Wizards (1977)
So, I understand that y'all are fond of infinite superstructures full of crushing, overwhelming love, and I have finished my comic about exactly that! (Content note for casual nudity and surreal self-annihilation).
You can also get it on itch.io as a PDF or image gallery, pay-what-you-want!
glad that im not popular enough to have an evil shadow version of my blog that exists just to make contradictions on my posts
:)
Do Not Do This To Me
if this post hits 200k im printing it out and eating it
Achievement Unlocked:
Daily Recommended Dose of Fiber
Make an ill-advised promise within earshot of a gimmick blog.
Quick someone add a fucked-up car so we can get @identifying-cars-in-posts
1976-1977 Oldsmobile Cutlass
Without the power of television, we'd all be living perfectly normal lives. Sure, some of us would read novels about moving to Australia and having cool adventures or something, but on the whole our aspiration would be a little lower. TV makes things happen. They make an exotic, dreamland lifestyle seem attainable. You can make your house beautiful. You can make your ass bounce pennies off it. And you can have an exotic sports car.
For years, the Porsche dealership has been doing a little test-drive event in my neck of the woods. They'll bring all of the latest beetle-shaped sports cars around and send the community's richest folks a little invitation to show up to a secret location. At that point, they let the rich folks bag on the cars a bit, shake some hands, serve some barbecue and booze, and it's a good weekend for everyone. The idea is that they sell extra cars the next week, to folks who just hadn't considered buying a new Porsche until they got all these nice gifts. They never counted on me.
While I'm not especially rich, I have managed to leverage my friend Letter-Carrier Louise's connections at the post office into knowing when and where this event is. It's not legal for me to open someone else's mail, but it is perfectly okay if I stand next to her while she sorts postcards, and read the words that say "hey rich guys come drive a Porsche at Boonies' Country Club and Horse Embalmatorium." Sometimes she has to go a little slow on the ol' letter sorting, because she knows I don't read very quickly anymore, not since the electroshock therapy.
You might be surprised that, although I'm not moneyed, I do own rich men's clothes. My secret? Estate sales, or to be more accurate, the thrift store closest to the rich part of town where they have the estate sales. Sure, they're not the latest fashions, but that means the salesmen will think that I'm an eccentric hyper-richo, and not, say, some degenerate who is only there to scare the shit out of a golf course owner by four-wheel-drifting a 600-horsepower electric hypercar around the bar until the tires explode. And they're right. I'm also there for the free barbecue, and as many cans of beer as I can stuff into the trunk of my 1978 Volare, which has been tactically parked in the groundskeeper's shed, ready to make good my escape.
Was this ethical? Absolutely not, but the acquisition of obscene wealth rarely is. They say you have to fake it until you make it, and I'm sure once that second part hits I'll swing by the dealer to make it up to them.
Okay so I found the most incredible horse statue while doing research for my job and guys. Are you ready for this. Are you sure you're fucking ready for this thing
*sees 2 notes* FUCK yes let's fucking GOOOO
Behemoth
I saw the opposite of this horse
HONSE & hrse