(no subject)
A few things:
1) WITH GREAT POWER continues tonight...
2) Line Art for my first comic book, currently called ONCE UPON A TIME..., has come in. Colors will be underway soon, then lettering, then printing, then I have a COMIC BOOK! Almost finished with the second issue's script, then Line Art will commence...
3) New Things Brewing:
a. Film Script with my dear, dear friend Annie for what could possibly be the best Horror/Romantic Comedy of all time.
b. Something (probably a comic script) marrying up the following two pieces and going from there:
1.
Edgar ran his hands up the girl’s sides, sending a shiver down her spine that he could feel.
“Get your hands off my girl,” an overcompensatingly threatening voice growled from just over his left shoulder.
“She stopped being your girl the minute I walked into this dump,” Edgar tossed over his shoulder. The phrase was a hand grenade and it was going to explode in 3…2…
Edgar dropped to one knee as a fist, approximately the size of a cantaloupe, tore through the air where his head had just been. He watched as it inexorably made it’s way toward the girl’s face. There wasn’t even time for the blissful look to melt off her face before it was caved in by the impact. She raised her hands to her face but collapsed before she touched the gooey remnants of her until recently perfect features.
“Thanks,” Edgar said, thrusting his open palm into the groin of the girl-murderer. He crumpled with a howl. Edgar stood and said, “She murdered two of my friends but, you know, I don’t hit girls.” He brought his boot heel down on the writhing man’s left temple, putting an abrupt end to his moaning. Edgar turned to look at the Agent of NoFun standing there, gape-mouthed. “This is me being done fucking around,” he said with a smile. “Tell your masters that they’ve never even met the real me. Now someone get me a white russian!”
A shaky hand shot out of the crowd surrounding the proceedings, spilling a tiny bit of cream, Kahlua, and vodka. The Agent of NoFun visibly quaked, almost in time to the beat pouring out of the speakers. “Ah, ah, ah,” Edgar admonished as he took the drink, “you wouldn’t want me to report that you had been dancing, now would you?” He drained the glass in one hard draw then launched it past the Agent of NoFun’s head, into the bar mirror. The millions of exploding mirror-shards caught the club’s light, blossoming around the Agent of NoFun. Edgar shot it his award-winning smile and turned crisply on his heel.
“Now that was fun,” he said as the club crowd parted to let him out into the night.
2.
“Where have you been?”
“Plotting. Planning. Scheming.”
“For what?”
“My big comeback.”
“You can’t have a comeback if you never went anywhere.”
“Why do you think I was gone so long?”
“Clever.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed my shot, tossed it down, smooth and practiced, and began tromping back toward the front door. “Now strap on your guns, grab your handgrenades, and let’s move, we have much to blow up. Things must change, and for the better this time. No more of my mucking around with social structures and the dazzling intricacies of human realtionships - we are going to cram steaming, hot change down their throats. Buckets of change. Gooey, sticky wads of change will plaster their faces.” He looked over his shoulder at me when he realized I wasn’t following. “What has your ass glued to that stool, and, so help me, if you tell me that you found god, I will teach you a new hymn called, ‘Please Stop Mashing My Testicles With Your Mighty Boot Heel’!”
“Can’t come with you.”
“And just why the hell not?”
“A lot has changed since you went away.”
“Not enough. And not the right way. And fuck your excuses, I need you at my back.”
“I had a kid.”
His jaw worked noiselessly as he leaned back against the doorframe. I poured myself another shot and smiled at him. He continued to gape.
“Little girl,” I said and swallowed hard, gulping. “September. September Fourteenth Aquivado. Emmy for short.”
“The day I left. Nice. Dramatic.” He slumped to the floor, back againt the doorjamb. “Where is she?”
“At school. She’s 8. Second grade. Smart.”
“And you can just leave the world like this? With her in it?” He shot back to his feet and I swear I could almost hear a choir of angels singing. “You’ve got even more of reason than before I left. Before you were doing it because you thought it was right.”
“I was doing it so that you’d fuck me…”
“Whatever. Now, though, you can do it for her.”
“What I can do for her, the ONLY thing I can do for her, is to be here when she gets home from school and try to help her see that, despite our rollicking fuckups, humanity is better than any one human being.”
“I’m a daddy.”
“Yep.”
“Well, I can always teach her to blow up things…”
Feeling good today. Powerful. Wish I didn't have to sit in my cube for eight hours, but I'll make do...
