I'm freakin' out a little. Avoid public gatherings? Don't go outside? This is some serious stuff. What's real anymore? Who can we trust? Not the news.
Who's telling the truth. How serious is it. It can kill you. How many people has it touched.
Not good...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Blockbuster Receipts
It's a DVD rental. It costs $1.99. Why Santa's Christmas List receipt?
They ask for your ID, ya pay the money, and then they start printing. Paper literally starts shooting out of the register. The DVD cost two dollars. There's no WAY this can be my receipt. It wraps up her arm, around her waist.
Oh YES, the cashier nods and then mouths 'it's yours.'
It gets done printing and she rips it off and jams it into the DVD case.
Except it won't close. Receipt's too long.
She stuffs it in some more, re-folds it into an oragami Blockbuster logo and tries again. Still won't close.
I tell her I don't want the receipt, I'm all set.
She looks at me like I just smacked her mother.
You're gettin' the receipt, she yells.
I'm scared.
A manager comes over, looks at me, looks at the case, looks at me again. I back up. He rips the DVD from the cashier's hands and places it on the ground with the receipt crammed inside of it. He looks at me again and shakes his head. He then jumps on the box.
I hear the clasps snap shut. The manager and cashier smack high fives. Then the manager turns to me and tells me to 'eat it.'
The cashier gives me the DVD. Tomorrow by midnight, she says.
I get home and can't wait to throw the receipt away.
Except I can't open the case.
They ask for your ID, ya pay the money, and then they start printing. Paper literally starts shooting out of the register. The DVD cost two dollars. There's no WAY this can be my receipt. It wraps up her arm, around her waist.
Oh YES, the cashier nods and then mouths 'it's yours.'
It gets done printing and she rips it off and jams it into the DVD case.
Except it won't close. Receipt's too long.
She stuffs it in some more, re-folds it into an oragami Blockbuster logo and tries again. Still won't close.
I tell her I don't want the receipt, I'm all set.
She looks at me like I just smacked her mother.
You're gettin' the receipt, she yells.
I'm scared.
A manager comes over, looks at me, looks at the case, looks at me again. I back up. He rips the DVD from the cashier's hands and places it on the ground with the receipt crammed inside of it. He looks at me again and shakes his head. He then jumps on the box.
I hear the clasps snap shut. The manager and cashier smack high fives. Then the manager turns to me and tells me to 'eat it.'
The cashier gives me the DVD. Tomorrow by midnight, she says.
I get home and can't wait to throw the receipt away.
Except I can't open the case.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
WOLVERINE
And in honor of the Wolverine movie coming out this Friday, here's the disgruntled, hairy, son of a b right here.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
BATMAN
I came back to the Batman just now and realized I hated two things about the way I drew him...his mouth and the colors. So in this top image I tweaked both of those things. Closed his mouth. Batman doesn't say much, why should he be screaming? Now his mouth kinda resembles Bale's. And I put him on white, cause he's never seen during the day and I wanted to see how it would look. So if you're a criminal in Gotham, just rob people at noon. You'll be fine.
And the two images below were the original color palettes I did last night...and that I now despise.
And the two images below were the original color palettes I did last night...and that I now despise.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
MySpace VS. Facebook
When you tell someone you're on MySpace, they give you the 'I just ate a sour grape' face. And when you tell them you're on Facebook, they give you the 'you're cool like me' face. Why is that? Why? Poor MySpace. Poor, poor, rich, extremely wealthy and world-conquering MySpace.
Let's face it, MySpace is a bloated-porn-callgirl service. I get emails upon emails from random fake chicks' accounts saying things like ':) hey sexxxy, wanna have fun party naughty with you?' and '!oh, your cute. let's chat.'
Come on. The english is broken, there's no proper punctuation. And for me to bite off on one of those fake emails, I need that. Don't embarrass yourself, fake spam email sex ring. Let's put some effort into it.
Facebook doesn't have that, and to me, that's made all the difference.
But MySpace and Facebook also have a lot in common. For instance, the top blue header. Why do both of the worlds' largest social networking sites share the same hue for their logo? Cause blue is a 'relaxing' color. The Social networking world is one in which you want people to spend as long as they want on your site. What color will allow them to type emails and search for peeps for hours upon end? Blue. Burger King, Wendy's, Jack in the Crack, McDonald's, and Sonic all share one color in common as well. Red. Cause red attracts the eye. It catches your attention. Stop signs. Imagine if a stop sign was blue. Not good.
