I can still make evening service if I haul ass

I should have continued slowly poisoning you when we were kids

I'm just gonna go do some research on lawsuits in my room

"One day, madam, I will be better at lettering and colouring my comics, but you will still be ugly." - Winston Churchill, Graphic Narratives Convention for Gentlemen, 1943.

Given the cultural reference, I probably should have done the Hachiko post from earlier in the week with this strip... whoopsy daisy.

So it's the end of the first week of Lent, having given up booze, meat, caffeine, milk, and eggs, and I don't miss any of it at all.  No sir, not one item on that stupid list of things that I don't know what I was thinking when I made it do I miss because I have plenty of toilet paper and headache tablets to hand, so what do I have to complain about?  I'll be honest, I really don't rule out the possibility of snapping and going on a bit of a bender.  We shall see.
I hope the weekend finds you well and I shall see you on the other side of it hopefully fit and well.

You said you were afraid a fly was gonna fly inside your head and learn all your thoughts

Before you ask, yes, it is deliberate that no-one has a shadow - I was experimenting, dammit!  Do you think anyone would willingly colour and letter something this horribly?  Similarly don't be dissing my whack rhymes, yo - I can't help being white.  So, so white...

Eternally out of touch, I did not care very much for 12 Years A Slave as I found it pointless and dull - "slavery is bad," you say?  Well, thank you for clearing that up, Hollywood, but I feel you could have just said "slavery was bad" and spared me two hours of my life I could have spent watching the next few episodes of Star Crossed, which for all its faults does at least explore racial politics - albeit via sci-fi allegory - instead of just wallowing at the bottom of the social ladder seeing how the worst-off of society are treated like a kind of Benefits Street for white liberals.
There's no lesson to be learned in 12 Years A Slave, no themes, no real sense of the passage of all that time, not even any character arcs, it's just a parade of misery, and what it makes me think of most is Passion of the Christ - worthy subject matter, but makes for a repetitive and dull film that treats bodily mutilation like the subject of a pornographic work, although I liked my mate's description of it as "like Shawshank Redemption, but with whippings instead of bummings."

I don't want my kid raised by religious fanatics, I want it raised by homosexuals

I have most recently watched Hachiko Monogatori and the American remake Hachi: A Dog's Story.  The former is one of the saddest things I have ever seen, while the latter is a film that stars Richard Gere.
There's a certain cultural nuance to the tale of the original Hachiko that is not present in the Americanised remake, but I sadly lack the smarts to explain it adequately and so must muddle through as best I can: basically, up until fairly recently, pets were seen as an indulgence of the well-off classes of Japanese society and cats and dogs were largely community-owned utilitarian animals, and there is a common thread in the dominant Japanese spiritual philosophies that posits the importance of an object or person being true to its purpose and nature, so in the case of Hachiko - a dog who waited loyally for its master to arrive by train each day for the rest of its life after the man suddenly passed away - even though the dog waited in vain and was doomed to never meet its master again, the fact that it waited as it was supposed to is seen as admirable, and helped shape cultural attitudes towards pets as being less an indulgence of the affluent and more an addition to the family unit.  In the American version, the dog is basically thick, so it doesn't know any better than to run away when neglected and simply seek out familiar places, and I would argue this loses a lot of the appeal of the original as Hachiko quite clearly understands that its companion is gone but chooses to wait regardless until their reunion in the afterlife, and we know this because there's a watermark scene halfway through where it shifts from being a feelgood movie about a middle-aged man making an unlikely new friend against the social expectations of the day into forty minutes of your feels gland being used as a punching bag after the dog wanders into the room in the house where his master's funeral is being held and starts crying.  It is as mad and heartbreaking as it sounds.
The Gere version not so much.

I once lived with forty birds and they all flew away and I moved on

J6 is a pitch I made to the Phoenix, but nothing came of it so I thought I would avail myself of the chance of some uncomplicated blog filler by breaking the pages down into dailies and running them for a month or so instead of the usual screen grabs.  Because I really am that lazy.

On the plus side, putting work out there did at least get me to sit down and figure out where I needed to improve (anatomy, colouring, stronger opening scenes, better-establishing new characters faster, less hatching, etc), so it was literally back to the drawing board for this pitch, but the basic premise will remain the same as in the proof-of-concept pages I'll be running here: a family of six from a working class estate in Birmingham deal with strange occurrences and the occasional crime.

It's all-ages stuff so despite the odd dip into potty humor there's no swearing, no graphic violence, no screaming "NOOOOOO!" into the rain, and no sexual violence of any sort - which I imagine would be the real deal-breaker for the average superhero fan and those very, very odd people who find their way to the blog via some disturbingly specific search terms in the old Google there, but I assure you the intent was not to subvert any genres or expectations, it was just to do a silly superhero strip in four A4 pages' worth of space, because when I first sat down to do a pitch worthy of a kids' comic, my first thought was "what genre is unashamedly for children?" and "superheroes" was the first thing that popped into my head.
There are only three stories' worth, so if you absolutely hate it (you are apparently not alone) it shan't last very long and the tiresome business of me shouting at the wind because of some sub-par episode of a teenage drama I watched that morning shall resume soon enough.

The internet said to stay off my feet but then I found this wheelchair in a ditch so now I'm ready to work out

Star Crossed stars the 30 year-old ex-model Matt Lanter as the 16 year-old Space Hunkington (this is not really his name) and the 25 year old ex-model Amy Tea Garden (actually her real name) as Some Chick (probably her actual name), and if I said to you "Roswell meets Alien Nation - go write me a series", you would go off and write exactly this, even though you aren't a writer, you're just someone who was passing me in the office at the time when I pulled my nose out of a bowl of cocaine and you only came in to empty the bins, but it's 2014 and all the writing is done electronically and you are fucked - FUCKED - if you're telling me that no-one uses paper so you don't even have a purpose in this office because you need this job, you have debts - not like "I'm in twenty large to Johnny Fingers and he's gonna break my legs if I don't make good" debts, but it's still 2014 and you have debts like everyone else, so you go off and you try to remember what you can of Roswell and Alien Nation from that one time you caught some episodes in the 1990s at something like 2 in the morning and you put it down there on the page and you print it up and bring it into the office even though you know right there - just like you did when you were writing it - that it's complete horseshit and everyone will see through you, everyone will know you're a sham, no-one will accept a bunch of unoriginal, half-baked tropes reheated like this and that office is just going to laugh right in your stupid fucking face and sure enough I take the script out of your hands and I roll it into a ball - roll the pages into an actual ball - and throw it in your face right in front of everyone in exactly the kind of bullying alpha-male prick display you expect from a cokehead twat sailing by on past successes but little actual ability beyond some passable middle-management skills and I say "FUCK PAPER EMAIL ME THAT SHIT IT'S 2014" so you do and sweet mother of God I tell you I'm happy with it and you maybe wonder in passing why I don't say "it's good" or "it's bad" or make any kind of value judgement at all upon what you are pretty sure is a lousy script but you don't really care that much because you've made it, baby - you're a motherfucking writer now and it's music to your ears when your boss tells you "this is not bad enough to throw in the garbage while you watch, but only just" because this is The CW and that, my friends, is where the bar is.
I've seen worse, I guess.