a rare piece of fan-art …
Drawn by EBBITS and NANCY PANELS emperor Michael Litven. I like how he drew the Wise Old Bitch, unsure of what type of animal she is as always.
(Source: abnormoinfo)
When I was a boy, I lived on licorice whips. I used to go to the corner store and take a wad of licorice whips from behind the counter when Pete wasn’t looking. The whole store was arranged so that Pete couldn’t ring up a customer and work the soda fountain at the same time. The counter and the soda fountain were on opposite sides. So, naturally, Pete’s was known as the type of place where you could steal real easy, if you needed to. When I was stealing the licorice whips, I always knew God was frowning on me and cursing my name, but I was young and I had time to pray to him to forgive me. Grandpa Morris used to tell us you could get in a quick sinful unmarried fuck if you’re young enough. Stealing from Pete was my unmarried fuck. Outside Pete’s, I would eat my licorice whips under the sun and think about how unfortunate it is that so many people suffer.
shelbylogan-deactivated20140112 asked: Would you be willing to trade one of my zines for one of your book things?????? I love your drawings a lot and would want to have them in my hands
Yes, certainly! Sorry for responding to this late as a whistle. danenitram@gmail.com
adactivity asked: How come your anonymous questioneers ask you questions about linework and mine say weirdo sexual-harassment-level stuff to me? Can I have yours and you can have mine?
Sure. I will gladly take sexual harassment. I noticed that everyone worth their tumblr salt gets messages about crass abstract sexual nothings. I used to get anonymous love poetry, but now even that has washed away. I am sort of surprised that my comics don’t attract a more disturbed audience. Little boys and dogs, bird girls in poofy sequined nighties, what more do you want, perverts of America?
Anonymous asked: I really like the line quality on the Prime Table place mat. Is that a new pen or just the unusual surface? I always love your characters but I mean... that mutant just looks so much more alive and vibrant than usual. Must be the fine family dinin.
I used my mom’s fountain pen. It wasn’t meant for drawing at all, and I really had to scrape to get to the ink to come out. It was fun but easy to lose interest in really quickly, since it was so physically difficult to use. You can see lots of textures started and abandoned in that stained Prime Table doodle. I was using the tip completely wrong and I probably broke it. It surprised me that it almost looked like a nib line. The ink mated with the disgusting food and made new lands.
Here is some advice. It is trite advice, but I mean it from the bottom of my heart. As I retire for the evening, at 6AM, I have secured my Popeye and Little Lulu books in which I will read my usual 10-page selections before drifting into the hereafter of dreams. I recommend slowly reading comic books you truly love directly before sleeping. It’s the only time my thoughts are positive, or realistic. If you go to bed with Tubby’s face in your head, everything is going to be all right.
Do you have any cartooning tips or life tips?
You owe it to yourself to look at Qviet. These sex comics are drawn by a talented young cartoonist named Tracy. She has a comic coming out soon called My Imagined Fashion Empire. She is my favorite cartoonist right now.
Noun
boardinghouse reach (plural boardinghouse reaches)
- The ability to reach a long distance across a table to get desired food.
- He developed his boardinghouse reach in the oil fields.
- 2003, Judy Barnes, Jolane Edwards, Carolyn Lee Goodloe, Coasting: An Expanded Guide to the Northern Gulf Coast, page 38:
- There is nothing contrived about this restaurant — it is strictly the basics — good food, good service, and good prices. All you need is a good boardinghouse reach and if you don’t have one, then ask for the food to be passed.
- The act of reaching across a table to get desired food, often considered poor etiquette because it invades others’ personal space.
Stop torturing me, family! Stop slithering up my frail spine and changing my brain patterns! Stop it! I’ll give you anything you want! Anything!!! Do you want a silver dollar?? Or a mahogany broach????
Note to self –
Title for a possible comic: “Harsh Handjobs”
Bedtime Story
The Wise Old Bird was born in a normal way. His beak came out of the flesh egg first, and then the rest of him. He had a normal childhood and a normal early adulthood. It was when he was twenty-seven that he realized he was chosen to be the one who watches and protects the land. But, unfortunately, although the Wise Old Bird was talented in a few areas, he was particularly bad at watching and protecting. His golden aura was wasted, and, eventually, as he grew old and tattered, he completely failed at watching and protecting the land and it turned into a place of decay. The decay wasn’t necessarily negative, but it was so. Chancellor Dog was appalled by this and tried to make it right. The dog believed that the boy, Chancellor Cop, was the shining beacon that would make things right, but the Cop failed, too, and every aspect of the land – desert, river, garden – fell into the deepest possible despair. Roots stopped sprouting up plants and made pits of dust fire instead. Tears were frequent. Blues turned to reds.