I hope you enjoy this animation / comix. It's a completed and plot-driven product, unlike my two previous animations which were just exercises in weird.

On a completely different note, now that march madness is over, get ready for April Aggression! I've come up with a non-sequiter tournament with such characters as "drunken-hobo" and "boy-scout troup". I'll get the brackets up by next week's comic. I will be drawing / animating the contestants, the combat, and the victor. I hope you have as much fun watching and speculating as I will making them.

(Back to school?)

Right now, I'm just fighting my cat in order to post this and call it a week. You see, my cat is simultaneously sitting on the keyboard, clawing my arm, biting my hand, inundating me with his fish-breath (not that he ever eats fish), stinking up the room with his litter box (freshly cleaned, yet still stanky) and laying across the mouse.

I know it may not look like much, with this week's animation and the bone switch prototype animation, but everything is slowly coming together. I'm building up some small bits and together they form the voltron that is my realization. Stick around, because I think you may like it.

(ride the pony)

When I tell you this story, I don't want you thinking that I hate the Irish. I don't want you walking away thinking I'm specifying anyone from the great emerald isle, or any immigrant from the great potato land. I instead refer to the specific brand of human who ceases to represses the urge to smash his fellow persons. I refer to those who take St. Patrick's day as a personal challenge to remove as many inhibitions as possible through copious drink, in the pursuit of "Irishness".

Don't get me wrong. I love the sauce with a passion. I love removing the gateway between my brain and my tongue. My brain and my fist, not so much. It's almost as if those who unleash their inner Mr Hydes feel as if they are caged beasts, and at least once a year must transform themselves and unleash their repressed fury at wearing monkey suits and kowtowing for a paycheck.

The recipient of said chair attack, will probably tell you that I'm over analyzing the situation. He's right. At the end of the day, everyone's going to be fine. The tide of abuse will recede until the next time the moon swings around St. Patrick's day.

Another drunken assault story: A particular female friend of mine was walking to the El, unaccompanied by escort. An intoxicated man performing the zombi disco shuffle of inebriation took one look at her, shouted "There she is" and executed a lunging bear hug, tackling her into the bushes. Luckily the less drunk, yet still stinking of alcohol friend pulled him off "No, that's not her". Nothing hurt except for some dirt and mussed hair. I'd like to secretly think that he wasn't referring to "her" as being a specific predetermined person, friend, or acquaintance. I'd like to think he was referring to the "her" that was good enough to seize and assault in the bushes. "Here I am, me, repealed of life's vice grip, by mine vice imbibing. Hello, hello, what's this? A beautiful raven-haired tart walking unaccompanied. There she is, now it's time for a quick roll in the bushes and then to soil myself! Hork!". The follow-up being that his friend was completely willing to let his friend randomly grope a lone girl, just not this one. "Dearest chum, let us wander from this frizzy tramp and find us some gentler maiden of flaxen-hair, more of the bimbo variety. This one has the fierce beast-like vitality of a thinking woman."

(Stroke, Stroke, Stroke)

I don't honestly believe in the message of this week's comic. I mean, sure, I'd like to think that I'm going to be able to draw all sorts of insight from being an engineer to raise super smart scientist children. At the end of the day though, I'm going to be spending most of my time giving my children zerberts and spinning them around while they giggle.

I do, however, believe that someone could make a lot of money with the product in the comic. Crayon color names are deceptively nondescriptive. For example can you really tell the difference between "aged tapioca" and "whispering grain". Who makes that stuff up. (Oh wait, it's me).

(Fingerpainting Fourier Transforms)