Greetings all,
Just a reminder that we'll be announcing our new updated schedule and our plans for Wayfarer's Moon next week! Look for the update on Wednesday.
As for me, I've been sick the last couple of days with a throat thing. It hasn't been horrible, but it's one of those illnesses where you don't quite have enough energy to do anything beyond lay on the couch and watch daytime TV. And frankly, daytime TV sucks.
So, come back on Wednesday and we'll fill you in. We think you'll be surprised and delighted. Giddy, even.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Stumptown After Action Report
Well, we survived. Stumptown was a lot of fun and we did pretty well there. We met a lot of nice people and reconnected with some friends we made the year before. I had a staggeringly good hot dog (with saurkraut and mustard) for lunch on Sunday and some excellent Mexican food on Saturday night.
Once again, our friends Beth and Maria from Famine Lands were there. To our left was Bo Johnson from Bowler Hat Comics along with Alexis E. Fajardo of Kid Beowulf. To our right was Earl Stephens from Kot Apparel, a fine producer of R. Crumb t-shirts. We met Harold MacKinnon, an excellent colorist, and Dave Fagan, a fine gentleman and writer who went out to dinner with us Saturday. We also met Jomo Thompson, a real-life Trademark Attorney who also went to dinner with us. Despite being a lawyer, he seemed completely not evil.
There was one rather shocking incident that occured after the con.
Warning: the next portion of the blog contains graphic scenes and language. Small children, yippy dogs, and those of a frail nature should read no further.
We ended up hanging out on Saturday night with Beth and Maria from Famine Lands and their new friend Stevie. We went to dinner and then to the Stumptown Awards ceremony. Maria mentioned that they had promised to meet someone at a 'club' and invited us along. Leigh and I, being naive and innocent by nature, thought that would be a swell idea.
I was therefore shocked to discover when we arrived at the 'club' that it was a lascivious gentlemen's club where women caroused in their underclothes and sometimes took them off!
That was the shocking part.
Leigh and I were obviously mortified, but could not in good conscience leave, mainly because Maria drove. We were then forced to sit in the club, vainly averting our eyes as temptresses in flimsy garments gyrated in time to music. We could have not been more relieved when we finally left, some two hours later.
So there it is, ladies and gentleman, our shocking night of debauchery. I can only hope my saintly mother never learns of this, though my putting it in my blog is obviously counter-productive to that goal.
Oh and Sable, if you're reading this, call me.
Cheers,
-Jason
Once again, our friends Beth and Maria from Famine Lands were there. To our left was Bo Johnson from Bowler Hat Comics along with Alexis E. Fajardo of Kid Beowulf. To our right was Earl Stephens from Kot Apparel, a fine producer of R. Crumb t-shirts. We met Harold MacKinnon, an excellent colorist, and Dave Fagan, a fine gentleman and writer who went out to dinner with us Saturday. We also met Jomo Thompson, a real-life Trademark Attorney who also went to dinner with us. Despite being a lawyer, he seemed completely not evil.
There was one rather shocking incident that occured after the con.
Warning: the next portion of the blog contains graphic scenes and language. Small children, yippy dogs, and those of a frail nature should read no further.
We ended up hanging out on Saturday night with Beth and Maria from Famine Lands and their new friend Stevie. We went to dinner and then to the Stumptown Awards ceremony. Maria mentioned that they had promised to meet someone at a 'club' and invited us along. Leigh and I, being naive and innocent by nature, thought that would be a swell idea.
I was therefore shocked to discover when we arrived at the 'club' that it was a lascivious gentlemen's club where women caroused in their underclothes and sometimes took them off!
That was the shocking part.
Leigh and I were obviously mortified, but could not in good conscience leave, mainly because Maria drove. We were then forced to sit in the club, vainly averting our eyes as temptresses in flimsy garments gyrated in time to music. We could have not been more relieved when we finally left, some two hours later.
So there it is, ladies and gentleman, our shocking night of debauchery. I can only hope my saintly mother never learns of this, though my putting it in my blog is obviously counter-productive to that goal.
