The punishment here was a friend’s idea.
I thought it was hilarious — and so appropriately military.
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Archive for ‘The Desert Peach #19’
46 items.
I’ve always wondered why my readers consider Winzig so sexy (well, SOME of you do, anyway).
It didn’t originate here — this nudity cannot be attractive.
This is actually the most truly stomach-turning moment in this episode. Shit you can wash off — somebody’s beloved head you cannot stick back on.
It was just fun to have the Peach lose his temper as badly as he did in the bar fight in issue two.
Playing against type is so much fun for any actor — and the audience.
Elizabeth Taylor, the pretty innocent ingénue, and Richard Burton, Shakespearean and adventure actor, suddenly slouching sullenly into the first scene Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, is one of my favorites.
You?
Udo is in SUCH trouble, now. It’s amazing he’s stayed around to take his punishment.
The Peach may be covered in shit, but if somebody’s hurting and needs help, he forgets his own suffering.
My agent wants me to write all these blogs to describe what I was thinking when I created each page, but I’m pretty much what-you-see-is-what-you-get. As all authors are, really.
It’s supposed to be on the page already, right?
Just because the avalanche has hit doesn’t mean little globs of snow and rock won’t keep flipping down the cliff, like the last little “doink” after a Warner Brothers’ cartoon catastrophe.
This is just gratuitous, childish ickiness, with the artist giggling her fool head off.
With the added, much more terrible horror on a little piece of paper.
I’ve been accused of yanking my readers’ heads around.
Well, d’uh.
There’s no excuse for this scene. I was just in a snarky, explody mood.
I’ve been accused of having gross, scary comics — and yet the actual scenes of violence are few and far between. Yeah, you get the occasional gruesome corpse or shrapnel wound or beheading, but I AM writing about war, the worst of the Stupid Adult Tricks.
We’ve all had days we’re so sick we don’t care what’s going on around us.
On 9/11, I was in the bathroom driving the porcelain bus. Dan spent the day giving himself a nice case of PTSD flashback watching the first strikes and the reruns all day. I don’t remember much about it, except my towel and my little glass of water.
My cat had been poisoned the day before so I really didn’t give a fuck. Personal grief vs. public grief; guess which one wins out every time?
And yeah, my cat counts more to me than your kids do. It’s just how we’re made.
