Sunday, June 26

The bus pulls up to the stop sign just as an old man in a wheelchair runs full on into me and knocks me to the rain-puddled sidewalk. He waves a saw around over his head and yells. I can barely see anything with my bulging itchy eyes, but I can tell he's scary.

"Take me to downtown City Hall!" he yells. "It's an emergency! Take me to Downtown City Hall!"

"I don't... we have to go to the studio..." I mumble. Rain drips in my eyes and I do my best to wipe it out.

"What are you doing, Old Man?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "What the, what--" The old man begins chasing Mr. Happy Puppet Head in circles around me. "Get the Hell away from me!" yells my floating red friend.

The old man manages to grab Mr. Happy Puppet Head and holds him close to his chest. He then puts the saw against Mr. Happy Puppet Head's face and yells, "Take me to Downtown City Hall! It's an emergency."

Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells loudly and incoherently.

I look towards the big blurry bus at what is probably the bus driver wondering if we're getting on. "Um... no," I wave my hands for it to drive away. "We're okay." The bus drives away.

"See that car down the street at the stoplight?" the old man asks. Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells angrily again, this time using what could almost be understood as bad words.

I squint as much as I can. "No, I can't really see anything," I tell him. That car must be driving really slow, though. "I think you should let him go. He hates hostage situations. Maybe more than anything."

"Take me to Downtown City Hall," he says it slowly this time. "The big metal thing on the roof of the car, it's a bomb. My daughter is going to blow up the city."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yes!" he yells. "I'll saw your friend in half if you don't take me there right now!"

They both yell for a little bit. I try plugging my ears with my fingers, but my eyes itch and I have to scratch them.

"Midnight!" Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells, "Just take him to City Hall!" Then he says some for-real bad words.

"Okay. Fine." I walk around to the other side of the wheelchair and start pushing.

"Curb, curb!" the old man yells as the wheelchair starts falling into the street. I pull it back onto the sidewalk. "You're going to have to tell me where to go and everything," I tell him.

"Downtown City Hall," he says.

The rain is starting to soak through my clothes and I'm cold. Mr. Happy Puppet Head keeps yelling and I'm having a really hard time pushing this wheelchair and itching my eyes at the same time. Pain in the ass.

And it sounds like we might get blown up, too. Nice.

Tuesday, June 21

"Damn!" Mr. Happy Puppet Head tells me. "Your eyes are all bulged out."

"Yeah, I thought they were eyedrops."

"You mean my ear medicine?" he asks. "Are those Kleenex boxes on your feet?"


"It says not to get it in your eyes," he turns and bobbles towards the front door. "You ready to go?"

"I can't be on TV right now," I tell him. "I look terrible and I can't see. I can't read the que-cards."

"Whatever, come on." He opens the door with his mouth and bobbles out into the front yard.

I stand where I am. It's raining hard outside. He yells at me from the front yard, "Come on, we'll miss our bus!"

My eyes itch so bad. I rub them with my eyes closed. They're swolen so big my eyelids don't close all the way over them anymore.

"Come on," Mr. Happy Puppet Head says as he comes back into the kitchen, sopping wet. "I got that new Magic Bucket bit today."

I moan loudly as I continue rubbing my engorged eyeballs. I can smell that wet puppet smell he gets. "I'm sorry. I thought they were eyedrops."

He watches me from accross the room. "Man... I been working on this Magic Bucket for months."

"You can do it on next week's episode," I try hopefully.

"Nah, it'll go bad by then..." He gets distracted by something he sees out the window. "Wait, did you see that car just now?"

"Which car? No. I can't see anything."

"The real slow one with the big metal thing on top. Does that look like foreshadowing to you?"

I moan loudly again as I rub my eyes harder. "I guess..."

"Yeah," he stares out the window, peering hard to see through the rain-streaked pane of glass. "Definitely foreshadowing. Okay, let's go. Here comes the bus." He pushes me out the door and into the big blurred out world.

Monday, June 20


If one were to have a job at an advertising agency specializing in car dealerships, this might be what the radio spots one would have to edit all the time sound like.

radio commercial


Friday, June 17

An Arpit and Bloodbath CARTOON!

