d'Holbachie Yoko

d'Holbachie Yoko did these computer generated images. I love them. I want to bake those little critters up and deep fry them. They just look delicious.












d'Holbachie's online gallery

I'm Space Now

He says, "Take your Hat off," or something along those lines, and I lean in and look down his bottomless and empty eye holes.
I ask him "How long do you think you would have to go without looking in the mirror before you couldn't recognize yourself anymore"?
Then I remember this dude Space, who was about thirty-something years old when we were in College. He starred in my extracurricular college variety ensemble as the Cooky Drug Guy That Prolly's Gonna Touch Your Penis. None the less, oftentimes his friends were my friends and there he was. He leans into me one night and starts in on "Imagine if all these people in here were invisible. If all you could see were their hearts all glowing" and "It would just look like their hearts were hovering!" He was pretty frantic about it. After a while it just got weird that he wouldn't stop talking about it. I saw him later and he had an armful of fiber glass delivery truck attachments like firewood at my dorm room door and he wants to crash for awhile. He ends up in a mound of stuff that wasn't very clean gripping the back bars of a desk chair like they were a prison door. "Pssst . . . i'm in jail", he just kept repeating it over and over and somehow I fell asleep.
The funny part is that none of it seemed all that strange back then, but fuck. That's prime nightmare material now. Some Twins Peaks shit where I don't understand it even though it looks so familiar. A Punch and Judy for an adult audience that leaves the brain feeling superior but completely missing-out on something much better.

List of new stuff to learn how to do:

1. Play harmonica to Pavement songs.




Yeah that's really all there is.

I can already do a lot of stuff.

smiting mode

Trying to figure out what the robot looks like walking on his hands and using his spindley legs like teeth.

Spermites!!

Imagine injecting your precious balls with several thousand of these programed killers to exterminate those pesky spermatozoon. Known stranglers, the spermitic model aids in the pandemic formation and maintenance of a single-sperm count.



You may experience intense vibrations and/or a high
pitched ringing during the first week of incubation.
Should this persist, consult your physician immediately.

Should you experience a bloody discharge also consult your physician.
If you experience any sexual side-effects, simply skip a charging cycle, adjust your Pseudo-Response Regulator to a lower setting, and consult your physician.

Thanksgivin'

Thanksgiving is the celebration of that fated day when the savage Indians domesticated themselves like house pets and graced the Jesus-loving Fundamentalist's dinner party with an astonishing display of proper table etiquette and utinsel-use.

Put down that spear and pick up that salad fork!
No, you can't use the carcass for a mail box.
If God wanted us to run around the woods naked, why did he make fiber glass.
Fawn-soft loin clothes may make good napkins, but Mrs. Smith, please keep your hands above the table where we can see them.

Decades later, the civil union will be celebrated with white trash dream catchers and air-brushed wolf shirts. These items will be sold at affordable prices along the ancient nomadic trails disguised as truck stops. Porcelain busts of brown skinned princesses and bead-decorated, rawhide maccosins will always remind us that on that particular day the Lord loved the Native blood as much as he loved pencils and hockey.

His loves just never stops.

First of all:



Found this gem at Superdickery, a web site dedicated to the undeniable fact that Superman is a Dick. All the pictures of covers and panels are unaltered and pretty ridiculous. After an hour of browsing around, I must say that Superman is indeed a total dick.

I'm gonna try to post some tid-bits from the 'ole sketch book everyday from now on. I need goals, ya' know? Ambitions! Plus, I know how lame it is to keep clicking on someone's blog and seeing the same goddamn post from a week ago. Today's sketchs are from sheets of thumbnail drawings of robots I was coming up with:



Don't know why this was my favorite. . . but I eventually changed his proportions and added arms:



yeah, that's right, I'm sitting around watching cartoons and drawing robots.

And thanks to Rick's fucking post, I've been listening to nothing but old Motley Crue. . . on the Hip-Hop EQ setting. I'm such a rebel.

I guess I should mention my dick modeling gig. I'll be posing the pee pee for some drawings. It's all on the up-and-up, I promise you. The artist is quite impassioned and does very well with his penis portraiture. I hear he sells well in Province Town. . . go figure.

Winter

We got our rings in the mail!



They are Titanium with thin Sterling threads that run through them. We didn't want gold. Brushed Blackish metal suits me well. . . and it'll match my belts.

Looks like Dec. 21st is the day and afterwards we're gonna take our parents to the Improv Comedy House just to let 'em know how we really feel about it all. If you're sitting there wondering, "How come I didn't get invited. . . or told", or any of that stuff, it's cause it's none of your business.

Just kidding. We plan on doing a big Masquerade Ball that may be this summer (but before we plan that we still have to plan other stuff that hasn't been gotten around to quite yet) and everyone is invited to that. Melissa and I always talk about how great it would be to get all our friends from all over in one place for a big three day party. Maybe this can be the start of an annual tradition.

Monkee facials anyone?

Pycholexicon

They need to make-up a word for the kind of remembering that happens in dreams where you meet a person/enter a place/hear something that you immediately recognize as familiar even though, when you wake up, you realize you've never encountered it before.

I got a shipment of goodies from Amazon the other day. The highlight of which was the complete series of Jeff Smith's Bone in a single volume:



One of the best told graphic stories I've ever read. 1332 pages of pure comic fairy-tale bliss. I promise you'll all end up loving it. This will be the second time I've read it in it's entirety.

Like a dog shitting in my ear-hole.

The chiming tune of Windows starting-up is so out-of-tune with The Number of the Beast that it makes me wanna smash my lobes with my fists until they bleed onto the carpet.

Finally set up Missy's show.

It's in the Municiple building of Upper Arlington, which is in Columbus. The sign on the door says, "No Weapons Beyond This Point", as this is the courthouse and all, and we're bringing in these bundles of sharp metal sticks. Call me crazy, but in most circumstances, a pointy metal stick is a weapon.

When you're installing a show in a public space everybody turns into a fucking comedian. There should be a 1-pun-per-person limit on passer-bys in these situations, but no. I'm sure these office folk were running back to the space so they could throw out the great one-liner they thought of after they walked by.

None of these were even funny enough to list. . . welcome to Ohio.



So as we're leaving this huge stack of, well . . . HUGe, sharp pins in the middle of the floor and discussing the safety of it all with the lady in charge of the art, a woman walks in with her little girl. The woman's asking me for directions to such-and-such department ('cause I look so fucking helpful, right? all day long people were asking me how to get here or there. . . what do I look like? Mr. Won't-tell-you-to-go-fuck-yerself?) and her kid is at the pins with her foot, giving them a kick. Then, she starts to find her footing like she's gonna climb up the stack. The mother says nothing.

If you are a parent, and your kid starts to climb on a big stack of teetering sharp metal sticks, you say something right? Nope. I put a stop to it and the fucking kid immediately starts running through the tables and starts to put her foot on one like she's gonna stand on it, at which point Missy yells at her, she almost cries, and I remember how dumb kids are and how much dumber the parents must be to raise them that way.

Sharp metal sticks. Kids. Bad.

Sometimes it's ok to yell at your kids in public. That's how kids survive, 'cause they start off stupid and we teach them stuff.



One of the tables has a setting that consists of two knives and a fork, on account of miscounting and Clownboy hording the other forks swedishly.

There are still 130 more pins in the basement, in boxes, waiting for their turn.