But blue will lull you into a deep internet coma, and Facebook and MySpace know this. Fast food joints want ya to come in and spend money and leave. Red does that. But not blue. And the white logo on the left hand side of that blue bar, as well. Can't forget that. Standard social networking protocal. Twitter? Go check it out. Yep. Teal blue. They really got nutty. (so did I, at the top of this blog :)
An un-common ground, howevs, is the customization of the actual profile page.
I've seen some Myspace profiles that will literally make you want to punch a unicorn. And ya know where to find a unicorn cause it's jumping out of a squirrel's hat on 'LuvaGirl_23's' MySpace profile page. Lady Gaga is blaring. A tiny cube with pictures warped on it spins and shows you exactly how LuvaGirl_23 looks when she gets hooched up with the girls and macks on playas. The page is out of control. There's no type heiarchy. My eye doesn't know where to look. There's a thousand magazine pictures mixed in with ten-thousand party pics. Lines are blurred. It's a mess.
And with Facebook, I still don't think it's any of my business when Bob writes 'Long time no see!' on Susie's wall. But now I know that Bob hasn't seen Susie in a long time, and that factoid will now sit in my brain somehwere and take up space. Space that I'm rapidly running out of.
All this being said, I've got an account with both. I'm not going sit here and critique them any further, as they've revolutionized the way people communicate nowadays and are absolute cash-cows. But just cause that's so, that doesn't mean we can't openly discuss them, right?
Plus it's made internet stalking really easy for me, so by all means.
JOKES! Jokes are fun...
(LuvaGirl_23...holla)
Let's face it, MySpace is a bloated-porn-callgirl service. I get emails upon emails from random fake chicks' accounts saying things like ':) hey sexxxy, wanna have fun party naughty with you?' and '!oh, your cute. let's chat.'
Come on. The english is broken, there's no proper punctuation. And for me to bite off on one of those fake emails, I need that. Don't embarrass yourself, fake spam email sex ring. Let's put some effort into it.
Facebook doesn't have that, and to me, that's made all the difference.
But MySpace and Facebook also have a lot in common. For instance, the top blue header. Why do both of the worlds' largest social networking sites share the same hue for their logo? Cause blue is a 'relaxing' color. The Social networking world is one in which you want people to spend as long as they want on your site. What color will allow them to type emails and search for peeps for hours upon end? Blue. Burger King, Wendy's, Jack in the Crack, McDonald's, and Sonic all share one color in common as well. Red. Cause red attracts the eye. It catches your attention. Stop signs. Imagine if a stop sign was blue. Not good.
But blue will lull you into a deep internet coma, and Facebook and MySpace know this. Fast food joints want ya to come in and spend money and leave. Red does that. But not blue. And the white logo on the left hand side of that blue bar, as well. Can't forget that. Standard social networking protocal. Twitter? Go check it out. Yep. Teal blue. They really got nutty. (so did I, at the top of this blog :)
An un-common ground, howevs, is the customization of the actual profile page.
I've seen some Myspace profiles that will literally make you want to punch a unicorn. And ya know where to find a unicorn cause it's jumping out of a squirrel's hat on 'LuvaGirl_23's' MySpace profile page. Lady Gaga is blaring. A tiny cube with pictures warped on it spins and shows you exactly how LuvaGirl_23 looks when she gets hooched up with the girls and macks on playas. The page is out of control. There's no type heiarchy. My eye doesn't know where to look. There's a thousand magazine pictures mixed in with ten-thousand party pics. Lines are blurred. It's a mess.
And with Facebook, I still don't think it's any of my business when Bob writes 'Long time no see!' on Susie's wall. But now I know that Bob hasn't seen Susie in a long time, and that factoid will now sit in my brain somehwere and take up space. Space that I'm rapidly running out of.
All this being said, I've got an account with both. I'm not going sit here and critique them any further, as they've revolutionized the way people communicate nowadays and are absolute cash-cows. But just cause that's so, that doesn't mean we can't openly discuss them, right?
Plus it's made internet stalking really easy for me, so by all means.
JOKES! Jokes are fun...
(LuvaGirl_23...holla)
Monday, April 20, 2009
YAO
Here's my ode to the NBA's Baddest Nice Guy. The man shoots the ball horizontally into the basket. When he's on fire, nobody can stop him. And he gets hacked every single time down the court.
And for anyone out there that doesn't know who that drawing is of, here's a picture of him in REAL life (course, the dude he's next to is pretty short, BUT...)