Oh and Sable, if you're reading this, call me.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Stumptown 2010
Well, it's the end of the week and I would just like to remind our Portland readers that Leigh and I will be at the Stumptown Comic Fest this weekend. So come on by, say 'hello,' and mayhap ask us very odd personal questions.
Yes, there was a man at Emerald City that asked me if I liked cheese and then asked me if I liked The Partridge Family. All with no context.
Anyway, please have a safe and enjoyable weekend and I'll be back on Wednesday with an all new blog about something silly.
And happy birthday, Stan :)
Cheers,
-Jason
Yes, there was a man at Emerald City that asked me if I liked cheese and then asked me if I liked The Partridge Family. All with no context.
Anyway, please have a safe and enjoyable weekend and I'll be back on Wednesday with an all new blog about something silly.
And happy birthday, Stan :)
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Heart of a Wolf
When I arrived home from work today, I noticed a young lady standing by her car. As I walked by, her purse yipped at me and I thought it passing strange until I realized that she had a tiny Chihuahua in there.
Now, I do like dogs. I grew up in the country and we always seemed to have two or more dogs at any given time, despite my dad’s best efforts at running them over.
NOTE: My dad was a terrible driver and he did, in fact, hit and kill three of our dogs over the course of my young life. He felt terrible about it every time, but big truck + darting dogs = occasional accident. He did once get mugged by a deer though, so there’s a certain symmetry.
Where was I? Oh yes . . .
So, I was walking by and this little, tiny, fly-speck of a dog, in a valiant effort to protect his mistress, yipped at me. And I suddenly felt really bad for the thing.
This Chihuahua’s ancestors were wolves. Big, strong animals that hunted deer and bison and insurance salesman. These were the animal equivalent of a biker gang. When they rolled through the woods, everybody boarded up their shops and hid, ‘cause somebody was gonna get eaten. Just picture Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones as a wolf and you get the idea.
No, wait, that’s dumb. Don’t do that.
My point is that inside this Chihuahua beat the heart of a wolf. It didn’t know it was just a tiny fashion accessory. Deep down, it was a hundred pounds of growling, snarling, Harley riding, chain-smoking, leather-wearing, skirt-chasing, steak-with-a-side-of-steak eating badass.
In that moment, I reconsidered everything I ever thought about Chihuahuas and other yippy dogs. They can’t help it. Their savage nature calls out to them, but they’re stuck wearing sweaters and peeing when they get over-excited. It’s not their fault that they were bred down to fun-size. They yearn for the hunt and the open woods, blissfully unaware that the average squirrel could beat them up and take their lunch money.
Seriously, squirrels would totally do it. When you’ve been at the bottom of the food chain for as long as they have, you take your cheap shots when you can.
And so, I hereby apologize to Chihuahuas and all the other tiny, yippy dogs out there for all the mean things I’ve said about them over the years. Also, sorry about that whole ‘breeding you into McNuggets with legs’ thing.
Could you please stop yipping now?
Cheers,
-Jason
Now, I do like dogs. I grew up in the country and we always seemed to have two or more dogs at any given time, despite my dad’s best efforts at running them over.
NOTE: My dad was a terrible driver and he did, in fact, hit and kill three of our dogs over the course of my young life. He felt terrible about it every time, but big truck + darting dogs = occasional accident. He did once get mugged by a deer though, so there’s a certain symmetry.
Where was I? Oh yes . . .
So, I was walking by and this little, tiny, fly-speck of a dog, in a valiant effort to protect his mistress, yipped at me. And I suddenly felt really bad for the thing.
This Chihuahua’s ancestors were wolves. Big, strong animals that hunted deer and bison and insurance salesman. These were the animal equivalent of a biker gang. When they rolled through the woods, everybody boarded up their shops and hid, ‘cause somebody was gonna get eaten. Just picture Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones as a wolf and you get the idea.
No, wait, that’s dumb. Don’t do that.
