Sign of the End Times #3,457,221: I UPDATED.

One day somebody will stumble upon (with or without Stumble Upon) this blog, and they will read it. And they will either hate it or love it.

Really, I don't care. Because I just like doing a blog. Very fun. In fact, fucking fun.

I'm still hard at work on my book. Not doing the "real" book yet, just a shorter and simpler book leading up to it. Same setting, some of the same characters, but more of a prologue to the "real" book. An introduction, if you will.

Also working on a short novella-length work about Gnomes in a Western, Post-Civil War setting.

Here's a couple pictures I drew:

So how fares the book?

Pretty damn well, actually.

Will it ever be published?

Provided I'm not killed, horribly maimed or otherwise incapacitated, then yes.

Any pictures for us?

You know it, bitch! If you haven't already seen it, you are fucking BLIND.

Any more pictures? You'll have to behave. And you can thank my expensive new scanner for the above baby. It took hours to set the motherfucker up and I got a papercut doing so. On my thumb, of all places. I mean, I can stand a papercut on my dick, it's an occupational hazard when you read porn mags for a living, but shit... my namesake? My faking namesake? Oh, the thumb.

Anyway, I pushed a heavy truck out of the mud. In the rain. In my pajamas. So I'm feeling real manly right now. And sore. Very, very sore.

...Alright, enough of this shit. END.

New Post, hurrah

Yay I made a new post. I'm also much happier now than I was last year, so happy new years, christmas, thanksgiving and all that jazz people.

I made an image for my book. Did I tell you I was working on a book? Well I am. And it is awesome.

Here's the map:

Pretty damn awesome, don't you think? Anyway, the red nation is at war with the blue nations, the yellow nation and the green mountain barbarian country. The big lake in the center might or might not be removed, but suffice to say it provides a natural barrier for invading armies and I need at least one lake in the red country. The two parallel mountain lines in the north of the red country are called the Reiches; they have a gap in them controlled by the stone fortress known as the Reichburg. The southern tip of the red nation is controlled by Fort Sgein, a wooden fort in a small pass, usually used for trade. The yellow nation has fiery arrows. Ouch.

Also, I have a copyright on this baby, and anybody who uses it without my permission (and I will not give that out freely) will get their pants sued off. My book, my map, my world, my money. And copyrights are fucking expensive, so that's a lot of my money.

More to come on the book, later. Much later.

Screw sports, screw them all! Mwahaha!

I finally got fed up with football and quit. No, I did not quit because I wimped out. I got through Two-A-Days, and the first scrimmage. Pissed the hell out of me. If I hadn't been talked into doing football I would have quit the first day of Two-A-Days, but I'm a man of my word and went all the way through it to the point where they literally ask you to quit.

Seeing as I was STILL unable to force myself to like football, or any other sports, I took off my helmet and walked off the field, unstrapping my pads as I went, tossed them in my locker, threw on my jeans, grabbed my bag, walked out the door, went to Allsups, and bought two "Gorrilla Piss" yellow powerade. I then went and did a man's job, fixing fence during one of the hottest goddamn days all year. And then I walked twenty more miles to get back home once I finished that fence, and promptly jumped on this computer. That was yesterday.

So today I get back on track and start updating a little more often. But since highschool starts in about a week, don't expect updates to be more than maybe once every three days, if that. No, that's not official. I update whenever the hell I want and I'm usually tired after seven or so hours of bullshit.

Here's a picture I drew of a stickfigure with one foot: I call him Bloody Manco.

This guy will kick the shit out of you, he only needs one foot to do the job. He has only one foot. He murders people. He stomps on their heads with his footless right leg, impaling their brains up to his shins. And he does it for absolutely no reason at all.

Because he's a video-game character, preferably a game made with Flash and posted on Newgrounds. He will fuck you up, and he will enjoy it.

However, since I don't have Flash, nor a Newgrounds account, the idea of ever creating a game for Bloody Manco is laughable at best. Also, I just noticed that the lines on his "crotch-protector" are thicker than the lines on his "torso-protector". Damnit.

Still, I like the way this picture came out. I was originally going to have him with a more brooding stature, dragging a completely black stickman behind him (Manco is black with green filling, yum) by the straps of his own body-armor. Leaving a blood-trail. And the words: "Manco Will Finish This" written in blood somewhere in the picture. Preferably over his head. And all sorts of shit, like dust and smoke and grime and blood streaked all over Manco like he'd just gotten out of a gunfight.

But I'm lazy and instead just posted a stickfigure with a shotgun, a bleeding stub for a right foot, and a generally pissed off attitude. Sounds a lot like most action heroes.

I like action heroes. They kick ass.

Hell Cometh Twice Daily

It's taken me forever to update. The reason for this is shockingly simple:

Two-A-Days.

It's supposed to get us in shape for football. Instead it KILLS YOU, TEARS YOU APART, and then SHOVES YOU BACK TOGETHER WITH TAPE, then expects you to go through the whole thing again after lunch. In other words... hell, twice a day. They run you until you throw up in your helmet, and then run you some more. A lot more. And it's fucking HOT out there. Seriously.

I am proud to say, however, that I have not thrown up ONCE. And I've never, ever played football before. I'm not even that tough. But I'm not an effing baby like some of these other guys are. I bust my ass and work hard, even when other people (seniors, for god's sake!) are screwing up and getting the coaches angry enough to make everybody do Bear Crawls... that includes those of us who did it right, by the way. Goddamn you (insert name here)...

