Goin' through "the Change"

Oh, that looks infected. I told you to leave the scabs alone but you wouldn't listen, oh no, you had to pick pick pick. Well, I hope you're happy now. You all look like a bunch of Edward James Olmoses. Olmosi. Olmos's. Bill Murrays. Bleh.

Oh, those old book covers!

So romantically roughened by time.

Wear and tear add so much character.

Guess What? I Got a Fever!...

Just one small element of a larger piece.

PB and N

Pestiferous Boojum and his Naseling are watching you...

just in case you drop any food on the floor.

I come from the land of ice and snow!

Ah ahh aaaaaaa AH! Ah ahh aaaaaa AH!

Beetle & Booster

Quick one of Blue Beetle and Booster Gold

Brock Sampson

Little sketchbook sumthin' I dusted off.

Ooh! No Wonder They Call You "Reed"!

Back by public demand... more fishermen!

Still playing around with the look I want for this fisherman book. Here's a couple a' late night trials. Hope they dont offend.

Long Duck Dong

"Whatsa happenin' hot stuff?"

I might have stumbled upon the title page for my next sketchbook!

Fishermen and fishermens hats

I'm working on a little Lovecraft inspired, cartoony comic involving fishermen so I did a few studies of the great hats these guys wear. The awesome, awesome hats.

Gob Smacked!

It's goblin time! Here is a mock cover for a comic I've been working on this week. This isn't the real cover (in fact, it's a lot like the covers to one of my favorite French comics, the fantastic "Donjon" series, I can't reccomend it enough), I just wanted to do something to psyche myself up, get myself going. Now that I see it all put together, I feel like it's something, I don’t know, something I can actually do. What do you guys think?

Dave, any thoughts? Marie, got any ideas about how I can make it cooler?

And I threw in a craggy, misshapen mob king monster. Just for the hell of it.

Big Issuu!

This is pretty great, check it out, I made Rough Beasts 2 into an online mag. I really dig flippin' through it just like a regular book. So cool.

http://issuu.com/skeletongue/docs/roughbeasts2

Smootch!!!

Yayyyy! Effin' Friday! Smooooooch!!!

Train People are... angry.

Real quick, heres a couple sketches I did on the train recently. Good place to get some interesting faces. Always a nice bunch of wierdos on the South Shore. What do you guys think?

Tesla Sketchla 2

O.K. Gettin' closer, this ones a little more like a Caricature. I totally smooshed his awesome moustache and upper lip though, which is too bad. Oh well... I'll have to try again tomorrow. Soon... a hundred Teslas! Watch for it!

Tesla Sketchla

One of the greatest scientific minds of this or any other age. Who else blasted x-rays through Mark Twain's head? No one, that's who. He beat the pants off Edison, invented the electric motor that's still used in hundreds of appliances in our homes today and died penniless and insane. That's what I call genius! ZAP!

I thought this sketch turned out o.k. I haven't picked up my poor lonely brush in months and felt suddenly compelled to grab it and draw something, anything, straight in ink. It looks like Tesla... a little. I think I'll try a more forgiving medium next and try to capture his look a little better. I love drawing those old fashioned coats and collars though. What do you think?

As usual, I start things off with a corpse sucker.

Don't look at me like that, with you're mouth turned down at the corners. All distasteful wrinkles and squintily eyes. You can't imagine how terrible the world would be without the occasional corpse sucker like me.

Imagine it... bloated grannies rolling in the gutters, their tummys distended like pale beach balls, coated with carpets of black flies, alive with pale hungry maggots. Dead little kiddies purpling in the noonday sun, expelling greasy gouts of noxious brown fog sickening the occasional passerby. Without someone coming along periodically to siphon the salty salty juices pooling between the hardening folds and coagulating fat the world would become a stinking charnel house in a matter of days. A butchers freezer accidentally left open over a hot august weekend.

And then you'd all come running back, looking for someone to drag his cracked and withered tongue over the un-cremated remains of your sad little puppy, or drain the swollen sacks of mumsys and pop-pop. Someone to bung his straw in a corpse and magically draw out the tainted effluvia.

But I'll be gone, sitting under a parasol somewhere tropical, sipping pureed brains and cherries out of a halved, chilled pygmy skull.

Then you'll be sorry.