My point is that inside this Chihuahua beat the heart of a wolf. It didn’t know it was just a tiny fashion accessory. Deep down, it was a hundred pounds of growling, snarling, Harley riding, chain-smoking, leather-wearing, skirt-chasing, steak-with-a-side-of-steak eating badass.
In that moment, I reconsidered everything I ever thought about Chihuahuas and other yippy dogs. They can’t help it. Their savage nature calls out to them, but they’re stuck wearing sweaters and peeing when they get over-excited. It’s not their fault that they were bred down to fun-size. They yearn for the hunt and the open woods, blissfully unaware that the average squirrel could beat them up and take their lunch money.
Seriously, squirrels would totally do it. When you’ve been at the bottom of the food chain for as long as they have, you take your cheap shots when you can.
And so, I hereby apologize to Chihuahuas and all the other tiny, yippy dogs out there for all the mean things I’ve said about them over the years. Also, sorry about that whole ‘breeding you into McNuggets with legs’ thing.
Could you please stop yipping now?
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Frickin' War
This Sunday, I cleaned my bathroom.
It was not a decision I took lightly. There were things in there. Things that H.P. Lovecraft on an acid trip couldn’t have imagined. Things that the English language cannot adequately describe. Indeed, no form of communication ever used by humans could come close to describing what lurked in the vast recesses of my bathroom.
And yet, these things had become familiar to me. Friends, almost. I would walk in and immediately hear the skittering of hundreds of tiny, misshapen feet. If you left the light off, they would venture forth, slowly, chanting in their strange, alien tongue. They called me ‘Oomfu,’ which I understood meant ‘He Who Makes the Smell.’
They would leave little gifts sometimes. Small, delicate, flower-like growths that exploded if exposed to direct sunlight. Wistful constructions of toilet paper that resembled three-winged birds with snake heads. And most strange of all, little tiny mints like you get on a hotel pillow. We had an understanding. I used the bathroom, but did not disturb their intricate ecosystem. But then it all changed.
They grew hostile. The delicate gifts were replaced with tacks and small, bitey things that looked like the spawn of a fly and a miniature tube of toothpaste. I weathered their attacks, but did not retaliate. I expected that at any day, we would go back to our former amicable relationship.
But then I found one of my comic books in there. Its cover was wrinkled, its pages smudged by hundreds of tiny little pedipalps. That my friends, meant frickin’ war.
Armed with a can of Comet in one hand and a scrubby sponge in the other, I went in. Their slings and tiny spears were of no use against my massive bulk. I was the Godzilla to their Tokyo. The Gort to their National Guard. The Galacticus to their Earth and they were fresh out of Reed Richards.
I’m not proud of what I did. Well, yeah, just a little, but my bathroom is clean now. Sterile almost. The pictographs are all gone, as are the tiny houses made out of dental floss and towel lint.
I do kind of miss them, in a way. I miss the cries of ‘Oomfa!’ and the strange, reedy music they would play between 4:13 and 4:18 am. I realize that their marvelous mold-based civilization is gone forever now and I’m saddened by that. The world will never again hear the strange burbling sounds they made nor see ever again the crude running shoes they manufactured out of toilet paper tubes. I will miss many things about them, especially the pillow mints.
Those things were fantastic.
Cheers,
-Jason
It was not a decision I took lightly. There were things in there. Things that H.P. Lovecraft on an acid trip couldn’t have imagined. Things that the English language cannot adequately describe. Indeed, no form of communication ever used by humans could come close to describing what lurked in the vast recesses of my bathroom.
And yet, these things had become familiar to me. Friends, almost. I would walk in and immediately hear the skittering of hundreds of tiny, misshapen feet. If you left the light off, they would venture forth, slowly, chanting in their strange, alien tongue. They called me ‘Oomfu,’ which I understood meant ‘He Who Makes the Smell.’
They would leave little gifts sometimes. Small, delicate, flower-like growths that exploded if exposed to direct sunlight. Wistful constructions of toilet paper that resembled three-winged birds with snake heads. And most strange of all, little tiny mints like you get on a hotel pillow. We had an understanding. I used the bathroom, but did not disturb their intricate ecosystem. But then it all changed.