BUT! I have found a funny picture. So look at it and LAUGH. Laugh while I CRY. LAUGH AND CRY, GODDAMMIT!



I'M A FUCKING PANCAKE, BITCH!

'Twas a F***ing Goldmine Yesterday

There is a soon-to-be famous author out there. His name is Travis Knight. Yesterday he emailed me a prepublication copy of his soon-to-be first novel, Dynasty. It defies all attempts to criticsize it; I will not spoil a thing, but suffice it to say that I have never cried before while reading a book. I struggled to contain it; it is not manly to cry while reading a book! But Dynasty is different. It's not about the Chinese... No, it takes place in America, 2006. And it is better than anything I have ever read.

Here's a picture I made in paint that fits the book perfectly.

Note that this is NOT the actual cover for the book.

That's all I'm going to post here because I don't dare mess with Mr. Knight. He would sue me to hell (or at least trash the shit out of my own work) if I spoiled ANYTHING about his plot. I probably shouldn't even be posting this, but rest assured that when the book really comes out I'll post a nice, juicy review. Until then, that review stays on the Creative Forums (once I finish it, of course).

Well, yesterday was a fucking goldmine. Have you ever heard of Chuck E. Cheese? I fucking hate that place. I was quite content having never, ever, been to that hell-hole, and would have liked things to stay that way. Absolutely not. Why?

I got a physical. That's why. A fucking physical. Fucking hated every fucking moment of the fucking thing, and you just know I'm pissed when I spew the word "fucking" almost every other word.

This physical meant that I was stranded in town with my family and had to go along to a birthday party. The Rootbeer at C.E.C. makes me want to headbutt a wall with a rusty nail strapped point-first to my cranium. The pizza wasn't horrible, at least... but it wasn't very good either. Ah well, I survived.

Barely.

Also, I found myself the proud holder of a 27 DOLLAR check. After doing the math with a calculator, I realized that my grandfather had stiffed me. I should be the proud holder of a 32 DOLLAR check. Such is life.

Last night I watched Undead or Alive on Netflix. Oh my god, I have never laughed so hard. It nearly killed my father, the emotionless sap. He howled like somebody had tied him down and placed a spiky vibrator against every part of his body, turned them all on, and RUBBED THEM UP AND DOWN REALLY FAST. Seriously, watch it; it's a Western-Zombedy (Cowboys... Zombise... Comedy galore!).

I also watched Ned Kelly the night before last (the latest version starring the late Heath Ledger in one of his better roles, alongside a shockingly apathetic [and murderous] Orlando Bloom). Yes, it was a brilliant movie. The actors turned in some of the best performances of their careers. Heath Ledger as the Australian Robin Hood (Ned Kelly) was truly brilliant, and Orlando Bloom as Joe Byrne was a shockingly deep character, bloodthirsty but with a streak of loyalty and self-sacrifice. The other actors, including whoever played Dan Kelly, turned in similiar great performances (it was hard to watch Dan Kelly and his friend Steve commit suicide next to the dead body of Joe, with the building burning around them). I can't believe the movie wasn't a success; it was brilliant. And very historically accurate. VERY, VERY historically accurate.

So here's Ned Kelly, confused as he was, but still genius in that he created the first bullet-proof armor. And used it. To a great extent, along with his friends (and brother) in a very fine last stand in front of an inn filled with civilians and surrounded by bloodthirsty soldiers, using their own bodies to protect the people inside. Again... here's Neddie. :P

Godamm you happiness, you've ruined my blog! Ah well. See me tomorrow when I'm both pissed off and strangely jovial at the same time. Tanstaafl!

All my Pretty Pictures... Tick Invasion... And minimum wage.

I made a picture in paint.

It is nice.




So now I will tell you a little bit about what happened since my last post. You who are reading this. Let's not go back over that, because if you're not reading this then what's the point in my writing it? Exactly.

We have two dogs. Both are Australian Shephards, and look almost exactly the same. They're mostly black with a little white, one's a miniature (possibly a toy) and the other's normal. The miniature, for some inexplicable reason... was covered in so many gigantic ticks that she looked like somebody had rolled her around in a bunch of glue, and dropped her in a cement mixer, then tried vainly to towel her off. Guess who got the job of tearing them all off?

My hands are stained with blood.

On a happier note, today I am being paid SIX DOLLARS an hour by my grandfather for helping him put together a bunch of pipe to water his cotton, in the middle of the sweltering heat without a cap (because I hate hats and I am a stubborn bastard; ask anybody) and little water. So far I've made exactly $7.56, after working for about 1 hour, 5 minutes, but since I practically failed 8th Grade Math I wouldn't pay any heed to those figures. They're probably wrong.

So far I have read very few blogs. Actually, only two, one of them being Bears of War and the other being some shit about whatever. I was delirious with sleep, I don't remember much about the latter. If you are reading this and you have a blog... Don't fucking send it to me, I will shoot it out of the sky and bury it in my yard. With my open septic tank. And all the godforsaken little Disney animals that are currently rotting in that putrid and swampy bog of yummy human waste.

Since I'm feeling generous (it's that godamm Creative Forums again, godamm), I decided to add a picture of myself. In paint. Enjoy.





Oh yes. It is small. But it's REAL. I even left the prebuscent mustache and growing unibrow in there. Fear my ARTISTIC SKILLZ.

If you look closel, you'll notice that in my left eyebrow (it's on the right, moron) has a scar running through it.

That scar is unimportant, leave it alone.

It has no story.

It's just there.

Like you. :)