.
Intially the creature was held like this and so the alarmed expression made more sense. however, then the way it hit the wall didn’t. The way it looked smiling with its body upright but its head pointed downwards was so deliciously stupid that everything else had to change to match it.
Also, I just realized that my most animated and dynamique character is a chair with arms. And I still don’t know what “dynamic” means. However, the “still” suggests that I did not in fact just realize the latter fact that but have been aware for an extended period gosh I can’t believe I always struggle to fit words into panels.
I should not openly disparage the graphics in early Rare-brand games because some of my earliest bad comics were about guys in armor standing on icicle covered platforms with diamonds floating around them who only didn’t look like Kuros
of Wizards and Warriors because I was incapable of drawing them that way. Also, the sequel Iron Sword heavily influenced how I drew clouds for years and some of that is probably still evident.
It also helped me get through Catholic school because it affirmed, for the time being, my hope that there was fried chicken in heaven.
I can say about Ironsword, however, that it was made by the Plok people and not the Battletoad people so it might not even count.
Also, I consider my ability to complete this game on a real nintendo machine one of my few decent video game accomplishments, and this was before I had useful facks from the internet
I shouldn’t have to make such a choice!
Well sometimes that’s just the way it goes, sonny mah boy!