They grew hostile. The delicate gifts were replaced with tacks and small, bitey things that looked like the spawn of a fly and a miniature tube of toothpaste. I weathered their attacks, but did not retaliate. I expected that at any day, we would go back to our former amicable relationship.
But then I found one of my comic books in there. Its cover was wrinkled, its pages smudged by hundreds of tiny little pedipalps. That my friends, meant frickin’ war.
Armed with a can of Comet in one hand and a scrubby sponge in the other, I went in. Their slings and tiny spears were of no use against my massive bulk. I was the Godzilla to their Tokyo. The Gort to their National Guard. The Galacticus to their Earth and they were fresh out of Reed Richards.
I’m not proud of what I did. Well, yeah, just a little, but my bathroom is clean now. Sterile almost. The pictographs are all gone, as are the tiny houses made out of dental floss and towel lint.
I do kind of miss them, in a way. I miss the cries of ‘Oomfa!’ and the strange, reedy music they would play between 4:13 and 4:18 am. I realize that their marvelous mold-based civilization is gone forever now and I’m saddened by that. The world will never again hear the strange burbling sounds they made nor see ever again the crude running shoes they manufactured out of toilet paper tubes. I will miss many things about them, especially the pillow mints.
Those things were fantastic.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Updatingness
As you may or may not have noticed on the front page, we will be announcing our update date in the first week of May. Not only that, we will fill you in on our plans to not only update, but to ensure that there aren't any missed weeks.
If things go well, there will be weekly updates without interruption for the foreseeable future.
Now, some people have already bid us 'adieu,' citing the lack of updates. If you're thinking about leaving, we would like to remind you that bookmarks are free. Check back in May and you may be pleasantly surprised.
In addition, we do greatly appreciate those of you who have stuck around. Leigh and I talked about ending Wayfarer's Moon and frankly that would be the easier path. However, the knowledge that so many people love our work and want to see more made us decide to keep the comic going. We made a lot of mistakes in the past, some of which were the primary causes for the long hiatus. We're older and wiser now, so we plan on not making those mistakes again, though we will probably be making new ones :)
So again, thank you to everyone who has been checking back week after week. We realize it’s frustrating to not see any updates for so long, but we aim to change that. Please come back in the first week of May to learn when we will start updating again. I will be doing my usual blogs, so you can at least read those and wonder what I’ve been smoking.
Cheers,
Jason
If things go well, there will be weekly updates without interruption for the foreseeable future.
Now, some people have already bid us 'adieu,' citing the lack of updates. If you're thinking about leaving, we would like to remind you that bookmarks are free. Check back in May and you may be pleasantly surprised.
In addition, we do greatly appreciate those of you who have stuck around. Leigh and I talked about ending Wayfarer's Moon and frankly that would be the easier path. However, the knowledge that so many people love our work and want to see more made us decide to keep the comic going. We made a lot of mistakes in the past, some of which were the primary causes for the long hiatus. We're older and wiser now, so we plan on not making those mistakes again, though we will probably be making new ones :)
So again, thank you to everyone who has been checking back week after week. We realize it’s frustrating to not see any updates for so long, but we aim to change that. Please come back in the first week of May to learn when we will start updating again. I will be doing my usual blogs, so you can at least read those and wonder what I’ve been smoking.
Cheers,
Jason
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
PIxels!
This went 'round the office the other day and I thought it was cool enough to share with you, my 4.3 faithful readers.
This is just resoundingly clever, though I kind of wonder what happened to the people in the cars and buildings . . . but mayhap it's best not to dwell on it.
Cheers,
-Jason
This is just resoundingly clever, though I kind of wonder what happened to the people in the cars and buildings . . . but mayhap it's best not to dwell on it.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
SES Technical College
Are you misshapen?
Are people repulsed by your physical appearance?
Do small children cry when they see you?
