Hookers or Cake

I’d been instructed by the wind to construct a dream for my dearly departed friend.

Here it is. I hope he enjoys it in whatever realm he is in.

I awoke hearing a loud knock at my door. I peered through the peephole and spied priest in full regalia. He was decorated in white robes, the hat, the whole bit. I opened the door and the priest presented me with a covered silver platter, but I noticed something was amiss.  The hand that held the platter was black and rotting. I realized that this wasn’t the priests hand. The priests arms were bound to his side.  It was then I saw the giant black cloaked figure behind the priest reaching underneath the priest’s arms presenting me with the silver dish. It nodded and held the platter closer. I took away the lid and saw the hideous rotting face. The massive dark figure gestured again and I took the platter in my hands. It began to ripple and shift as if it were a strange soup. I looked again and now saw only my reflection. The platter was a mirror and I stared at myself out of it.

Working on a new one.

Draw David Lynch’s hair.

Giant Iron Bird Turds

As the boy robot sat on the back porch next to his new friend, he saw strange giant iron birds flying in the distance. The birds seemed to be pooping on the city below and their poop turned into giant explosions of fire on all the buildings and cars. This made the robot boy anxious because he could see people screaming and dying. Perhaps a giant iron toad would come along and catch all of the bird shit and belch out nothing but smoke and the people would be ok. The boy watched, but the toad never came.

Maybe if everyone had left the hippies alone they would’ve grown into giant furry fringed beasts who ate fire and explosions. Ahh, but the hippies never grew up or truly understood love. They all seemed to think love was just some wonderfully squeezable, diggable, all time groovy thing. They didn’t know love was also a giant, devouring bitch. Of course any flower could have told them that, but they never stuck around long enough for the rotting part. So, the city burned and the boy robot helplessly watched.

The Trouble With Chester

I’m working on a spec script for a cartoon show about a dead raccoon named Chester. Chester lies dead on the back porch of a model home in an abandoned gated community. The model home is fully furnished with a thoroughly modern kitchen. There is a small child robot floor sweeper that befriends Chester and together the learn all sorts of life lessons. Most of the lessons center around the finality of death and the roaring void because Chester doesn’t say or do anything, as he is dead and rotting.

Though there will be some fun song and dance numbers done by the maggots living in Chester’s body. And heart touching songs that the robot child sings into the void.

St. Meat - The ghost of the dead horse that haunts me.

maybe I’ll do some daily doodles