tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87962872024-03-13T08:13:28.987-05:00Blockade BoyFur-Faced FashionistaJeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.comBlogger762125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-71917564353398958262008-08-14T17:48:00.005-05:002008-08-15T11:45:14.769-05:00That's All He Wrote<strong>This is my final post, pals.</strong><br /><br />Just thought I'd get that part out of the way, first. It's like ripping off a Band-Aid (I'm given to understand). Although I wouldn't be surprised if my delusional ex-roommate, Jeremy, added some kind of epilogue.<br /><br />When last we left your favorite super-hero (me!) I had just laid eyes on the "specialist" that the Citadel of Doom's manager had sent after me. And the sight of this guy knocked me on my ass. Because it was <em>Animal Lad.</em> Remember him?<br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/303150845/" title="animalladold1 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/115/303150845_4c16167e78_o.jpg" alt="animalladold1" height="143" width="320" /></a></p><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/303150847/" title="animalladold2 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/107/303150847_b47c180a27_o.jpg" alt="animalladold2" height="239" width="302" /></a></p>And it just so happens that Animal Lad is freaking <em>gorgeous.</em> And to top it off, he was wearing that costume I designed for him!<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/303150842/" title="animalladnew by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/120/303150842_b7c11b2511.jpg" alt="animalladnew" height="500" width="376" /></a></p>So, my mighty brain was <em>churning</em> with <em>manly emotions.</em> I was shocked and flattered that he somehow managed to find out that I'd done a hypothetical costume design for him, and had gotten somebody to replicate it for him. And I was more than a little irritated that he hadn't bothered to <em>pay</em> me. Also, I was horny.<br /><br />I hurtled down from the mouth of my cave, roaring like a Venusian gyrak. Animal Lad was startled, but he held his ground. He gestured at me and bellowed, "SLEEP!" Truth be told, I felt just as energetic as before. I guess that's because Animal Lad has the power to "tame" animals, and I'm like, WAY more evolved than that. (No matter what Storm Boy says.) Uninterrupted, I kept barreling towards him. He backed away, and sputtered, "You-- you're a mouse! I command it!" But his power to transform humanoids into lower animals didn't work on me, either. I guess it's because I'm a shape-changer, myself. As a kid, I was diagnosed with "slippery molecules." Although I <em>have</em> been changed into a lot of stuff before. Wait, wait, I got it! It's because I'm in Stockade Boy's body now! Maybe he has some kind of natural immunity. Yeah, that's the ticket.<br /><br />Before Animal Lad could utter another word, I'd tackled him, and pinned his arms to the ground.<br /><br /><em>"Nice costume,</em> handsome," I purred. "You can pay me back for the design <em>any way you see fit."</em> I smiled charmingly through my massive beard.<br /><br />He squinted at me, and gasped. <em>"Blockade Boy--?!"</em><br /><br />I nodded, and loosened my grip.<br /><br />"I didn't even know you were still alive!" he said, sitting up. "Wow, this is a real honor! Still, I have to take you into custody for all the crimes you've committed here. Mainly 'malicious mischief' and aggravated towel theft. Nothing personal. <em>But lawbreakers must be punished."</em><br /><br />I grinned. "Actually, <em>I'm</em> the wronged party here. And I can prove it."<br /><br />His taut, earnest face relaxed, just a tad. "That's... great! I can take your statement on my Omnicom, and...!"<br /><br />"Nope! It doesn't work that way. You're gonna have to wrestle me for it."<br /><br />He rolled his eyes. "So you're just messing with me, huh? Fine. Big deal if my powers don't work on you. I'll take you down <em>manually."</em> He scrambled to his feet and took a boxer's stance, adding, "Let's go, big boy."<br /><br />(And I fell in love with him, right then and there.)<br /><br />We had a rollicking, devil-may-care, two-man donnybrook that lasted a good thirty or forty minutes, <em>at least.</em> Just punching the <em>crap</em> out of each other. But I finally wore him out, and got him back down on the ground, with one of his arms twisted backwards and my knee on his back.<br /><br />"Say 'Uncle!'" I growled at him. "Say it! Say 'Uncle!'"<br /><br />He peered coyly up at me, and hoarsely whispered, <em>"Daddy...!"</em><br /><br />That was close enough for <em>me.</em> I spun his body around, and wrapped my arms about him, in a rough embrace. His tongue lapped hungrily at my neck and my chest. And then it moved lower...<br /><br />Four-and-a-half-hours of sweet lovemaking later, we sprawled langourously on the jungle floor. His head was in my lap. "What were we talking about, before--?" he burbled.<br /><br />So I told him the whole story. All about how <a href="http://blockadeboy.blogspot.com/2007/10/legion-of-substitute-costumes-phantom.html">I'd used up most of my space-cheddah last year by purchasing a "hot property"</a> that turned out to be the nearly-worthless dwarf planet of <a href="http://www.studiosanning.shawbiz.ca/legion_of_super-heroes/chronology/ad319/index.htm">Throon</a>, a.k.a. "the Planetoid of Peril." I figured with a name like that, it was a perfect spot for a summer home. Or a roller coaster! But an unscrupulous hotel chain ("Squatter Suites") had moved into the abandoned Citadel of Doom... even though they didn't own the property! According to regional space-laws, I can do anything in my power to encourage them to vacate the premises. In other words, I can harass the hell out of them, with impunity. I had been planning to sic my lawyer on them <em>anyway,</em> but I wanted to have a little fun, first. I can't help myself! Deep within my furry chest, there beats the heart of a <em>barbarian king.</em><br /><br />For backup evidence, I summoned a copy of the planetary deed on my interbloggamunicator. Animal Lad was suitably impressed, and totally on my side. Motioning to the distant Citadel, he said, "You want me to turn 'em all into monkeys? 'Cause I can do that!"<br /><br />I ruffled his hair. "Sweet kid. Naw, I'll get my lawyer to send some U.P. goods to hussle those bozos into a rocket-bus. <em>Then</em> we'll have this little slice of heaven <em>all to ourselves."</em><br /><br />Animal Lad gazed at me with a blissful expression. "I'd like that...!" he murmured.<br /><br />I sighed, contentedly. "This has been one hell of an adventure!, I'll tell ya <em>that!"</em><br /><br />"But one with a happy ending, right?"<br /><br />I chuckled. "You bet your ass! The last two people in a tropical paradise, with the promise of sweet, sweet lovin' to come...? Not bad, baby. Not bad at all. Even <em>if</em> it's kind of a rip-off of the last issue of <em>Rom: Spaceknight."</em><br /><br /><strong>"'Rom: Spaceknight?!'</strong> What the heck is <em>that?"</em><br /><br />I playfully stroked his goatee, and grinned. "You know what? <em>It really doesn't matter."