Do the strongest of men wither under your gaze?
Do you really hate billy goats?
Do you like camping?
If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, then you may have what it takes to be a Bridge Troll!
SES Technical College, the leader in imaginary professional training, is proud to announce our newest course of study: The Bridge Troll!
Live under a bridge! Charge a toll! Eat people! Fight billy goats! Yes, SES Technical College has identified a new high-demand job that you can do from home! Because you’ll be living under it!
Bridge Troll 101 offers the following courses of study:
Your Bridge and You: Basic Repair and Upkeep
Billy Goats: Fact and Fiction
Toll Collecting: How to Get the Gold and Keep It!
Gobble ‘Em Up! Maintaining a Balanced Diet While Eating People
From the Diaphram: How to Roar with the Best!
And many, many more!
Is Bridge Troll not for you? Well don’t worry, at SES Technical College, we are sure to have the imaginary career you’ve been looking for! We also offer:
Tooth Fairy
Wicked Mother/Stepmother/Witch or Second Cousin
Vermicious Knid
Grue
Evil Vizier
Surly Dwarf
Fairy Tale Prince
Honest Politician
Haberdasher (Mad)
Anthropomorphic Animal
And Gun Repair
Remember, if it’s imaginary, it’s SES! Call our hotline for more information!
Cheers,
-Jason
Are people repulsed by your physical appearance?
Do small children cry when they see you?
Do the strongest of men wither under your gaze?
Do you really hate billy goats?
Do you like camping?
If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, then you may have what it takes to be a Bridge Troll!
SES Technical College, the leader in imaginary professional training, is proud to announce our newest course of study: The Bridge Troll!
Live under a bridge! Charge a toll! Eat people! Fight billy goats! Yes, SES Technical College has identified a new high-demand job that you can do from home! Because you’ll be living under it!
Bridge Troll 101 offers the following courses of study:
Your Bridge and You: Basic Repair and Upkeep
Billy Goats: Fact and Fiction
Toll Collecting: How to Get the Gold and Keep It!
Gobble ‘Em Up! Maintaining a Balanced Diet While Eating People
From the Diaphram: How to Roar with the Best!
And many, many more!
Is Bridge Troll not for you? Well don’t worry, at SES Technical College, we are sure to have the imaginary career you’ve been looking for! We also offer:
Tooth Fairy
Wicked Mother/Stepmother/Witch or Second Cousin
Vermicious Knid
Grue
Evil Vizier
Surly Dwarf
Fairy Tale Prince
Honest Politician
Haberdasher (Mad)
Anthropomorphic Animal
And Gun Repair
Remember, if it’s imaginary, it’s SES! Call our hotline for more information!
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Everybody Wins
Whilst at work the other day, one of my fellow designers mentioned a show he just saw. Apparently, they get a team of experts to decide who would win in a fight between historical warriors. Things like Spartan vs. Pirate or Caveman vs. Incontinent Doughboy, you know, the kind of arguments that men have had for centuries and game designers have on an almost daily basis.
NOTE: Just for the record, a Pink Ponysaurus would totally kick the ass of a Ptiny Pterodactyl. So there, Bob!
The thing is, they’re comparing historical figures and frankly, that’s just not satisfying. Sure, they can argue the merits of Knights vs. Numismatists, but that’s hardly relevant to our modern society.
What we really need, is a show that pits the people we love to hate against each other. I call it ‘Everybody Wins.’
In Everybody Wins, we would get a chance to see real life irritants duke it out for fame and glory. Think about it, who would you like to see in a ring, fighting?
Off the top of my head:
Litigation Lawyers
Internet Lawyers
Lawyers in General
Politicians
Computer Virus Creators
Bad Parkers (as in, people who park on the lines, rather than betwixt them)
Spammers
The viewing audience could nominate particular individuals, who would then be contacted and talked into appearing on the show. They would just have to fight three, three-minute rounds with their opponent using standard boxing rules. The winner gets some cash or something. The loser gets to be on TV. The viewing audience gets to see two people they hate hit each other. Everybody Wins.
