Being in Mark Newgarden’s house in Brooklyn is like hanging out in the brain of a middle-aged acid casualty. Every visible inch of space is crammed with so much grinning, bug-eyed ephemera from the last century of comics, you’d think you’d died and gone to ADD heaven. Or would it be ADD hell? Not entirely sure, but in any case, even if you were somehow able to make it past the over-stimulation and bunker down to get some work done, all that’d be waiting for you in the filing cabinets would be painting after painting of hacked-up kids and barfing monsters from Mark’s days designing gross-out cards for Topps. Mark recently invited us over to show us the cream of his crap.
Vice: Jesus, where did you get all this junk?
Mark Newgarden:
Was that Day-Glo antler-mount a dumpster find?
A men’s club? You mean like one of those wood-paneled places where old Italian guys hang out?
What’s with the fez guy? It looks like one of those old Matt Groening characters, Akbar and Jeff.
Do you break into a lot of places?
Crazy. Is this a working nickelodeon?
Mark Newgarden:
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Oh, cause she’s getting naked…
verrrrrry slowly…