And for anyone out there that doesn't know who that drawing is of, here's a picture of him in REAL life (course, the dude he's next to is pretty short, BUT...)
Sunday, April 19, 2009
New 'Gamestop' Commercial
Be on the lookout for the new Gamestop Bunny commercial. I drew it all and Matt Beharry animated it all.
Here are some stills from the spot.
Here are some stills from the spot.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Supes
I drew Superman the other day. I decided to go with a more washed out Superman for this first take. He's got the classic swirl haircut, but he's unshaven a little and he's not wearing the manties he usually has, but more of a MMA type speedo. His cape is black to signify the black heart he has for criminals. Huh?
Anyway, I had so much fun drawing this one that I'll be drawing all my favorite superheroes in the coming months.
Anyway, I had so much fun drawing this one that I'll be drawing all my favorite superheroes in the coming months.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Adopting Buttercup
I've got a cat. Lots of people have them and I am one of those people. It is a female cat and her name is Princess Buttercup. Did I name her? Yes.
When I lived with my little brother, Jon, a little over 3 or 4 years ago, we decided that we needed to become more 'responsible.'
Ah yes. Responsibility. The ability to be responsible. That's literally the translation of it. The ability to be responsible. I used to think that getting to work 'around' the right time and eating a salad twice a week was 'responsible.'
Nope. Getting a pet is (or a kid, but brothers don't get kids together, they get cats. No, that sounds wrong, too, but that's what we did, so... moving on!) A pet is a HUGE responsiblity. Vacuum, empty, feed, pet, walk, pick up after, bring to vet. Repeat.
So we goto the pound one day and sift through the cages and crates of various puppies and older dogs. They all bark at us. They all know we need them. And they need us. Pounds are so depressing. But here we are, debating whether that one looks cooler or this one is nicer. It's all very difficult, cause the last thing ya wanna do is get a puppy's hopes up. So ya kinda watch 'em out of the corner of your eye. You're watching, but they don't know you are, so they don't get too excited, hence forth they won't be sad when you don't pick them. I did this to a number of dogs and didn't get one hope up. It was a relief.
Jon and I are beside ourselves. None of the dogs felt right. I take a look around the pound and see they've got a 'cat' area. May as well, I thought.
My story could end right here. I see the 'cat' area. I've got a cat now. Put two and two together.
But let's continue, for the sake of divulging what it was about this particular cat that made me make a 15 year commitment to a species of pet other than a canine.
First of all, the 'cat' area is downright scarey. You walk into a plastic room lined with carpet walkways, shoots, tunnels and swings. And cats are everywhere. In globes spinning from the ceiling, in hammocks enjoying tuna-tini's, even sitting at a tiny dining room table licking themselves. Savoring a juicy smidgen of cat-nip.
It's like the secret temple from Raiders of the Lost Ark. When he falls into the snake temple area and snakes cover every square inch of the room. But just replace the snakes with cats and you're starting to get the picture. As if the 'tuna-tini' didn't do it for you.
Ok, so I walk into the Palace of the Unwanted Kitty and sit down. Right in the middle of the room. There's a little girl in the room with me and she likes to grab the cats and pick them up and hug them. I'm not sure that's the right way to handle cats but what do I know? I am merely a first time visitor to the Palace, and am eager to learn its ways and rituals.
After I've sat there for a little while, I eventually have petted every cat in the Palace. Except for one.
I see a tiny rail of a creature in the corner. I can't see it's face, but it's long body is draped in abnormally long white, orange and black hair. The other cats don't seem to pay this cat any attention. The little girl didn't either.
I call to the cat but it doesn't come. They're not like dogs, afterall. Plus, it didn't help that I opted for the classic 'here kitty, kitty' line. It didn't work.
I scoot over to the cat and get it's attention with a little ball-hair-thingie I found lying on the ground. The cat looks at me for the first time and I get a view of it's face.
It's eyes are crossed. Bad.
So much so that it's head seems to be angled so that it can look at me from its right eye. It opens its mouth to meow and out comes a little raspy hiss. It angles its head further. It rasps at me again. It stands up and walks around a bit and sits back down. I reach out to pet it and it shys away from my hand. I try to grab it and it backs out of my grip and scurries off. The cat in the hammock with the 'tuna-tina' lets out a guffaw and turns away. The cats at the tiny dining room table stop licking themselves for a second and shake their heads. Forget them.
