Asking Questions

:(

Homeless

Dashing

Such a handsome man.

No women, no children

memories echo and fade of things once said by Colonel Hunter Gathers

52 Pickup Continued

Is Ona in a dream...or what's happening?

52 Pickup Rough

52 pickup rough. 5 min doodle composition maybe

Prototyping A Character

I'm no pro at making characters, but I know what I want and when to settle. *Apparently I'm settled within two or three drawings. Whatever, I don't hate it and that's above all.

Facial expression tests are important.

Henching

"'They said henching rhymes with frenching.' So I said, 'where do I sign?'"

-No 529 

Zombie Flapjack

Haters gonna hate on infected Stormalong Harbor. Grabbin shotties, duckin behind barrels. Flapjack and Cap'n K'nuckles just tryin to survive in a crusty environment filled with hungry fellow zombies, all starving for brains. How's a zombie gonna catch a break? Black Friday for flesh. Brain aisle overload. Zombie Flapjack dreams of an island filled with brains. The hungry duo will have to stave their hunger with the Doctor Barber's secret stash. The poor fool didn't have a chance. Sure he had a large supply of sharp tools, but that made him a target. His lack of athletic skill and stubby legs didn't help him either. If Zombie Bubby wasn't so busy chowing down in the sea, maybe the gang could get to Grey Matter Island.

Pistol Grip Pump

I was in a Rage Against The Machine kind of mood that day. Tom Morello and the whole band is so funky in Pistol Grip Pump. Yes, I'm aware that's a pussy pump. A Luger and a pussy pump is the first thing that pops into my head when I listen to that song. Renegades is a great album. Ever since middle school man.

Criminally Insane

Dear Diary,

Today I want to tell you about miss Clawfield, a young caracal patient here at the asylum. Miss Clawfield is usually quite cheery and her childlike joy makes her very popular amongst both staff and patients. I have to admit she is growing on me, but I must keep these thoughts to myself. I've heard... murmurs... within the staff, ugly tales, fearful eyes and shaky voices. I can't imagine such an innocent young thing accused of such heinous acts. Every now and then she throws temper tantrums but mostly for childish reasons. Simply holding her while petting and whispering sweet nothings to her is enough to calm her down. If all else fails, candy does the trick. The only time I've ever seen her act with any maturity is when she's crying. Miss Clawfield often cries, wails even. When she's balling she tells stories to, or converses with, imaginary figures. Behind the sniffling and choking I can almost hear the ghosts of her past, who she used to be. Miss Clawfield is quite the character, often putting a smile on my face or making my day with a sweet gesture. I think she's taken to me as well. From what I've gathered, I'm the only one who's seen her stare of affection. The magical glint in her eye flashes golds and greens. The green in her eyes dance and you can't help but soak it in, like a firework. The feeling is indescribable. I have yet to understand what her interest in me is, much less communicate with her on a deeper level. Something tells me there's a whole lot more to her. I will continue trying, but not hard enough to break her fragile state. Peace spreads with her here, and I wouldn't want to take that away from the people who need it the most.

--Det. Douglas Barkman 9/15/71

A menina toca violoncelo.

Pictured: Ona Ocelot, age 8, playing her cello.

I was listening to Yo-Yo Ma's cover of Bach, Cello Suites while drawing this picture. My dog seemed to like the tune. She curled up by my side and begged for a belly rub. She looked very peaceful, I was calm as well. This drawing is a combination of two hobbies I wish to pursue: playing the cello & speaking Portuguese. None of which I have yet to master, let alone know the basics. Please correct the sentence if it has a grammatical error. Again, I am not fluent in Portuguese.

Oh brother.

Ona is a good sister. She cares enough to carry her passed out brother, Ollie, to wherever they may be headed. How this came about, we may never know.