</em><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2763223927/" title="blockadeboylovesanimalladscreen by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3144/2763223927_995cf6f2a9_o.jpg" alt="blockadeboylovesanimalladscreen" height="528" width="403" /></a></p><p align="center"><em>(Luciously big version available <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2763224019/sizes/o/">here</a>).</em></p><em><br /></em><br /><br /><strong>Hey, pals!</strong> It's me... Jeremy! <em>[Told you so. -- Blockade Boy]</em> Behold my handsome face!<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2765350376/" title="jdr21081508 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3133/2765350376_1834463750_o.jpg" alt="jdr21081508" height="358" width="268" /></a></p>Look! LOOK AT IT! Okay, that's enough for now. Seriously, stop. You're creepin' me out.<br /><br />...Huh. I really don't like the way I look when I smile. (Although I sure <em>do it</em> a lot.) I prefer "brooding" mode.<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2765350392/" title="jdr38081508 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3058/2765350392_556f585fa4_o.jpg" alt="jdr38081508" height="358" width="268" /></a></p>...Ahhhhh, <em>that's</em> better. I'm ready for my soliloquy now!<br /><br />I'll get a little business out of the way, first. The commissions I'm doing for all you great folks, (like MaGnUs) will now appear in my illustration blog. <em>If</em> I ever get the yen to do any more comic book panel scans (don't hold your breath), they will appear in my LiveJournal. And the first regular installment of "Viking Zombie Boyfriend" appears this Monday.<br /><br />Since I want to concentrate more on my artwork, my illustration blog should become more lively. And maybe I'll get rid of that depressing black background, and come up with an exciting new logo for it... I dunno.<br /><br />But it's time for me to put Blockade Boy to bed (preferably with a sexy bearded dude).<br /><br />Working on this blog helped me grow a lot as both a creator and as a person. Most importantly, it helped me come to terms with my homosexuality. I remember an old "Comics Scene" interview with Howard Cruse (from the 1980's!) where he said that he had a character in his comic strip "Barefootz" come out as a gay man before <em>he</em> did. Little did I know that I'd end up doing something similar. I decided Blockade Boy was gay for the sake of a joke -- so that I could link him romantically to Weight Wizard, and say that Weight Wizard had always talked about dying by being eaten by a giant flower (which happened). I never wanted to make Blockade Boy's homosexuality a joke, in and of itself -- and I hope I never did. So from the get-go, I tried to treat Blockade Boy's gayness with respect.<br /><br />Before I'd started writing this blog, I'd already discovered "bear culture" via the glorious internet -- but at the same time, I hated myself for being attracted to bears. Mainly because I'm genetically incapable of being one. Not hairy enough, not bulky enough, etc. I suppose it was cathartic for me to take on the "voice" of an absurdly masculine man who was gay. Still, it took me years before I could even admit that Blockade Boy <em>was</em> a bear. My body image issues came to the surface when I brought back the pint-sized Weight Wizard, who hated himself for being attracted to Blockade Boy. Weight Wizard was ultimately a miserable, isolated soul. Thank goodness, both he and my self-hatred are gone for good. A few months after I came out, I had Blockade Boy advise Storm Boy to embrace the fact that he was a "bear chaser." That kind of thing is very important to me: honesty, with others and with oneself. (Although my personal aesthetic has expanded beyond bears; I'm currently dating an otter! Sue me, I like 'em hairy!)<br /><br />I have a lot of practical reasons for ending this blog. Lack of time, a need to concentrate on my art and on making more money (ideally, from my art). And although I learned a lot about storytelling with this blog, I ultimately feel like I've spent enough creative energy developing characters that are owned by DC Comics, and from whom I cannot derive one penny. With Viking Zombie Boyfriend, I hope to eventually sell some comics with collections of the strips, and maybe some tie-in merchandise like t-shirts and coffee mugs. BECAUSE I NEED THE DOUGH.<br /><br />Finally, I want to say "thanks" to Scipio Garling for posting about this blog years back and bringing me my first big boost in readership. And thanks <em>also</em> to all the great folks who took a minute out of their days to comment on my posts. Y'all were the best! With my free time, maybe I can do more commenting on <em>your own</em> blogs (instead of just lurking, like I do).<br /><br />Farewell!Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-3852612668707508212008-08-14T05:25:00.004-05:002008-08-14T05:56:12.258-05:00Lazy ThursdayI'm bored.<br /><br />Which is why I'm live-blogging this.<br /><br />Still no sign of the "specialist" that the Citadel of Doom's manager hired to catch me or kill me or what-the-hell-ever. Although I <em>do</em> see a new spacecraft on the Citadel of Doom's rocket pad. It's one of those "environmentally-friendly" foreign models. Y'know. All tiny and cramped and snub-nosed and boxy-lookin'? Runs on starlight and dreams and vaporized cat pee? Probably has a little compartment to store your balls in? Yeah. One of <em>those.</em> If my pursuer is driving <em>that</em> weeniemobile, I don't anticipate him/her putting up much of a fight.<br /><br />Criminy, but it's quiet this morning. Usually, I wake up to the sounds of the Planetoid of Peril's assorted fauna ripping one another into bloody gobbets. Today? Nothin'.<br /><br />A flock of venomwings is flying past the cave, providing some welcome screeching.<br /><br />One of the creatures just gave me the stink-eye, but I just stared it down like I always do. <em>Yeah.</em> You'd <em>better</em> keep going. Heh.<br /><br />It looks like the venomwings have zeroed in on something below my cave, under the canopy of trees. They're circling, like they always do, and<br /><br />HOLY SHIT<br /><br />they<br /><br />out of the SKY<br /><br />just<br /><br />the hell<br /><br />The venomwings, they just stopped <em>flying</em> and <em>fell,</em> <strong>all of them,</strong> all at <em>once.</em><br /><br />I don't like this.<br /><br />I don't like this at all.<br /><br />Well, <em>now</em> I suppose I have to go down there and see what all the hubbub is a<br /><br />hang on<br /><br />WOW<br /><br />Not only can I not believe who they sent after me, but I can't believe what they're <em>wearing.</em><br /><br />I gotta go have a "talk" with the "specialist."<br /><br />*cracks knuckles*<br /><br />Seeya.Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-91345765121578845962008-08-13T06:26:00.002-05:002008-08-13T07:08:56.340-05:00Prank You Very MuchYesterday morning, the usual gang of idiots over at the Citadel of Doom had their "brunchtime premiere" for "Space Movie."<br /><br />It didn't exactly go like they'd planned. (Haw!)