Just mix in some announcers and it would be gold.
“And tonight, Jim, we have a fine matchup. Steve, the Virus Maker versus Al the Litigation Attorney.”
“This is going to be great, Bob. Both men are in the prime of their professional careers. Steve created the amazing ‘UR DUM’ virus while Al has won 23 consecutive frivolous lawsuits.”
“And there’s the bell, Jim! Steve is already out of his corner, swinging wildly!”
“Al is huddled in the corner! He’s blocking! Oh, he’s swinging too!”
“Both men are going at it! Nothing is connecting! It’s amazing! I have never seen a more inept display of the sweet science in my entire career!”
“Uh oh, the blows are coming slower now! Looks like they’re both spent after a mere 8 seconds of combat!”
“And now Al looks like he’s trying to get out of the ring! We can’t allow that, which is why we’re dropping the steel cage!”
“Well, that surprised both of them, Bob! They’re trying to pull the cage up now. They just want to get out!”
“We can’t have that! Release the wild boar!”
Admit it, you would totally watch that.
Cheers,
-Jason
NOTE: Just for the record, a Pink Ponysaurus would totally kick the ass of a Ptiny Pterodactyl. So there, Bob!
The thing is, they’re comparing historical figures and frankly, that’s just not satisfying. Sure, they can argue the merits of Knights vs. Numismatists, but that’s hardly relevant to our modern society.
What we really need, is a show that pits the people we love to hate against each other. I call it ‘Everybody Wins.’
In Everybody Wins, we would get a chance to see real life irritants duke it out for fame and glory. Think about it, who would you like to see in a ring, fighting?
Off the top of my head:
Litigation Lawyers
Internet Lawyers
Lawyers in General
Politicians
Computer Virus Creators
Bad Parkers (as in, people who park on the lines, rather than betwixt them)
Spammers
The viewing audience could nominate particular individuals, who would then be contacted and talked into appearing on the show. They would just have to fight three, three-minute rounds with their opponent using standard boxing rules. The winner gets some cash or something. The loser gets to be on TV. The viewing audience gets to see two people they hate hit each other. Everybody Wins.
Just mix in some announcers and it would be gold.
“And tonight, Jim, we have a fine matchup. Steve, the Virus Maker versus Al the Litigation Attorney.”
“This is going to be great, Bob. Both men are in the prime of their professional careers. Steve created the amazing ‘UR DUM’ virus while Al has won 23 consecutive frivolous lawsuits.”
“And there’s the bell, Jim! Steve is already out of his corner, swinging wildly!”
“Al is huddled in the corner! He’s blocking! Oh, he’s swinging too!”
“Both men are going at it! Nothing is connecting! It’s amazing! I have never seen a more inept display of the sweet science in my entire career!”
“Uh oh, the blows are coming slower now! Looks like they’re both spent after a mere 8 seconds of combat!”
“And now Al looks like he’s trying to get out of the ring! We can’t allow that, which is why we’re dropping the steel cage!”
“Well, that surprised both of them, Bob! They’re trying to pull the cage up now. They just want to get out!”
“We can’t have that! Release the wild boar!”
Admit it, you would totally watch that.
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Organ Harvesting
Last Saturday, Leigh and I took a little trip. Let me just say it had nothing to do with hiding a body. Seriously. Artist friends of ours, Jason Metcalf and Randy Kintz, were doing a signing sponsored by Creator’s Edge Press and we thought it would be nice to go say ‘hi’ and socialize.
Again, let me stress that there was no body. Nor did we have two shovels, a pick, a machete, and a large, waterproof tarp. We especially did not have a backpack full of stakes and a half-gallon of holy water. None of these things were present.
One thing we did have was my new GPS. I purchased it especially for outings like this, as Leigh and I are what you might call ‘direction impaired.’ In layman’s terms, it means we get lost on the way to the bathroom. We always leave a good 30 minutes early for these things, just to account for all the time we’ll need to drive slowly in circles, trying to figure out where we are.
