April 2006 Archives
Hurricane Katrina.
Illegal wiretaps.
CIA name leaks.
Iraq quagmire.
Full-throttle neoptism.
Escalation in Iran.
Osama, still chillin' in Pakistan.
No weapons of mass destruction. Anywhere.
Rising body count.
Falling opinion polls.
And the quiet death and removal of my very favorite bonehead website, ThenLeave.com.
o/` I TOLD you soooo. o/`
T-shirts still available! Wanna pretend you weren't one of the hoodwinked? Now's the time to buy!
And for those of you "staying the course?" Enjoy! I hope the draft gets reinstated and gas goes up to fifteen bucks a gallon. FREEDOM ISN'T FREE, YA KNOW!
AHA HA HA HA HA.
HA.
Feel free to shit yourself with rage in the comments, because I personally guarantee I won't care. And hey, make sure to bring up Clinton! Lord knows that's the best you guys can do, these days.
I really, truly and sincerely HATE architecture. It's one of my biggest weaknesses. But the comic's had a bad case of the Talking Heads, recently, so I need some establishing shots. Especially considering the new scene and all.
Sit tight. More to come.
She likes to pickpocket, summon ancestral spirits, and ride stolen horses off of cliffs to hear them scream.
Her dislikes include inconveniently located Thieves Guild fences, omniscient guards who seem to know when she's stolen a silver goblet from across an entire frikkin' continent, and rat meat.
If Templar is late or unsatisfactory this week, blame her. And Bethesda Software, for making this.
Loathsome Lyle, Croc o' Guile.
He lurks behind my firewood pile.
Not quite the same as other crocs,
A pillowy bit in thigh-high socks.
He munches mice and voles and rats,
Tubby old toads, incautious cats.
But now and again behind that pile,
Lyle will take a taste of... Lyle.
I know it hurts, he's told me so.
And I know his bite, where each tooth goes.
But "See what they've done!" poor Lyle cries.
"Steel yourself, and turn your eyes
To the pain they've caused my fragile soul!"
He bites his lip, then, just for show,
Feigns a swoon. (Believe what you hear.
You just can't trust those crocodile tears. )
Loathsome Lyle, Croc o' Guile.
He lurks behind my firewood pile.
With each excuse for self-abuse,
I long the more for croc-skin shoes.
Thenk yew.
Got another one for yas.
Click to read his profile.
So there's this new site, Mojizu, and it's where y'cn go and upload little characters you've designed for fun and maybe sell a little swag featuring them and vote and promote and all sorts of cool stuff. Half my freaking friends seem to be doing it already, and you know how I get about peer pressure.
So I caved and uploaded Bunnypunch. Click her to see her profile.
I've got another one in the queue to go up soon, too. I'll let you know when he's ready.
And thank God for that.
Not that we're closing on a classy note, or anything. Reagan would never allow that.
And she's single, boys. Unbelieveable, I know. Line forms to the left.
Coming up next: The last of the principle cast introductions (sort of), featuring a fashionable manskirt, alphabetized canned goods, and the sound of one hand clapping. Stay tuned!
While you wait, check out the fan art. There may be a couple of new things up you haven't seen yet, and I'm really going to have to insist you take a look at the latest submission.
The Westboro Baptist Church, snuggly hug circle of Fred "God Hates Fags" Phelps and his ocean of glassy-eyed, gibbering progeny, will be dropping by the Chicago suburbs on Tuedsay to tastefully protest the funeral of Lance Cpl. Philip Martini. Martini, a Marine, was killed in action this weekend in Fallujah.
I guess he didn't get the memo that Iraq was Mission Accomplished.
Anyway, one of you needs to get out to the Drumm Funeral Home in South Holland, Illinois wih a camera between 2:00 and 9:00 PM, because a bunch of angry bikers have decided it's their job to keep Phelps away from the funeral service. And I don't know what's going to happen, but I would stomp a kitten to have it all on tape.
And that is not about to change. But I'll try and branch out a little in the future. Promise.
Sorry for totally choking last week, by the way. But print project stuff. You know. Kind of ate my life up. You'll be hearing all about it in the coming months, rest assured.
It was finished long ago. Had to redo the last two and a half hours of changes. Don't wanna relive it. Anyway, page is here.
Sorry for the lateness.
Sorry. :( Here it is anyway.
Copy books exist in our world, of course. But we don't call them that.
And I can't decide if, based on the dialogue, the first panel of this page is the worst possible page of the comic so far to start reading on, or the awesomest.