<br /><br />Everything went down around 9:00 in the morning. Most of the actors and guests had partied all night, so they were already tuckered-out and totally plowed. Hours before, I had infiltrated the Citadel, to make my preparations. I lurked up in the catwalk and the ventilation system. Like the Phantom of the Opera. Only <em>cooler.</em> (For instance, I don't think the Phantom of the Opera ever sucker-punched bulky, floating security droids.) The whole operation was <em>surprisingly easy,</em> what with all the chaotic reveling going on. And the only person who sensed that something was amiss was one buxom gal who mused, "What's that <em>smell--?"</em><br /><br />The crowd of drowsy drunks shambled into the Chemical King Memorial Ballroom, pausing only to take the gift bags proffered by the Citadel's bright-eyed staff. Some of the guests lurched over towards the buffet tables, while others greedily pawed through their gift bags. It was this latter group who first felt my hairy wrath, as their fingers were assaulted by (formerly sleeping) leechbeetles. By this point, the folks over at the buffet had discovered that the enormous mound of kono fruit-flavored yogurt was <em>actually</em> a cave-protean. (They're like regular proteans, only larger, less-evolved, meaner, <em>and</em> randier!) This seemed like as good a time as any for me to release the crater vipers. And once everyone was herded into the center of the room, I dropped the enormous stink-wasp nest on top of them.<br /><br />Keeping to the shadows, I made my way up to the Citadel's roof. I watched the angry mob of guests and hotel staff surge out the doors and onto the rocket pad (which is where I'd laid all the flesh-tearing cones from the local razorpines). Let me tell you... those guys were <em>pissed.</em> The guests were angry at the hotel manager, and they threatened lawsuits galore, while the hotel manager (quite rightly) blamed <em>me.</em> Not that he had any idea yet about who I was or even my real reasons for doing all of this. He claimed he had called in a "specialist" who would, and I quote, "put the kibosh on this caveman once and for all." (And yes, we still use the word "kibosh" 1,000 years from your time. It just sounds a lot prettier in Interlac.) This "specialist person" is supposed to show up some time today.<br /><br />What the hell <em>ever,</em> manager guy.<br /><br /><strong>BRING IT!</strong>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-72302483988634827182008-08-12T06:09:00.004-05:002008-08-12T07:21:33.294-05:00Conversations With Dud People, Part TwoAnother mystery solved! YEAH, space-boyee!<br /><br />Okay, okay... I'll back up.<br /><br />Yesterday, the Citadel of Doom started filling up with folks who -- and I can hardly believe this myself -- actually <em>want</em> to see the undoubtedly-execrable "Space Movie." Hell, not only do they want to <em>see</em> the wretched thing, but they want to be the <em>first</em> to see it! For "bragging rights", I guess. Honestly, what passes for culture in this day and space-age...! Give me Rimborian speed-opera (all-male and all-naked, if you please), <em>any</em> ol' day.<br /><br />So. I was up in my cave, spying on all the stupid, hapless dolts who were milling around the Citadel, when <em>suddenly</em> I saw this <em>one</em> insignificant dot leave the mob and strike out into the jungle! I figured I'd track him. And once I found him? I dunno. Give him a good scare, at least.<br /><br />I scrambled down the cliff and I plunged into the foliage. My handsome nose scented the air, searching for any human-type smells. I eventually latched onto something that was vaguely familiar. Like mothballs, soaked in rum.<br /><br />After maybe forty minutes, I had gotten close enough to see my prey. He was a scruffy, gangly, dandy of a man, wearing a porkpie hat with a floating holo-card projected over the polka-dotted band. The man undid the little kerchief that was about his neck, and dabbed the sweat from his face. Slapping at the monstrous leaves that brushed against his arms, he minced into a clearing. There, he started to pluck mushrooms from the sward, stuffing them into a fanny pack.<br /><br />By now, I had picked up another scent that wafted off of the man.<br /><br />Patchouli.<br /><br /><em>Holy shit.</em> It was <em>Phantom Lad.</em><br /><br />I sneaked up behind him and I cleared my throat -- which sounds like the roar of a Parakat, by the way (the <a href="http://blockadeboy.blogspot.com/2007/12/everything-must-go.html">car</a>, not the animal) -- and he jumped a good five feet up in the air. He landed about as gracefully as Ray Bolger.<br /><br />When he spotted me, his eyes goggled. He hastily removed his hat, and all his long, greasy hair came spilling down over his shoulders.<br /><br />"Blockade Boy--!" he gasped. A smile tried to find purchase on his face, and failed. Holding the hat behind him, he added, "Check it! Sometimes I land me a square job, y'know, for kicks, and then I take off my hat and I say, "Imagine that: me, workin' for you!"<br /><br />"No, you don't," I said, flatly.<br /><br />He looked down at his feet. "You're right," he admitted. "I don't."<br /><br />"Let's see that hat!" I said. "A floating holo-card, huh? <em>That's</em> kinda cool."<br /><br />"Oh, it's really not," he demurred, and he began to back away from me.<br /><br /><strong>"Fork it over,"</strong> I said.<br /><br />With great reluctance, he did, but his finger "slipped" and deactivated the card before I could see it.<br /><br />"Oh, <em>c'mon--!"</em> I spat. I quickly found the little on/off button in the brim, and the holo-card hissed back into view.<br /><br />I know it was wrong, but I laughed my ass off. I'm sorry; I couldn't help it. Because it was a press card, naming him as one "Tod Hamplan", movie reviewer for "The Lallorwood Minute." And I was familiar with "Hamplan's" work. After all, I'd seen it on nearly every holo-film poster for the last three years.<br /><br />I could barely talk, I was guffawing so hard. "DUDE--! <em>This</em> is that other writing job that Frigid Queen was always hinting at...? You're one of <em>those</em> guys? The guys who give glowing reviews to every movie that ever gets made, no matter how shitty it is? Aw, <em>man!</em> Seriously--! That is <em>so weak!"</em><br /><br />Phantom Lad attempted to blush, but the waxiness of his complexion rendered the color a sickly beige.<br /><br />"I gotta make money <em>somehow,"</em> he muttered. "And they give you free sandwiches. But yeah. I kinda hate myself for it."<br /><br />"C'mere," I said, warmly.<br /><br />He stared at me, warily.<br /><br />"C'mon," I coaxed. "Hug time."<br /><br />As he toddled forward, I grabbed him in a tight "bear hug." He began to blubber into my chest, occasionally stealing glances at where my thick, hairy dingus was pressing into his waist. I grabbed his head and made him look back up at my face.<br /><br />"Listen," I told him, "You're better than this. I know I give you a lot of grief. But one thing I know is, you're better than this. <em>Anybody</em> is better than this. So nobody wants to buy your serious writing? Screw 'em! Find something else they want! You don't have to prostitute your art. Because your art is sacred. Trust me. I'm an artist; I know what you're going through. Keep writing. Keep writing and don't ever stop. But don't let somebody else turn your writing into a joke. They don't have the authority. Only <em>you</em> do."