1) WITH GREAT POWER continues tonight...
2) Line Art for my first comic book, currently called ONCE UPON A TIME..., has come in. Colors will be underway soon, then lettering, then printing, then I have a COMIC BOOK! Almost finished with the second issue's script, then Line Art will commence...
3) New Things Brewing:
a. Film Script with my dear, dear friend Annie for what could possibly be the best Horror/Romantic Comedy of all time.
b. Something (probably a comic script) marrying up the following two pieces and going from there:
1.
Edgar ran his hands up the girl’s sides, sending a shiver down her spine that he could feel.
“Get your hands off my girl,” an overcompensatingly threatening voice growled from just over his left shoulder.
“She stopped being your girl the minute I walked into this dump,” Edgar tossed over his shoulder. The phrase was a hand grenade and it was going to explode in 3…2…
Edgar dropped to one knee as a fist, approximately the size of a cantaloupe, tore through the air where his head had just been. He watched as it inexorably made it’s way toward the girl’s face. There wasn’t even time for the blissful look to melt off her face before it was caved in by the impact. She raised her hands to her face but collapsed before she touched the gooey remnants of her until recently perfect features.
“Thanks,” Edgar said, thrusting his open palm into the groin of the girl-murderer. He crumpled with a howl. Edgar stood and said, “She murdered two of my friends but, you know, I don’t hit girls.” He brought his boot heel down on the writhing man’s left temple, putting an abrupt end to his moaning. Edgar turned to look at the Agent of NoFun standing there, gape-mouthed. “This is me being done fucking around,” he said with a smile. “Tell your masters that they’ve never even met the real me. Now someone get me a white russian!”
A shaky hand shot out of the crowd surrounding the proceedings, spilling a tiny bit of cream, Kahlua, and vodka. The Agent of NoFun visibly quaked, almost in time to the beat pouring out of the speakers. “Ah, ah, ah,” Edgar admonished as he took the drink, “you wouldn’t want me to report that you had been dancing, now would you?” He drained the glass in one hard draw then launched it past the Agent of NoFun’s head, into the bar mirror. The millions of exploding mirror-shards caught the club’s light, blossoming around the Agent of NoFun. Edgar shot it his award-winning smile and turned crisply on his heel.
“Now that was fun,” he said as the club crowd parted to let him out into the night.
2.
“Where have you been?”
“Plotting. Planning. Scheming.”
“For what?”
“My big comeback.”
“You can’t have a comeback if you never went anywhere.”
“Why do you think I was gone so long?”
“Clever.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed my shot, tossed it down, smooth and practiced, and began tromping back toward the front door. “Now strap on your guns, grab your handgrenades, and let’s move, we have much to blow up. Things must change, and for the better this time. No more of my mucking around with social structures and the dazzling intricacies of human realtionships - we are going to cram steaming, hot change down their throats. Buckets of change. Gooey, sticky wads of change will plaster their faces.” He looked over his shoulder at me when he realized I wasn’t following. “What has your ass glued to that stool, and, so help me, if you tell me that you found god, I will teach you a new hymn called, ‘Please Stop Mashing My Testicles With Your Mighty Boot Heel’!”
“Can’t come with you.”
“And just why the hell not?”
“A lot has changed since you went away.”
“Not enough. And not the right way. And fuck your excuses, I need you at my back.”
“I had a kid.”
His jaw worked noiselessly as he leaned back against the doorframe. I poured myself another shot and smiled at him. He continued to gape.
“Little girl,” I said and swallowed hard, gulping. “September. September Fourteenth Aquivado. Emmy for short.”
“The day I left. Nice. Dramatic.” He slumped to the floor, back againt the doorjamb. “Where is she?”
“At school. She’s 8. Second grade. Smart.”
“And you can just leave the world like this? With her in it?” He shot back to his feet and I swear I could almost hear a choir of angels singing. “You’ve got even more of reason than before I left. Before you were doing it because you thought it was right.”
“I was doing it so that you’d fuck me…”
“Whatever. Now, though, you can do it for her.”
“What I can do for her, the ONLY thing I can do for her, is to be here when she gets home from school and try to help her see that, despite our rollicking fuckups, humanity is better than any one human being.”
“I’m a daddy.”
“Yep.”
“Well, I can always teach her to blow up things…”
Feeling good today. Powerful. Wish I didn't have to sit in my cube for eight hours, but I'll make do...