But I digress.
So there we were, with my new, shiny GPS. Leigh was driving and I was navigating, which gave me an opportunity to play with my new toy.
If you’ve never seen one, the screen shows a little truck (‘cause I have a truck) on a purple route with directions at the top. It would display the directions and I would dutifully repeat them, thus enabling Leigh and I to not miss the city by ten miles (which has happened).
However, I suspect mine might be broken.
Oh, it started off well enough. It would display things like ‘Turn Left onto I-405 South.’
“Turn left onto I-405 South,” I would say.
“Gotcha,” Leigh would respond.
After about half-an-hour though, the messages got a little strange.
“Leigh doesn’t like you,” it displayed.
“You don’t like me,” I repeated.
“What?” said Leigh.
‘I like you a lot. I want to be your best friend.’
“The GPS wants to be my best friend,” I repeated.
“How wonderful for you,” Leigh said. He started sorta leaning away at that point.
‘Leigh is just holding you back. You should take care of him.’
“You’re just holding me back,” I said. “I should just take care of you.”
Oddly enough, Leigh didn’t respond, though he started waving at the Highway Patrol car in the lane next to us. The Highway Patrolman waved back.
‘If we kill Leigh and harvest his organs, we’ll be rich.’
“Apparently, I need to harvest your organs.”
“Huh?”
‘Especially the liver. It’s the tastiest part.’
“Especially your liver. It’s nummy.”
“Dude! You’re really starting to freak me out!” Leigh said, swerving slightly. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “But my new GPS is possessed.”
“Ah.”
So, yeah. I managed to wind up with yet another evil electronic device. I think I’ll introduce it to my keyboard and see if they hit it off. I just hope none of my other electronics goes bad.
And seriously, this was a social visit. There absolutely was no body. It was not wrapped in a tarp and thrown into a shallow grave and then dosed with holy water so that it wouldn’t rise again. That positively did not happen.
That night.
Cheers,
-Jason
Again, let me stress that there was no body. Nor did we have two shovels, a pick, a machete, and a large, waterproof tarp. We especially did not have a backpack full of stakes and a half-gallon of holy water. None of these things were present.
One thing we did have was my new GPS. I purchased it especially for outings like this, as Leigh and I are what you might call ‘direction impaired.’ In layman’s terms, it means we get lost on the way to the bathroom. We always leave a good 30 minutes early for these things, just to account for all the time we’ll need to drive slowly in circles, trying to figure out where we are.
But I digress.
So there we were, with my new, shiny GPS. Leigh was driving and I was navigating, which gave me an opportunity to play with my new toy.
If you’ve never seen one, the screen shows a little truck (‘cause I have a truck) on a purple route with directions at the top. It would display the directions and I would dutifully repeat them, thus enabling Leigh and I to not miss the city by ten miles (which has happened).
However, I suspect mine might be broken.
Oh, it started off well enough. It would display things like ‘Turn Left onto I-405 South.’
“Turn left onto I-405 South,” I would say.
“Gotcha,” Leigh would respond.
After about half-an-hour though, the messages got a little strange.
“Leigh doesn’t like you,” it displayed.
“You don’t like me,” I repeated.
“What?” said Leigh.
‘I like you a lot. I want to be your best friend.’
“The GPS wants to be my best friend,” I repeated.
“How wonderful for you,” Leigh said. He started sorta leaning away at that point.
‘Leigh is just holding you back. You should take care of him.’
“You’re just holding me back,” I said. “I should just take care of you.”
Oddly enough, Leigh didn’t respond, though he started waving at the Highway Patrol car in the lane next to us. The Highway Patrolman waved back.
‘If we kill Leigh and harvest his organs, we’ll be rich.’
“Apparently, I need to harvest your organs.”
“Huh?”
‘Especially the liver. It’s the tastiest part.’
“Especially your liver. It’s nummy.”
“Dude! You’re really starting to freak me out!” Leigh said, swerving slightly. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “But my new GPS is possessed.”