<br /><br />He sniffled. "Yeah, I guess I oughta quit. The money's good, and the sandwiches are fucking <em>heavenly,</em> man, but you're right. It ain't worth it."<br /><br />I led him over to a low boulder and we just sat there for a while, with my arm around him, while he softly cried.<br /><br />Finally, I patted him on the back, and I stood up. "So, are you feeling better?" I asked him. Casually, I pulled my <em>own</em> long hair into a samurai-style pony tail (or "Patrick Swayze in 'Road House'-style pony tail" <em>if there's something horribly wrong with you).</em><br /><br />Phantom Lad stared at me, but didn't say a word.<br /><br />"What--?" I prompted him, feeling mildly irritated.<br /><br />"That's <em>hot,"</em> he gulped.<br /><br />"And <em>that</em> is a <em>whole 'nother talk,"</em> I laughed. "Now get out of here, you bum!" With a slap to his ass, I nudged him out of the clearing and back into the jungle.<br /><br />"Oh, and one other thing!" I called after him. "You might want to be <em>well away</em> from the Citadel of Doom around 9 AM tomorrow morning."Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-63521409997878457632008-08-11T06:24:00.006-05:002008-08-15T12:25:01.919-05:00Blockade Boy, Robot FighterMy weekend was okay. Until I had to fight the giant robot.<br /><br />On Saturday, I moved into this <em>sweet</em> cave way up in the side of a cliff. It's high up enough that I'm afforded a wonderful view of the Citadel of Doom. And yet, it's not <em>so</em> high up that it makes me tired to climb up to it while holding a bunch of "liberated" hotel swag, bound up in the hide of a Lesser Gurn (as is my wont).<br /><br />And <em>oh, what swag they got</em> over at the Citadel of Doom! In my charming, care-free, breaking-and-entering style, I've "acquired" something like eighty assorted monogrammed towels (made of the finest, fluffiest Winathian cotton); a <em>way-cool</em> chef's hat; some silk drapes that I think I could make into a kick-ass waistcoat or smoking jacket; thirty-two bottles of Chateau Femnaz <em>Sauvignon;</em> and an ice sculpture in the shape of a hot naked dude (and I licked that fucker down to a <em>nub.)</em><br /><br />Saturday night, I <em>almost</em> swiped one of those complimentary Orandoan mints that they leave on everybody's pillows -- y'know those mints, the ones that are the size of an armoire? Yeah. Those things are the <em>best.</em> Well, I'd just about made it through the window with that thing on my back, when suddenly I heard a small sound, like the coo of a dove. I turned around, and there was a little Xennian girl. Her round, lidless eyes were wet with tears, and she wailed, "Sasquatch, why? Why are you taking my complimentary mint, why?"<br /><br />"I ain't Sasquatch, honey," I sighed, and I hoisted the damn thing back onto her bed. Then, with my best coyote yelp, I jumped out the window.<br /><br />The Citadel of Doom's manager sent the giant robot after me the very next morning.<br /><br />Not that he knew exactly who I was or where I was, but he'd equipped the thing with some kind of vague, hominid-sensing tracking system. I remember watching the robot leave the hotel, while I thought, "Huh, I wonder where <em>that</em> thing's going," and then as it got closer and closer to me, I was like, "Aw, <em>shit."</em><br /><br />I let the robot chase me for a while, until I could lure it into a narrow canyon. Then I scampered up the side and started a rockslide, trapping it. From there, it was a simple matter to jump down towards it, turn myself into a steel wall in mid air, and repeatedly <em>clobber the holy bejeebus out of it.</em> The only bad part? I had to do it about six hundred times before the robot was destroyed. I could have spent Sunday napping and eating and planning how I was going to swipe more stuff from the Citadel of Doom, but <em>no.</em> And now my muscles feel like they're being flame-roasted, from all the climbing.<br /><br />I'm looking out at the Citadel of Doom, now. That big holo-projector they have in the roof is showing an advertisement for something called "Space Movie." Poppin' planets! It looks like it's <em>another</em> one of those stupid Lallorwood holo-films that pretty much just duplicate scenes from other movies (with added fart jokes). And apparently, the "galactic premiere" is happening at the Citadel of Doom!<br /><br />Oh, it is fucking <em>on,</em> motherfuckers.Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-89127225037337364082008-08-08T10:40:00.010-05:002008-08-08T11:31:17.532-05:00Conversations With Dud People, Part One<em>(Somewhere on the Planetoid of Peril, August 8, 3008, 10:29 AM...)</em><br /><br />*interbloggamunicator lights up, plays tinny version of "Flirtin' With Disaster" by Molly Hatchet*<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Aw, hell.<br /><br />*activates visi-phone function on interbloggamunicator*<br /><br />Blockade Boy (into the device): Hey, Storm Boy.<br /><br />Storm Boy: <em>Ola,</em> buddy! ...Yikes. You look like shit! Er, but you <em>wear</em> it well.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Just tell me what the problem is, so I can save all y'all's asses again and get back to my vacation.<br /><br />Storm Boy: Sure, because it's obviously doing <em>wonders</em> for your attitude!<br /><br />Blockade Boy: ...<br /><br />Storm Boy: Relax, space-ape. There's no "problem." In fact, everything's been aces since you left!<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Uh-huh. I ain't buyin' it. None of you clods could wipe your own asses without me around!<br /><br />Storm Boy: If you'd bothered to tell anybody where the hell you were <em>going,</em> I could ship you an industrial levitator. So you could <em>get over yourself.</em><br /><br />Blockade Boy: Fine. So why <em>are</em> you pestering me right now?<br /><br />Storm Boy: Mainly I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay, but you know what? You can go screw yourself.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Okay, okay... you're right. I'm sorry. I'm acting like a real bear. I mean, more so than <em>usual.</em><br /><br />Storm Boy: We <em>really are</em> doing great, by the way. I'm not shitting you.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: If you say so.<br /><br />Storm Boy: It's just -- oh, how can I put this without it sounding all catty? ...It's like, you were kind of the <em>problem.</em><br /><br />Blockade Boy: <strong><em>I</em> WAS--?!</strong><br /><br />Storm Boy: Well, <em>you</em> know... you're kind of... overbearing? And a control freak? And you kind of make everybody just <em>defer</em> to you, even without you doing it on purpose or consciously or whatever? I think that's why all of us were just hanging out at your pod all the time, waiting for you to tell us what to do.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Which, of course, I never <em>was.</em> Since most of you annoy the crap out of me.<br /><br />Storm Boy: Heh. Yeah, exactly.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: So...?