I've found my cat.
I look around for the help and find a large woman in the corner. 'Excuse me, I'd like this one,' I say to her. She looks at me with wide eyes and asks 'You sure 'bout that?'
'Yes, I'm sure 'bout that,' I reply and leave the Palace in order to find my little brother and tell him of our new roommate.
Jon is apprehensive about the idea of a cat. I tell him he has to see her, though. I tell him that she's got cross-eyes and can't meow and is anorexic. His apprehension landslides into blatant unenthusiasm.
The Pound helper emerged 10 minutes later from the Palace of the Unwanted Kitty with a crate full of one moaning cat. Large scratches now adorned the helper's wrists and arms. I asked if the scratches were from the cat. She said no. She was a liar.
Wellp, I bought the cat that day and in thus doing so, gained 'responsiblity.' Jon seemed to like the cat early on, but the cat was definitely attached to me. It followed me everywhere I went, and still does.
Jon stomached it for awhile but got 'cat-antsy'. Right before I moved out, he went and got a slick gray cat for Buttercup to play with. His cat was a Russian Blue and he named him Chon Wayne.
Jon and I went our seperate ways after his junior year. I moved into a loft downtown with Buttercup and Jon moved in with one of his college buddies and brought Chon Wayne. All was well and now continues to be well, as Jon has since moved to Austin and lives with his girlfriend Blair and Chon Wayne.
It's now been 4 years since I rescued the cross-eyed, anorexic, meow-less cat from the Dallas SPCA. A grown, straight, 235 pound man that has a long haired, 7 pound calico cat named Princess Buttercup. It's a little off-putting, I know.
But I saved her. And I've been responsible for her ever since.
Even when she fell 3 stories out of my loft and landed in a pile of mulch.
And when I called to her from my window and all I got back was a raspy hiss in return, I knew she was alright.
She's not necessarilly the nicest cat. And I'd never go out on a limb and call her 'friendly' either.
But she can't see worth shit, so back off.
Princess Buttercup. If this picture could meow, it wouldn't.
When I lived with my little brother, Jon, a little over 3 or 4 years ago, we decided that we needed to become more 'responsible.'
Ah yes. Responsibility. The ability to be responsible. That's literally the translation of it. The ability to be responsible. I used to think that getting to work 'around' the right time and eating a salad twice a week was 'responsible.'
Nope. Getting a pet is (or a kid, but brothers don't get kids together, they get cats. No, that sounds wrong, too, but that's what we did, so... moving on!) A pet is a HUGE responsiblity. Vacuum, empty, feed, pet, walk, pick up after, bring to vet. Repeat.
So we goto the pound one day and sift through the cages and crates of various puppies and older dogs. They all bark at us. They all know we need them. And they need us. Pounds are so depressing. But here we are, debating whether that one looks cooler or this one is nicer. It's all very difficult, cause the last thing ya wanna do is get a puppy's hopes up. So ya kinda watch 'em out of the corner of your eye. You're watching, but they don't know you are, so they don't get too excited, hence forth they won't be sad when you don't pick them. I did this to a number of dogs and didn't get one hope up. It was a relief.
Jon and I are beside ourselves. None of the dogs felt right. I take a look around the pound and see they've got a 'cat' area. May as well, I thought.
My story could end right here. I see the 'cat' area. I've got a cat now. Put two and two together.
But let's continue, for the sake of divulging what it was about this particular cat that made me make a 15 year commitment to a species of pet other than a canine.
First of all, the 'cat' area is downright scarey. You walk into a plastic room lined with carpet walkways, shoots, tunnels and swings. And cats are everywhere. In globes spinning from the ceiling, in hammocks enjoying tuna-tini's, even sitting at a tiny dining room table licking themselves. Savoring a juicy smidgen of cat-nip.
It's like the secret temple from Raiders of the Lost Ark. When he falls into the snake temple area and snakes cover every square inch of the room. But just replace the snakes with cats and you're starting to get the picture. As if the 'tuna-tini' didn't do it for you.
Ok, so I walk into the Palace of the Unwanted Kitty and sit down. Right in the middle of the room. There's a little girl in the room with me and she likes to grab the cats and pick them up and hug them. I'm not sure that's the right way to handle cats but what do I know? I am merely a first time visitor to the Palace, and am eager to learn its ways and rituals.
After I've sat there for a little while, I eventually have petted every cat in the Palace. Except for one.
