Posts Tagged ‘True tales of a cartoonist’
Parenting is fun. You get to watch these tiny larval humans grow up, molt, and become full human bipeds. And I get to mold these young bipeds and teach them.
But, I will not suffer that my children have an irrational fear of spiders. I WILL NOT HAVE IT I SAY! Their mother, blessed be she who controls the boobies, has an irrational fear of spiders. She has inflicted this terrible fear on my offspring. It grates on me as the noble spider is the enemy of the vile mosquito. And therefore is my friend.
To combat this madness I have adopted a course of brutal… dare I say it, savage honesty. I like to point out how spiders kill all sorts of horrible creatures. Like mosquitoes (I hate them so much). I point out how spiders are everywhere and avoiding them is pointless.
It’s my hope that by sharing these little tidbits about our eight legged friends my progeny will no longer fear them. The terror of arachnophobia that has started with my wife, blessed be she who controls the boobies, will not be passed onto the next generation.
I’ve had a ridiculously hard time getting the comic out lately. So many conventions, freelance work, and desperate fixing up of a rental property has made it hard. But that’s slacker talk. SLACKER TALK I TELLS YA!
Anyway, the comic is happily going again. Today’s true tale of a cartoonist happened at Paraconwest recently. My nine year old daughter ran around the whole con drawing sketches of everyone. People were just throwing money at her. Meanwhile I was at my booth staring down at my one single commission that day feeling…. Bitter.
I was super proud of my daughter and she legitimately kicked my but in the drawing department that day. It’s hard to compete with an adorable little redhead. Especially since I am none of those things.
Ideas for a comic? Where do you get those? I here that question a lot. I could answer in the typical silly way I usually do and say I get ideas for a comic from ghost, sniffing glue, or I pay for them online. But that’s not very helpful is it?
The truth is I’m always looking for ideas for a comic. And I hunt for them everywhere. Recently I thought I could get some good material from dreams. I’m a lousy sleeper and I wake up multiple times a night. I toss, I turn, or I don’t sleep at all. At the best of times I get weird dreams that wake me up in a cold sweat, heart racing, and with the certain knowledge that impending doom is upon me. So you know, normal stuff.
I started keeping my sketchbook by my bed determined to write down some of these dreams as fuel for more ideas for a comic or two. I diligently wrote them down every night and woke up the next day to see what I wrote. Here’s some of the better results from my dream experiment.
- Several dreams where zombies were trying to kill me.
- Several dreams where zombies were trying to “love” me.
- I drew a dragon smoking a long stemmed pipe. (Very Fruedian I suppose)
- I dreamed that I had no teeth and I was attacking homeless people and stealing theirs.
- And finally I dreamed of a new super fuel that would make me rich. Storing Farts in bottles and selling them… Genius!
It’s clear that my subconscious mind is an idiot. But I have to admit that it did in fact give me an idea for a comic, just not in the way I had hoped. So maybe I’ll keep up the experiment. The dreams of the zombies were encouraging, well not the one’s where they were trying to kill me… I mean “love” me. Those I could do without.
Hopefully it will give me more things to entertain you all with.
An this is how I became the worst super villain of all time. They call me “The Claw!” Sure they call me that due to my huge and disgusting talon like nails but it’s more of an honorary title.
Soon I will take up my mighty claws and lay waste to my enemies. Rending them asunder with viscous talons I’ve grown from my hands. It will be great and terrible to behold. Also it will make picking my nose very difficult and when I scratch my naughty bits it will be a nightmarish risk every time… EVERY TIME!
Like every artist out there I suffer from raging anxiety. I can’t turn my brain off ever and I worry about everything. It is a delightful mental hell that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But thanks to the wonder and magic that is anti-anxiety drugs…. and a tad bit of therapy I can keep my anxiety to a nice healthy neurotic level.
However I can’t shake the habit I’ve always had of chewing my nails down to bloody stumps. It drives my wife crazy and we argue about it constantly. She just doesn’t understand the mental relief I get by nervously worrying at a loose piece of skin for hours and hours at a time. Women! am I right guys? (Crickets)
Seriously though I’ve got to try to do better at not chewing on my nails…. Sadly I am Bar-B-Que flavored so it’s hard.
I like to think of myself as a very kind understanding parent. One who listens and tries to understand his larval offspring. This of course is a horrible lie. That’s my wife who does that.
I’m mostly into this parenting thing for the cheap labor and the chance to mess with children’s tiny tiny brains.
My son is twelve and has no concept of how awesome his life is compared to the VAST majority of humanity. He lives in a place and age where he can reasonably expect to have plenty to eat, a decent home, and a future that’s as bright as the effort he puts into it.
Statistically he lives at a time where he is less likely than ever before in the entire history of mankind to getting horribly and violently killed. And unless there actually is a zombie apocalypse looming on the horizon his future looks brighter than mine ever could be.
Yet for all that, whenever he has to clean his room his personal world is a bleak place indeed. A universe without hope and steeped in a percolating ocean of dispair.
Oh how I weep for him! Such tragedy! I look forward to the day when he finally realizes how unbelievably lucky he is.
….Also I should probably call my dad and apologize for being the exact same way when I was a kid. (sigh)
So I took my daughter on a drink run Saturday morning and there was nice lady behind the counter had very pink hair and several glittery gems imbedded in her face. My daughter couldn’t help but notice and comment on that. Thank God, I’m a responsible parent and knew just what to say. So I took this golden opportunity to educate her on the hazards of Sand Pimples.
Suddenly I sense judgment from all of you. Look it’s my job as a parent to make sure that my daughter grows up with the knowledge THAT I DEEM IMPORTANT. So she has to know that eating sand is the number one cause of sand pimples.
Look…. I’m old and therefore entitled to not liking what “Kids these days” are doing. It’s my Cthulhu given right. I don’t want my precious little girl embedding shiny pieces of glass or metal in her pristine little face like some sort of post apocalyptic road warrior’s concubine. I just don’t. If that’s your thing and you’ve convinced yourself that it’s a logical thing to do…. fine, but I think it’s kinda …..icky.
I’ve never been a fan of piercings. I feel like I was born with a certain number of holes placed inside my gloriously manly body and Great Cthulhu willing I will die with that same number. No adding or subtracting to the number of holes. Again, if that’s your thing, fine. But it’s not mine.
The question now is how to discourage my daughter from ever wanting to jab her face with metal chunks in the most responsible way possible. Lie! Of course! This is where sand pimples come from.
Either my daughter will fear getting sand pimples OR in a misguided attempt to get them she’ll eat a lot of sand. Either way daddy wins and no new holes will be added to my baby girl’s face.
That is what a good parent does. (Pats self on back)
Now to sit back and wait for all the “piercing” hate mail. I expect it may take longer to receive this time as people have to put iodine on their infected piercings before they write me. (That’s a joke, internet. Lighten up)