<br /><br />Storm Boy: <em>So,</em> once you left, it was like a big, hairy <em>blanket</em> had been lifted off of us, and we could finally breathe and move our limbs. The rest of them are really good guys, once you get past their little quirks, and I figured out a <em>cool new direction</em> for us! By whom I mean, "me and Bad Apple Boy and Posture Queen." Not <em>you.</em><br /><br />Blockade Boy: What about Phantom Lad?<br /><br />Storm Boy: Oh, he took off. He said he had a hot lead about rioting on Imsk. Really tiny rioting. He wants to sell the story to U.P. News and Worlds Report.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Are you remembering to feed Cootie?<br /><br />Storm Boy: Rainbow Girl is taking care of her! It makes more sense, if you think about it. They've really bonded. You might have a fight on your hands when you come back! ...By the way, when <em>are</em> you coming back?<br /><br />Blockade Boy: I dunno. I feel like I can be more like "myself" out here. Sometimes I think I'm not cut out for Polite Society.<br /><br />Storm Boy: Heh. I think you're right. Oh! I just figured it out! You're on the Planetoid of Peril!<br /><br />Blockade Boy: What th'--?! You deduced <em>that</em> from what I just said?<br /><br />Storm Boy: Nope. I just caught a glimpse of the Citadel of Doom over your left shoulder. Well?<br /><br />Blockade Boy: "Well" <em>what,</em> smart guy?<br /><br />Storm Boy: Don't you want to know about our exciting new direction? It's the other reason why I called you.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Yeah, sure. Astound me.<br /><br />Storm Boy: We're the All-New Jagged Edge Explosion Balloon! Featuring Storm Boy!<br /><br />Blockade Boy: You want to lead my old garage band. Really.<br /><br />Storm Boy: I've reworked our "sound" to really <em>spotlight</em> the Electric Sousasaxotimpanibone. It's astro-ska! Posture Queen is choreographing all our dance moves, and she plays a mean nuclear-powered zither, and we have Bad Apple Boy on glockenspiel, plus of course he <em>raps.</em><br /><br />Blockade Boy: Of <em>course.</em><br /><br />Storm Boy: And now that Tusker and Dentata Damsel are out of the nervous hospital, I've snagged them for banjo and didgeridoo, respectively.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Holy cats! You're serious about this.<br /><br />Storm Boy: We've played some nightclubs already, and we're auditioning for a scout from Computoblanca Records. Oh! And Element Lad and Invisible Kid want us to play at their wedding!<br /><br />Blockade Boy: ...<br /><br />Storm Boy: Blockade Boy...?<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Um. Wow.<br /><br />Storm Boy: Yeah, so since you never were all that into the band, I was wondering if I could get the copyright to the name from you. I'll pay you whatever you want for it.<br /><br />Blockade Boy: You can have it. No charge. I'll have my lawyer visi-phone you.<br /><br />Storm Boy: Sweet! So you're doing okay? You're having fun?<br /><br />Blockade Boy: ...Yeah. I'm great! I gotta <em>go,</em> though. I have a whole big day planned.<br /><br />Storm Boy: Oh! <em>That's</em> cool. Well...! Keep in touch, okay?<br /><br />Blockade Boy: Sure. Have a good one, fat-ass!<br /><br />Storm Boy: Right back at ya, fat-ass! Seeya.<br /><br />*Blockade Boy deactivates visi-phone function, then hurls interbloggamunicator against a boulder. It bounces off, unharmed. He picks it up again, and stalks off into the jungle.*Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-64804948588507482052008-08-07T07:13:00.005-05:002008-08-07T07:44:38.319-05:00He-MannequinY'know, it's nice having this resort nearby. For instance, when I get tired of eating 100% organic food -- by which I mean, "anything that can't outrun me" -- I can always wait until everybody is asleep; scale the outside of the building like it's a big, craggy rock; smash my way through the plasti-glass windows; and raid their honor bars. And then I might follow <em>that</em> up with some skinnydippin' in the resort pool. And <em>sure,</em> the next morning everybody's all pissed-off about how their food is missing, and all the rich people's bodyguards are fighting with the hotel manager's bodyguards, and there's an unaccountable mass of honey-brown "back hair" keeping all the swimmers at bay, but I just peer at their dumb clothes-wearing bodies through the foliage and I <em>laugh my fucking head off!</em><br /><br />Well, I'd better search through my pre-loaded comics panels on my hand-held interbloggamunicator, to find something suitable for blogging... hmm... nope. Nope. Maybe. Nope. Oh, that's <em>filthy!</em> I'll look at <em>that</em> one again, <em>later.</em> Nope. Ah! <em>Here</em> we go!<br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2741467066/" title="gl135shebeatle by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3175/2741467066_14ec9e21b0_o.jpg" alt="gl135shebeatle" height="902" width="226" /></a></p><br />Please, don't touch the lesbians without permission, darling. Or else they'll <em>cut</em> you.<br /><br />Or maybe I'm mistaken, and it's actually that one kid from "Million Dollar Listing." (Or as <em>I</em> like to call it, "Million Dollar Bowlcut.")Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-56249730796728872352008-08-06T06:04:00.002-05:002008-08-06T06:13:04.893-05:00This Can't Possibly End Well<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2738444544/" title="daisyxmas by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3073/2738444544_1fcd8d4123.jpg" alt="daisyxmas" height="500" width="341" /></a></p><br />Especially when Junior realizes he's not getting those <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iTSxiT2YWQ">cha-cha heels</a> he'd asked for.<br /><br />(Nice matching robes, by the way. I wonder if <em>all</em> of Pop's wives and kids have to wear those, over at the compound? I hope not, 'cause it'll sure make it hard for the FBI to sort through all the bodies!)Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-35441053041998709612008-08-05T06:36:00.005-05:002008-08-07T07:44:58.909-05:00"This Is Mad, Mad, Mad!"My one-man corporate retreat is <em>really helping me to relax!</em> I decided to "kick it" (as Karate Kid likes to say) on the Planetoid of Peril. It features a five-star luxury hotel (the Citadel of Doom) but other than <em>that</em> shocking pink abomination? No other buildings. Anywhere. No, sir... it's nothin' but trees and deadly predators, as far as the eye can see!<br /><br />Although I treasure my elaborate grooming rituals, it's been a pleasant break to live aw-hells-yeah-<em>naturale</em> out under the <em>high blue sky,</em> man. Just relaxing my mind and letting my beard and my pelt grow as wild as they <em>darn well please;</em> gorging my belly on berries and cacti juice and tubers and mushrooms and deadly predators; walkin' around all naked and nude (with no clothes on!); communicating only in grunts and howls; leaving my (big) footprints in the soft clay...! Occasionally, some venturesome tourist will snap my picture with their visi-phone -- usually while I'm in mid-shamble and my head is turned towards them -- but I do this trick where I shake my body a little at the last possible second, so the image is all out of focus. And then when my <em>scent</em> hits 'em, they topple over backwards in a faint, and I go over there and <strong>SMASH ALL THEIR STUFF!