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BALD EAGLES are so hard-set in the psychology of Americans as the symbol of integrity, strength, and Freedom. My work standing alone permeates that, compounded with our treasured Bird of Predation. I will answer your other question: “WHY DO I MAKE COMICS?”So I can live forever.I Am the physical Embodiment of all living and dead BALD EAGLES
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I draw all the time, I need to escape it, but I also have to remain productive at all hours--if I'm not ruminating on my next story or comical illustration, I'm bringing it to life. It's all really a thankless process--all of it, including the final product--UNLESS I SELL IT. So I figured I'd try something new like wasting time making crafts. It's actually fun and easier for me to make my characters in 3-D with cardboard and papier-mâché. Also, it gives me something else to hide behind when I'm not supercharged on Natural Ice, belligerence extract.What do I have here? The beginnings of a sexual predator, a BALD EAGLES head and the accompanying body suit foundation, Bart Simpson Medicine Algonquin, and a dumb skull head because people like death and Stupid simple shit AND because I have every intention of selling this impersonal work as a means of paying for the basic life amenities, sustenance, and special comfort foods such as lentils and rice.
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Drinking past blackout stage, always smelling like I won the cigarette smoking contest, inhaling copious amounts of weed and watching reruns of Dinosaurs on Sloobinn Slab's Couch while he pretended to act gay, then waiting until I fell asleep to place a Dixie cup on my Clothed Sleeping boner--then I'd wake up to him sucking it…. Peculiar things, many things.How I entertained myself was exactly that: Me entertaining myself with my own output. I've Never really had expendable funds to recklessly acquire collectibles, but I'm sort of lying because in the same life I've 'ad 100-dollar nights spent on myself alone at the karaoke bar.Hanging loose wit me bloques, boys with such amazing nicknames (that I assigned them and for the most part only I address them) as Admirable Hairline, Bucky O'Hare, Cocca-Leah, Evander Sloobintudes, PorkLouey, Hyman Escalante, Snarlos O'Kellys, Tim Potleaf, Slopington Heights, etc.A Short Description of a good night would be a house gathering accompanied with drinks, anecdotes, jokes, spilling beans on the local scene, talking shit about each other to each other, and allowing ourselves to be caught in the midst of lies to keep things honest.
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As a young buckaroo my favorite things to do were eating food, staying overnight at my friend's houses, and eating their food, and playing Commodore 128, staying up late, eating more food before I went to bed, and sleeping on my stomach, so my boner dug into the mattress hard and kept me awake all night. I enjoyed these activities even more than coaxing out loads--especially since I didn’t manually blast staxx until I was 16 because I thought it was a shameful homosexual act.Also, I spent the days reading only the best underground comics, and not that hoity-toity college radio shit like Robert Crumb's Skate Shoppe Adventures, Dan Clownshoe's Ghost Busters, Gary Panter's Elaborated Mistakes--I'm talking real esoteric ID-explorational spiritual deconstructionalist indie shit Like Erik Larson's Savage Dragon, Keith Giffen's Trencher, Simon Bisley's Melting Pot, Academic comics.
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If I would have had my appendectomy performed in Peru, it would have cost me cost me five cents. The procedure: removing all my internal organs, replacing them with broken calculators and antiquated mechanical toy skeletons, guinea pig dander, and barnyard straw, then soldering the incision shut with a craft store glue gun using a pico de gallo base adhesive.I'm not here to undermine Peruvian healthcare, I'm sure they'd do just as good of a job, if not better--and it would've been $40 thousand cheaper.
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Because you were using my homemade catchphrases in your illustrations, not accrediting sources, then selling them. I came here to break your fucking skull apart, but when I showed up you quickly presented, as if anticipated, all the books I was in and politely asked if I'd sign them. I took pity (was fooled yet again), gloated in vanity, and spared your life.Why else?To pursue a life of poverty in comics in the big floating piece of shit disguised as an apple, but most importantly in pursuit of pooey. Pooey is the common term for romantic interest in DUBUQUE, and only I use it. So the question isn't valid. I never left it--I brought it with me. I am the Spirit of DUBUQUE. As long as there is Hamburger Soup (a tradional DBQ delicacy), I'll never claim defector to my beloved bluffs. Chupar mis los testimonals.
Not basically--the top was wholly severed. I got mad, punched the top out like a real Ghandi, who was renowned for using violence as a means of stress relief. That same night you saw me, I tore the hat in half. Something made me mad again--I think it was because I drank four Sparks in row within an hour and was pissed off that I was drunk, because I used up my allotment of drink tickets and thus meant I actually had to spend money at the bar. I'm a better person when I drink, as you can attest.Do you have Indian blood? When you drink you have no tolerance and it turns you into an awful parallel version of yourself that tries to beat me up.
I drink irresponsibly, large quantities in short time spans, then I'm fucked up. That's my secret, mystery solved. To further solve the mystery…
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What's there to tell you besides that I was in it? I did a two-story strip therein entitled “Moodrings.” I didn’t write it, I drew it very poorly, but not intentionally. After seeing that in print, I was determined to come back to the drawing table, and the comics world, with a vendetta against myself.I and the subjective/objective reality I've created for myself suffers from an incurable case of LIONHEART syndrome, prone to initial defeats subsequently countered by second winds that blow the sails off opposing galleons. The whole bet's on Attila. However, it's a wrong bet.
Both my inclusions to the Legal Action Comics anthologies are worth the read, I'm not going to to spoil the pleasant suprises they offer when Danny Hellman still has boxes left over regardless.What are you working on now? I have hundreds of pages of notes/scripts, etc. Doing commissions, working on scripts, and soon I'll be doing some web comic--bullshit, RIGHT? The pending projects, the real meat carriers are TOP SECRET--I don't want to see some half-artist take away my proposed ideas and get his dome sucked and published courtesy of me voluntarily handing out any gold nuggets. There is a forthcoming solo book from a reputable small publisher, and that's the extent of what I can disclose.In the meantime, chupar mis los testiculos, and besa mi culo during wet fart season.
