Hollow Giving

Hollow Giving
Pa: Here you go, Jimmy. I’ve got a present for you.
Jimmy: But, Pa, I feel a healthy indifference toward radishes!
Pa: I know, son. ::Pats Jimmy on the back::
Jimmy: But Pa! Are we mutants?
Pa: From the look of our hands, old chap, I’d have to say yes. Now shut up.



Thanksgiving and Halloween are really quite similar, you know. I mean, they’re practically on top of each other when it comes to the calendar, they’re both bursting with your standard fall color scheme, and while you worship the devil during one, the other has you paying homage to a wad of congealed berry juice (practically the same thing).

I think combining the two would definitely save time. Who needs to spend hours cooking a full turkey dinner when you can just go collect some candy? Though I guess one drawback would be the name, since it would most likely come out sounding like “hollowgiving”, which might make some people doubt the sincerity of the love and thought behind the candy and bits of deli meat being tossed into their sacks.

Illustration Friday: Smitten

Smitten Giraffe
(click for larger version)

Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be the tallest thing around…

Well, here’s my first entry for Illustration Friday, where you get a new topic every Friday, and then have a week to illustrate it.

Needless to say, the word smitten (this week’s topic) is quite adept bringing to mind all manner of sentimental mushiness, but one must not overlook its more literal, though seldom-used, definition.

It just so happens that I find the latter infinitely more fun to illustrate.

Renfield Takes a Stand

Pigeon Fencing (small)
(click for larger version)

Apparently this particular feline has not been exposed to what this pigeon can do with a good quality nunchaku, or it would already have vacated the premises. As it stands, the cat is most likely going to find out very quickly that Renfield is no less skilled in the ways of the fencing foil.

History in the Making

Squirrel Helm

Over time the story became somewhat cloudy and muddled (sometimes it wasn’t a squirrel, but a rat), but the smith ever after maintained that it was the most stunning revelation he’d ever had. “If that vermin hadn’t decided to relax on the sun-warmed hull of my latest creation,” he told his chair (he was pushing 80), “I’d never have realized what I’d been missing all these years.”

And medieval war-fashion was never the same.