</strong> And then I might <s>pee on 'em a little</s> leave them a strongly-worded note. (Heh.)<br /><br />So anyway, I'm living off the land right now, as simple as a Luddite. <em>Except</em> for my hand-held interbloggamunicator. I mean, I'm not an <em>animal.</em> So <em>that's</em> how I can relate the news from my friend at the Time Institute that your very favorite super-hero dimension -- the one where all the villains are psychotic mass-murderers; all the heroes are vicious, sniping, self-pitying crybabies; and half the population is lacking one or more of their limbs or eyeballs -- is about to absorb the Mighty (or "Archie") Comics dimension. It's a rare and beautiful timeological event!<br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2734562193/" title="keerectbig by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3065/2734562193_159b10a85e.jpg" alt="keerectbig" height="500" width="358" /></a></p><br /><p style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">(Gloriously huge version found <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2734562193/sizes/o/">here</a>.)</span></p><br />I'm guessing that means you all can look forward to a painfully-mutilated Shield, a sex-addicted Fly Girl, and a Comet who wets the bed. ("Kee-rect!") <em>ENJOY!</em>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-16081603597812835672008-08-04T13:09:00.002-05:002008-08-04T13:18:02.772-05:00But How Does He Smell? (Terrible!)I hated to keep you in suspense -- since I already knew what would happen (me being from the <em>future</em> and all) -- but it's now safe to tell you that Jeremy's septum-correcting surgery was a <em>smashing success!</em> He didn't feel any pain. Not that he'd admit it, since he's a total bad-ass, or at least, that's what he tells people. And after a couple of nights at his sister's house and some bowls of homemade chicken noodle soup, he's doing pretty darned well! He just isn't allowed to blow his nose for a week. Or else the fool thing just <em>falls right off,</em> I guess. Also, he can't lift anything heavier than twenty pounds for two weeks. Or is it two weeks on the nose-blowing and one week on the heavy lifting?<br /><br />Uh-oh.<br /><br />Let's see some photos of him, before and after the surgery!<br /><p style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;" align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">BEFORE:</span></p><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2620284787/" title="rizza062708side by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3187/2620284787_49ee71362c_o.jpg" alt="rizza062708side" height="358" width="268" /></a></p><br /><p style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;" align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">AFTER:</span></p><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2732905562/" title="wolverine by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3001/2732905562_c5de991a9a_o.jpg" alt="wolverine" height="190" width="273" /></a></p><br />Yipes stripes. I hope he has a good lawyer!Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-29232229031483497182008-07-31T05:59:00.005-05:002008-07-31T06:23:55.821-05:00"Be Sure to Drink Your Ovaltine" (A Crummy Commercial)<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2719613516/" title="jumblepromofinal by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3128/2719613516_434b3e33c5.jpg" alt="jumblepromofinal" height="500" width="401" /></a></p><br /><br />Let's all congratulate <strong><a href="http://somekinda.blogspot.com/">Spazmo</a></strong>, shall we, for being the first to guess the title of Jeremy's webcomic!<br /><br />Now, let's all gasp in admiration at a <em>proper</em> advertisement for it.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2718798523/" title="vzbblogpromo073108 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3203/2718798523_a20bd83782_o.jpg" alt="vzbblogpromo073108" height="517" width="375" /></a></p><br /><br />If I recall correctly -- and my memory's a bit fuzzy on this, since it happened 1,000 years ago and in another dimension -- the "saucy frolicking" wasn't in every strip. But I guess Jeremy wanted readers to prepare themselves for a Sexiest Case Scenario. It's the same thing I do on my dates! Sometimes, Storm Boy appears from under the bistro table, wearing a stewardess uniform and a life jacket, and he elaborately mimes what my date should do in a Sexy Emergency.<br /><br />Which is <em>weird,</em> since I certainly never told him he could do that.<br /><br />As for me, I'm going on a one-man "corporate retreat" -- if I can ever dodge this gang of losers which has attached itself to me like a space-barnacle on a <em>really cool</em> space-yacht. I'm gonna fly out to some forest-covered planet and just "hang". Y'know, try to get my head together and stuff. Maybe bang the occasional lumberjack. I dunno. So I won't be blogging for a little bit. Look for me early next week, probably.<br /><br /><em>On a completely unrelated note,</em> Jeremy is having surgery "today" (as in 7/31/08) to correct that annoying deviated septum of his. Let's just hope he doesn't wind up looking like <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/66826002@N00/2618326938/">that Kristen Chenoweth-faced dude</a> who's a judge on "Shear Genius."Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-17481763389827008362008-07-30T05:56:00.003-05:002008-07-30T06:00:54.607-05:00But THEN He'll Only Be Able to Count to EIGHTEEN<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2715930053/" title="gl135amputate by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3134/2715930053_c43071ea68_o.jpg" alt="gl135amputate" height="288" width="303" /></a></p><br />I think I've spotted the <em>source</em> of the outbreak, and it's all over the torso of that brunette gal. <em>Listen up,</em> missy: that fungal infection of yours may look kind of like a paisley pattern, but there's no need to <em>flaunt</em> the damn thing. Also, button up your damn shirt! (Kids these days...!)Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-27869721421798632002008-07-30T05:21:00.001-05:002008-07-30T05:22:54.707-05:00Shameless Advertising, Part Three<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2715884989/" title="jumblepromo2 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3095/2715884989_91dc0e80ee.jpg" width="401" height="500" alt="jumblepromo2" /></a></p>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-4193644498664292842008-07-29T05:32:00.002-05:002008-07-29T05:36:10.358-05:00Shameless Advertising, Part Two<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2712818183/" title="jumblepromo1 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3035/2712818183_a047d754a2.jpg" alt="jumblepromo1" height="500" width="401" /></a></p>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-66621687710609706032008-07-29T05:29:00.002-05:002008-07-29T05:32:43.682-05:00How Do You Solve a Problem Like My Bikini Area?