“Ah.”
So, yeah. I managed to wind up with yet another evil electronic device. I think I’ll introduce it to my keyboard and see if they hit it off. I just hope none of my other electronics goes bad.
And seriously, this was a social visit. There absolutely was no body. It was not wrapped in a tarp and thrown into a shallow grave and then dosed with holy water so that it wouldn’t rise again. That positively did not happen.
That night.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Unhappy News
I’m not really sure how to say this, so I’m just going to go ahead with it.
Leigh and I have decided that we can no longer work together.
Please don’t misunderstand. We’re still friends. There was no big argument or fight. It’s just that we’ve been business partners for over three years now and in all honesty, neither one of us really feels it anymore.
You see, when an artist and a writer first start working together, it’s like magic. The artist loves the bold, intricate plot lines the writer devises and the writer is amazed at the gorgeous images the artist creates to bring his stories to life. But then, after a while, that first blush of collaboration fades. The dialogue isn’t so compelling anymore. The art begins to look the same.
Oh, but there’s no reason to stop. You still work well together. All the other artists and writers think you’re getting along splendidly. There’s just no spark anymore. Every so often, one or the other tries to spice things up. The writer will throw some poetry in. The artist will do that bit of extra detail. In the end though, all it really does is remind the two of them that things have become humdrum.
Ultimately, one of them will stray. The writer might notice an artist with a fresh new style. The artist may read a script he’d just love to draw. The other partner may not know, but they’ll feel it and eventually, they’ll see that script they didn’t write or pencils they didn’t draw and they’ll know it’s over.
This is the point that Leigh and I have come to. We can’t just do it anymore. To continue would be dishonest and neither one of us want that. Therefore, we’ve decided to shake hands and part on good terms.
I just want to make clear that we still care for you, our readers, and that we want you to be happy. We won’t force you to choose between us. We have decided on joint custody, so that we can share you equally and provide you with the art and writing that you deserve. The details remain to be worked out, but we’re confident we can come to an amicable separation.
We realize that you’re probably hurt and confused by the suddenness of this and we apologize for that. We just want to make sure you’re cared for, even if we can’t do it together.
So, if you need to talk, we’re here for you.
-Jason and Leigh
P.S.
April Fools.
Leigh and I have decided that we can no longer work together.
Please don’t misunderstand. We’re still friends. There was no big argument or fight. It’s just that we’ve been business partners for over three years now and in all honesty, neither one of us really feels it anymore.
You see, when an artist and a writer first start working together, it’s like magic. The artist loves the bold, intricate plot lines the writer devises and the writer is amazed at the gorgeous images the artist creates to bring his stories to life. But then, after a while, that first blush of collaboration fades. The dialogue isn’t so compelling anymore. The art begins to look the same.
Oh, but there’s no reason to stop. You still work well together. All the other artists and writers think you’re getting along splendidly. There’s just no spark anymore. Every so often, one or the other tries to spice things up. The writer will throw some poetry in. The artist will do that bit of extra detail. In the end though, all it really does is remind the two of them that things have become humdrum.
Ultimately, one of them will stray. The writer might notice an artist with a fresh new style. The artist may read a script he’d just love to draw. The other partner may not know, but they’ll feel it and eventually, they’ll see that script they didn’t write or pencils they didn’t draw and they’ll know it’s over.
This is the point that Leigh and I have come to. We can’t just do it anymore. To continue would be dishonest and neither one of us want that. Therefore, we’ve decided to shake hands and part on good terms.
I just want to make clear that we still care for you, our readers, and that we want you to be happy. We won’t force you to choose between us. We have decided on joint custody, so that we can share you equally and provide you with the art and writing that you deserve. The details remain to be worked out, but we’re confident we can come to an amicable separation.
We realize that you’re probably hurt and confused by the suddenness of this and we apologize for that. We just want to make sure you’re cared for, even if we can’t do it together.
So, if you need to talk, we’re here for you.
-Jason and Leigh
P.S.
April Fools.
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