Free Lunch Studios

Tom Gordon

Tom Gordon's Blother

July 24, 2006

Lazy Micro Blog #4
As promised, the Baroness (swoon) and Destro:

Polishing? Yup, that's me -- Mr. Double Entendre! (Those reflective and glossy textures sure were a nice change of pace, though. Also turning a Patty Hearst-esque radical terrorist harpy into one of those bubbly intellectual girls that you should've asked out, back in High School.)

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view) this comprises the very LAST entry in the sketchbook I bought back in January. And since being without processed tree flesh to scratch upon is just as debilitating as any of the other physical/emotional/mental disorders I'm saddled with... y'all earn a reprieve from the usual textual diarrhea.

Or at least for now, anyway. In the meantime, yet another entirely superfluous link to Hondo's Hurricane -- because I said so, dammit. Share and Enjoy™! Or else go stick your head in a pig. Whichever.

Also (bonus!) this scan-request of one of my more criminally prosecutable puns. Paired, as the devilish forces of synchronicity would have it, with a freeze-frame from my ever-increasing iPod video hoarding. (I daresay Joe Elliott's notion of 'subtlety' makes mine look positively Victorian.)

July 17, 2006

Dork Cred™ #3 -- Working Overtime, Fighting Crime
If I owned a time machine, going back to February 2006 and nipping in the bud this Internet schtick of posting rambling text coupled WITH sketchbook drawings (and occasional Photoshopped spot illos) would be pretty low on the "Temporal Fixes List". Hell, I might've just excised the whole 'weblog' concept from the time-space continuum altogether. (Or at the very least, that redundant enclave called MySpace. No one would mourn.)

Regardless, any Blother delays can be chalked up to that same implied obligation. For -- much like silly 'biorhythm charts' of the Corduroy Era -- my propensity for wordcraft follows a different productivity waveform than the one for imagemongery. (Yes, that'd be it! Summertime meatspace activities? Their subsequent ravaging of one's gastrointestinal system? Simple fargin' laziness? Piffle! It's harmonic convergences, I tells ya!)

At any rate, I have been doodling quite a lot, lately. First up today is stubborn clinging to abandoned mid-Eighties toy/toon franchises. Derisively snort if you must; at least I don't have to worry about the likelihood of a filmed version defiling my childhood memories, nyeah:

C'mon. Can anybody seriously deny that Hondo MacLean owned the sweetest wheels in the entire unit? His Not-Ready-For-Hasbro comrades had to contend with ungraceful land-air or (worse yet) land-sea transitions with their boxy conveyances, but not Hurricane/Nightstalker! No, she stayed firmly on the ground, and lifted her vintage chassis a few feet to expose an additional set of wheels and a ludicrous bristling of weaponry. Classy. (And certainly worth enduring goofy Geordi LaForge-styled headgear.)

No doubt Mr. M's also enjoying the New York Times' latest unwarranted expose of a certain counterterrorism organization "illegally" operating in the desert Southwest. An article surely replete with engineering schematics of all the group's pseudo-civilian military vehicles, detailed info about its Boulder Hill headquarters, and the home address of the WASP plutocrat who "leads" the "so-called" "Mobile Armored Strike Kommand". Because we certainly wouldn't want the forces of relentless evil to be put at ANY disadvantage, Allah forfend.


"Hey, well, they're like the Fourth Branch of Government, maaan. Sez so in the Constitution. (Which was made of hemp, by the way -- another fact THEY don't want you to know!) Oh... okay, I'll admit nobody actually elects any of the Times' editors. But we can't begrudge their undemocratic and unaccountable efforts to hold accountable our democratically-elected officials for subverting our democracy with democratically-agreed upon surveillance programs. Yes, even if it means the Times' revelations ultimately benefit unaccountably undemocratic terrorists who love to kill Americans, and, er... uh. Um. Erm.

"Well, anyway -- why don't YOU go fight in Iraq, you neo-fascist chickenhawk? AMERICA! Love it? Then LEAVE it! And stop crushing our (patriotic) dissent on the front page of national newspapers!"


Also caught "Pirates II" at the theatre last night (sorry, just not big on this whole new "Epic Title: Installment" naming convention Peter Jackson's pioneered). I'll only make three non-spoiling observations. One: having enjoyed this flick, its predecessor, "National Treasure", and the afforementioned slick Arthurian retelling, it's clear I'm finally becoming something of a Bruckheimerite. (Kill me!) Two: the folks behind the early-Nineties "Monkey Island" series of adventure games should really talk to their lawyers -- I almost expected the Creepy Voodoo Swamp Gal to send Guybrush Threepwood Orlando Bloom off on a senseless quest for mundane items. And three: thanks to Bill Nighy's Mind Flayer and a Neo-Kraken that's neither in thrall to petty squabbling Greco-Roman gods nor obsessive stop-motion animators -- here's the final tally (labeled with near-illegible micro/pixel/bitmap fonts):

Coming up next time: four-eyed "spoiled offspring of wealthy European aristocrats" -- and their chrome-domed Significant Others! Can't you just feel the excitement? (Yeah. I can't, either.)
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