<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2712818155/" title="bb199useless by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3100/2712818155_3e98ff8394_o.jpg" alt="bb199useless" height="530" width="259" /></a></p><br /><br />In France, nuns are much sexier!<br /><br />They just can't <em>see</em> a damn thing, is all.Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-72788587280347831812008-07-28T06:49:00.000-05:002008-07-28T06:52:37.723-05:00Shameless Advertising, Part One<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2710264716/" title="jumblepromo1 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3201/2710264716_2ed7d78a5a.jpg" alt="jumblepromo1" height="500" width="401" /></a></p>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-37578790996147832972008-07-25T06:08:00.004-05:002008-07-25T06:39:15.651-05:00And Now, a Heart-Warming Tableau<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2701208140/" title="fm35meh by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2020/2701208140_d10ced063a_o.jpg" alt="fm35meh" height="270" width="290" /></a></p><br />Alien Super-Villain One: Indeed! Our people shall <em>rejoice</em> when they behold-- wait. You're being <em>sarcastic</em> again, aren't you?<br /><br />Alien Super-Villain Two: <em>NO, Dad,</em> I'm <em>seriously pumped</em> about spending "quality time" with you. This is <em>way better</em> than hangin' out at the Olympus Mons Galleria with my friends.<br /><br />A S-V 1: Still thy tongue, stripling!<br /><br />A S-V 2: Yeah? How's about you <em>suck it,</em> old man? 'Cause I could honestly <em>give a shit</em> about helping you kill this alien dough-ball here.<br /><br />Shield: I'm not doughy! I'm <em>barrel-chested.</em><br /><br />A S-V 1: Have you no sense of <em>history,</em> boy? <em>For millennia,</em> have our proud ancestors imposed our singular will upon trembling galaxies, and...<br /><br />A S-V 2: <em>Screw</em> that shit! What about <em>my</em> dreams?<br /><br />A S-V 1: What "dreams" would <em>those</em> be? I don't see you working towards anything! Unless you're in training for the "Napping and Acting Sullen Olympics."<br /><br />A S-V 2: They don't even <em>hold that event</em> anymore <em>and you know it,</em> Dad! By the Emerald Void of K'thglz, you're <em>so fucking lame!</em><br /><br />A S-V 1: <strong>HEY!</strong> <em>YOU DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!</em> You know what? <em>That's it.</em> You're <em>grounded.</em> No hover-biking for seventeen solar-cycles.<br /><br />A S-V 2: But--!<br /><br />A S-V 1: Nope! This is final! And don't even <em>think</em> about whining to your mother about it. I'm not changing my mind.<br /><br />A S-V 2: <strong>You--! I HATE YOU! I SO FUCKING HATE YOU RIGHT NOW!</strong><br /><br />Shield: Look, can I just <em>go,</em> or...<br /><br />A S-V 1 and A S-V 2: <em>Quiet, you!</em>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-43983295059351218172008-07-24T06:55:00.002-05:002008-07-24T07:00:05.276-05:00Do You Think the Punisher Would Pull This Crap?<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2697722057/" title="fm35uglyface by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3049/2697722057_eebb048e3c_o.jpg" alt="fm35uglyface" height="328" width="319" /></a></p><br />Because I'm thinking <em>not.</em><br /><br />Oh, but <em>the Black Hood</em> pulls this crap. <strong>All the time.</strong> Because he's a petty, miserable little fucker.<br /><br />Oh, and by the way? <em>Nice ears,</em> asshole.Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-85163119656508474702008-07-23T06:32:00.002-05:002008-07-23T07:06:27.796-05:00The Crimson FistSo, it turns out that your boring dimension has its own super-hero after all...! And unlike that "Superboy-Prime" goober? He's <em>cool.</em><br /><br />His codename is <a href="http://www.myspace.com/heroatl">"The Crimson Fist"</a> and here's how balls-punchingly cool he is: he contacted <em>yours truly</em> about designing a costume for him! (For money!) It doesn't get much cooler than <em>that,</em> people.<br /><br />Designing a costume for your dimension presented some unique challenges. For instance, I had to go easy on any parts that could be grabbed onto during a scrap (like capes and hoods and such). Why? Because you fuckers fight <em>dirty!</em> It sure ain't that way where <em>I</em> live! In <em>my</em> dimension, if I'm wrestling with some (other) burly dude, and he touches grabs my glorious beard? I know <em>exactly</em> what he's asking for, and it ain't a sock to the jaw. Er, but I digress.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2694219113/" title="crimfistsketch1 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3103/2694219113_e5f8f70d6b_o.jpg" alt="crimfistsketch1" height="520" width="341" /></a></p><br />This design features body armor, based on the kind used by dirtbike enthusiasts and, I dunno, <em>cops</em> or sumpin'. Note the protective collar, which comes in handy when some jerk tries to stab you in the back of the neck. Which, I guess, <em>happens</em> where you shmoes live. The cowl has integrated lenses. The buckled boots are combined with kneepads. As a design element, I left the forearms bare. So I guess it's not 100% practical, but hey! I'm an artist.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2694219141/" title="crimfistsketch2 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3045/2694219141_01c70f8e3b_o.jpg" alt="crimfistsketch2" height="485" width="408" /></a></p><br />This next one would be suitable for riding a motorcycle. Just add helmet! I surrounded the fist logo with stylized wings for additional bad-assery. I mirrored the wing pattern on the boots. I went a little Anime in the hair, for fun.<br /><br />I actually doodled around with a full-on Japanese hero look for the Crimson Fist: armored pants, metal girdle, bare nipples, fun little vest. It made him look like he was one of those twee Final Fantasy characters (not that there's anything wrong with that), and it didn't exactly scream "tough". But I guess I had to go that far, in order to dial it back down to <em>this</em> design. It's my personal favorite!<br /><br />But the Crimson Fist prefers this third one, and I can't say as I blame him:<br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2695083340/" title="crimfistsketch3 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3259/2695083340_558ff13860_o.jpg" alt="crimfistsketch3" height="514" width="366" /></a></p><br />This design is clean and classic, with a good balance of color and silhouette. It looks the most like a 21st century super-hero from my own dimension, but it was still designed with practicality in mind. For instance, there is a definite top layer and bottom layer. The tunic is bordered with red at the hem, and it's pulled over the leggings. The boots and the gloves are both pull-ons; you'll note that they are drawn as fitting more loosely than the buckled versions in the other two designs. I'll be producing an illustration -- using this design -- for the Crimson Fist!<br /><br />Awesome!Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-16807881468755704942008-07-22T06:23:00.005-05:002008-07-22T18:16:59.963-05:00Pale Rider<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2691759013/" title="ecowgfern by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3170/2691759013_b888763143_o.jpg" alt="ecowgfern" height="441" width="301" /></a></p><br />Oh, <em>Eastern Cowgirl Fern,</em> you saucy, spangled temptress...!<br /><br />Luring wine-soaked businessmen to their dooms as you writhe onstage to ZZ Top; stretching your lanky legs into configurations few thought possible; ruthlessly abrading the metal pole with the scales on your stretchpants; insouciantly tossing your collar tips to select "rough-riders" whom you'll meet later, and secretly; dazzling the crowds with the strobe-light concealed within the ludicrously-tall crown of your cowgirl hat; smiling only seldom, because of your embarrassing overbite; ignoring the numbness in your feet after cinching your "ankle bandana" too tightly; doggedly removing all alcohol and bodily fluids from your tiny daughter's pageant vest before placing it back in her closet <em>right before she awakens</em> (for she must <em>never know</em> how the two of you can afford to live in this respectable brownstone -- that is your <em>solemn vow)...!</em><br /><br />Oh, <em>Eastern Cowgirl Fern...</em> why do you fascinate me so?<br /><br /><strong>UPDATE:</strong> <em>Holy shit.</em> She's an <a href="http://archive.southcoasttoday.com/daily/05-97/05-27-97/c08ae204.htm">actual person.</a> <em>Real</em> Eastern Cowgirl Fern, I offer you my sincerest apologies.Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-22015258279702268482008-07-21T06:26:00.002-05:002008-07-21T06:32:27.692-05:00I Want a New Rug<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2689012330/" title="bm303newrug by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3252/2689012330_83389f1bb4_o.jpg" alt="bm303newrug" height="293" width="208" /></a></p><br />Big Max has chosen the "Mamie Eisenhower" model, apparently.<br /><br />...Since he's splurged on new fake hair for himself, do you think Big Max went in for a fresh <i>merkin</i> as well? I've heard that some of the more leonine body hairs that I shed eventually wind up in those things. I don't even mind! I call it "sharing the wealth." Wear 'em in good health, boys!Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-33169436099986829152008-07-18T06:20:00.002-05:002008-07-18T06:34:52.377-05:00And I Think We Can All Agree That He Had It Coming<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2679771858/" title="beefalfredo by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3011/2679771858_4f96e2844c_o.jpg" alt="beefalfredo" height="314" width="317" /></a></p><br />Remember that night? The night Batman was killed? And everybody was laughing; and slapping one another on the back; and giving out free beer, even to the kids; and putting on <em>impromptu</em> accordion concerts; and making sloppy, care-free love right on the streets of Gotham, in amongst the looting; and also this <em>one</em> guy said that his <em>friend</em> said that his girlfriend's <em>brother</em> told him he had seen some fat stoner take a whiz <em>right on the bat-signal</em> and it <em>electrocuted</em> the bastard, and everybody went "HELL YEAH MOTHERFUCKER!" and started shooting their illegal machine guns into the air?<br /><br />Remember that?<br /><br />And <em>okay,</em> so the next day freakin' <em>Hawkman</em> moves in and turns the whole damn town into an alien <em>gulag,</em> but it was <em>so worth it</em> because Batman the Practical Joking, Solid Gold Table Having, Hamburger Devouring Son of a Bitch was <strong>DEAD.</strong>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-25168752846801186542008-07-17T05:56:00.002-05:002008-07-17T06:10:07.580-05:00Excuse Me. Are Those Bugle Boy Jeans You're Wearing?<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2677028420/" title="b290hoisted by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3106/2677028420_9b3b4e93b6_o.jpg" alt="b290hoisted" height="588" width="423" /></a></p><br />"Ah, I see that they <em>are!</em> *sniff, sniff* And the crotch has been expertly laundered! Good work! ...Why, <em>no,</em> I'm <em>not</em> planning on putting you down anytime soon. Just... you be quiet! Shut your... NO! Just shut it! Shut your dirty, whorish mouth! ...Fuck. I was going to carry you all the way to the Batmobile like this, but then I wouldn't be able to reach my keys. What? Aw, <em>HELLS NAW</em> it don't got no 'voice activation', wiseass. This is <em>1977!</em> <a href="http://blockadeboy.blogspot.com/search/label/Secret%20Wars">How come you're so dumb? You from space or something?</a> <strong>...I SAID SHUT IT!</strong> *sniff, sniff*"Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-19598284064354267572008-07-16T12:50:00.005-05:002008-07-16T12:55:53.089-05:00Good Luck With That<a href="http://nemonok.blogspot.com/">Nemonok</a> is trying to train Chunkstyle, but <a href="http://nemonok.blogspot.com/2008/07/chunkstyle-experiment-1.html">it ain't goin' too well.</a><br /><br />On the plus side, lazy li'l Chunkstyle hasn't batted Nemonok's brain-jar off of any shelves.<br /><br />Yet.<br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2653465165/" title="chunkstylebutton by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3205/2653465165_473d6b6b43_m.jpg" alt="chunkstylebutton" height="240" width="160" /></a><br /><br /><br /></p>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796287.post-67441201899302399582008-07-16T06:15:00.005-05:002008-07-16T06:55:44.864-05:00Wait, What Kind of "Convention" IS This?<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2674141574/" title="fm35shelah1 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3083/2674141574_11f4577e00_o.jpg" alt="fm35shelah1" height="394" width="402" /></a></p><br />In <em>your</em> era, She-Lah <a href="http://www.exposay.com/reese-witherspoon-bans-jake-gyllenhaal-from-swearing-in-her-home/v/21588/">is dating Jake Gyllenhaal!</a> Or maybe she's married to Keith Urban. I forget.<br /><br />So, how <em>do</em> you solve a problem like She-Lah?<br /><br />You dare her to fellate a live wire.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/75727557@N00/2674141590/" title="fm35shelah2 by blockadeboy5440, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3083/2674141590_bcea3843f2_o.jpg" alt="fm35shelah2" height="268" width="318" /></a></p><br />The next panel: the Shield tells She-Lah to "go make [him] a sammitch."<br /><br />I'm not quite sure what to make of She-Lah's robo-togs, here. I mean, she's got the imperious headdress thing goin' on, like the evil queen in "Snow White", but then she pairs it with a drably wholesome ice-skating outfit. It gives off mixed signals. (It's the Mike Piazza of supervillainess costumes!) One gets the feeling that She-Lah would smirkingly order you to get down on your knees, and then proceed to remove the pilled-up lint from the shoulders of your sport coat with one of those sticky little roller things. And then she'd chirp, "There! Isn't that better?"<br /><br />And you'd wind up cheating on her with the ball-cutting robot <em>next door.</em>Jeremy Rizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08480479249595700846noreply@blogger.com5