I see a tiny rail of a creature in the corner. I can't see it's face, but it's long body is draped in abnormally long white, orange and black hair. The other cats don't seem to pay this cat any attention. The little girl didn't either.
I call to the cat but it doesn't come. They're not like dogs, afterall. Plus, it didn't help that I opted for the classic 'here kitty, kitty' line. It didn't work.
I scoot over to the cat and get it's attention with a little ball-hair-thingie I found lying on the ground. The cat looks at me for the first time and I get a view of it's face.
It's eyes are crossed. Bad.
So much so that it's head seems to be angled so that it can look at me from its right eye. It opens its mouth to meow and out comes a little raspy hiss. It angles its head further. It rasps at me again. It stands up and walks around a bit and sits back down. I reach out to pet it and it shys away from my hand. I try to grab it and it backs out of my grip and scurries off. The cat in the hammock with the 'tuna-tina' lets out a guffaw and turns away. The cats at the tiny dining room table stop licking themselves for a second and shake their heads. Forget them.
I've found my cat.
I look around for the help and find a large woman in the corner. 'Excuse me, I'd like this one,' I say to her. She looks at me with wide eyes and asks 'You sure 'bout that?'
'Yes, I'm sure 'bout that,' I reply and leave the Palace in order to find my little brother and tell him of our new roommate.
Jon is apprehensive about the idea of a cat. I tell him he has to see her, though. I tell him that she's got cross-eyes and can't meow and is anorexic. His apprehension landslides into blatant unenthusiasm.
The Pound helper emerged 10 minutes later from the Palace of the Unwanted Kitty with a crate full of one moaning cat. Large scratches now adorned the helper's wrists and arms. I asked if the scratches were from the cat. She said no. She was a liar.
Wellp, I bought the cat that day and in thus doing so, gained 'responsiblity.' Jon seemed to like the cat early on, but the cat was definitely attached to me. It followed me everywhere I went, and still does.
Jon stomached it for awhile but got 'cat-antsy'. Right before I moved out, he went and got a slick gray cat for Buttercup to play with. His cat was a Russian Blue and he named him Chon Wayne.
Jon and I went our seperate ways after his junior year. I moved into a loft downtown with Buttercup and Jon moved in with one of his college buddies and brought Chon Wayne. All was well and now continues to be well, as Jon has since moved to Austin and lives with his girlfriend Blair and Chon Wayne.
It's now been 4 years since I rescued the cross-eyed, anorexic, meow-less cat from the Dallas SPCA. A grown, straight, 235 pound man that has a long haired, 7 pound calico cat named Princess Buttercup. It's a little off-putting, I know.
But I saved her. And I've been responsible for her ever since.
Even when she fell 3 stories out of my loft and landed in a pile of mulch.
And when I called to her from my window and all I got back was a raspy hiss in return, I knew she was alright.
She's not necessarilly the nicest cat. And I'd never go out on a limb and call her 'friendly' either.
But she can't see worth shit, so back off.
Princess Buttercup. If this picture could meow, it wouldn't.
Dirty Work is Genius
Mitch: You know what hurts the most is the... the lack of respect. You know? That's what hurts the most. Except for the... Except for the other thing. That hurts the most. But the lack of respect hurts the second most.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Question
Who are these people that call in to radio stations to request songs? I mean, WHO does this anymore? I'd really like to know who they are.
'Hello, Oh my gah, like, can you play, like, oh my gah I can't believe I got through! Oh my gah! Yea, can you play Lady Gaga? PLEASE! YES! Oh My Gah! This song is, like, made for ME and my girls cause we just wanna DANCE! This one's for you, bitches!!!'
Excuse me? Have they ever heard of buying or downloading the song? See, cause that way, ya don't need to call someone up and beg them to play it for you.
You just play it yourself, like, whenever you want to. It's an extraordinary thing.
'Hello, Oh my gah, like, can you play, like, oh my gah I can't believe I got through! Oh my gah! Yea, can you play Lady Gaga? PLEASE! YES! Oh My Gah! This song is, like, made for ME and my girls cause we just wanna DANCE! This one's for you, bitches!!!'
Excuse me? Have they ever heard of buying or downloading the song? See, cause that way, ya don't need to call someone up and beg them to play it for you.
You just play it yourself, like, whenever you want to. It's an extraordinary thing.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Webosaurs Beta
Goto www.beta.webosaurs.com and watch the tour video to get a sneak peek at a Massive Multiplayer Online Game (MMOG) we've been working on at RFX.
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