Friday, December 25, 2009
Enter Missile Toe ... a bad little elf that has had it with the fat man's oppressive work schedules and slave wages. A buck an hour? How's an elf supposed to make a living? St. Nick nixed the worker's union, so ... down with Santa! Viva la X-Mess and Merry Mayhem to all!
- Jeff Tuffenstuff
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
I found myself wandering along the coastline of Montana de Oro in the Year of Last. This happened during my first trip to California. Whilst on the beaches, I had a vision of finding a talking Crab who prophesied that I should "take it to the Mountain". Once up there, I would come across a grove of singing eucalyptus trees that would give me further instruction. It stopped there...and I was obviously not going to investigate the preposterous and utterly fantastic ramblings of my brain. I recognize imagination when I see it. I am usually neck deep in it.
So I took that basic premise and decided to turn it into a short comic. Four pages max. Well, it's funny how some of my comics seem to grow in size rather rapidly. Before long, two simple ideas expanded into ten and so on. Now, it will be a graphic novel. The story is practically written...in my mind. It's all there: beginning, middle, end, characters, new title, places, and scene studies. Everything except for words. No notes to speak of.
The page you see in this post is the very first, and quickly rejected, page out of this conceptual graphic novel. Some of you have seen the more proper test panel, which I will not post here because of content (it's an orgy)...and also because too many people have seen it. The showing was premature, but the reception has been excellent. I fear its approval has damaged me. Regardless, I give you the first and only panel of The Crab, as it was originally intended.
Here's another one! Is'nt this your lucky day? Do'nt you just feel all gushy with joy and other possible squishy things? The bulk of these very few images have been created by pillaging newspapers and magazines and other phorms of ephemera. I never really intended on them having an audience...which is probably why I ended up giving them a mayfly's lifespan.
This particular image shows absolutely no damage or side effect from being bullied by jocks throughout the existence of my being. None whatsover. It also bears no resemblance to any petty grudges against jocks (and rednecks) that may have resulted from a PTSD-styled experience resulting from...well, school in general. I'm way past that, dudes.
Hello Globbies! It's been a while....
I've decided that I am the reincarnation of an Iron Age mute named Albaric, who's influence is slowly taking over my life. This explains why some of you NEVER SEEM TO HEAR FROM ME.
Oh...Albaric also lived in a cave, shunned sunlight, was expelled from his village for being "odd", and ate live eels--before he developed an allergic reaction to their mucus, in which case he promptly moved over to lampreys. They're different, right?
So all of this ridiculous banter is actually relevant to the piece posted in this postie.
I'm sorry, I seem to have been momentarily distracted by this huge flock of birds that were in the trees right outside of my apartment. I do'nt think I've seen or heard anything quite like it. Several of them started going after this woodpecker, who was fighting back, when all of the sudden they all took to the skies and flew off mixing in with, yet another, large flock of birds. At least my car was'nt parked under them.
Where was I? Oh yes! The piece in question comes from a small set of cartoons and weird collages that I do every once in a while. You see, if I'm not painting, then I'm working on comics, and vice versa vice. There will occasionally come a time when I need to work on something totally unrelated to my other projects that does not have some narrative or overarching concept. They simply are...my little howler monkeys.