Bloodbath the Unemployed Pirate Captain and his ten year old friend Arpit are hanging out in the parking lot in front of their apartment building.

"There's a bear," says Arpit. He points at the bear.

"Sure is," drawls Bloodbath. His twin pirate swords glint in the sunlight.

The bear growls a small, uncertain growl.

"Remember this morning when you said Call a Bear Your Grandma Day was stupid becuase there aren't any bears around here?" asks Arpit. "Remember that? Hey Grandma! Yeah, you bear over there. You're my Grandma."

Bloodbath checks his pocket watch.

"See, Bloodbath?" Arpit yells, hugging the bear around its big furry neck. "I think you just learned the True Meaning of Call a Bear Your Grandma Day. Go ahead, call him your Grandma."

Bloodbath sighs deeply. "No."

"Come on! You don't know he's not your Grandma." Arpit climbs on the bear's back and stradles it like a horse. The bear makes its way to a nearby pine tree and rubs his back against it, knocking Arpit to the ground.

"Yer bleeding," says Bloodbath.

"Yeah, look at that..." They lock eyes for a moment. "I think...I think now you truly just learned the True Meaning of Call a Bear Your Grandma Day. For serious, too."

Bloodbath checks his pocket watch again.

"Go on," whispers Arpit. "Call him your Grandma." The bear climbs on top of someone's station wagon and curls up for a nap.

Bloodbath watches the sleeping bear.

"We're not leaving here until you say that bear is your mother's mother," says Arpit. He says it like he means it.

Bloodbath turns and walks inside. It's time for his stories, and there's nothing Arpit and do about it.



by The Bear from the Story

Arpit and Bloodbath are the most interesting characters ever concieved in cartoon history, the single greatest creations this universe has ever seen. Their desires are clear and relatable, not to mention fascinating and exciting. The world loves them more than it loves anything, and the demand for more Arpit and Bloodbath cartoons has never been greater. Their popularity, as well as the fortunes they generate, grows exponentially every day.

This "Call a Bear Your Grandma Day" episode is Arpit and Bloodbath at their finest. I grew up wanting to act in an Arpit and Bloodbath, and I finally got my wish. I can't tell you how happy I am to have been part of such a brilliant work of art.

Thank you Arpit and Bloodbath. You two are my Grandma.

Thursday, June 16

Howie the Little Girl and her Pet Old Man Head are drinking milk. It's their favorite drink.

"Have some more, Head," says Howie as she pours him another glass. "Yes, milk is very good for us."

Just then, an Arsonist opens the door from the backyard and walks into the kitchen. She is holding a large red can of gasoline.

"Hello," says the Arsonist, smiling with her bright, handsome teeth.

"What's that?" asks Howie, pointing to the red can in the woman's hands. "Is that gasoline?"

"Sure is," she says. She hefts it up and shakes it so Howie can hear the liquid inside, filled almost to the top. She removes the plug from the spout and the strong smell of gasoline invades Howie's senses. "Gasoline is for lighting fires," says the Arsonist.

Just then, a Fireman walks into the house. "Hey little girl. Hi Arsonist," he tips his red fireman hat to them both. "I thought I'd stop by to make sure nothing is on fire."

"Really?" asks the Arsonist. "I'm just the oppsoite."

"Wow," the fireman takes off his hat and ruffles his dark, scraggly hair. "Funny how the world works, huh?" Howie pours some milk into Head's mouth. Most of it spills right back out, but she cleans it up with Head's Dribble Rag.

With a clever smile, the Arsonist pours a small puddle of gasoline onto the linoleum floor. It bursts into flame. The Fireman watches it appreciatively for a moment before taking out his Fireman's Axe and chopping the fire out.

"You're good," says the Arsonist.

"I'm really good," replies the Fireman. They stare into each other's eyes for a long time.

Howie picks up her best friend and carries him into the living room. It looks like the Arsonist and the Fireman might start kissing, and she doesn't want any part of that. She wants part of a Fort made out of couch cushions.

Wednesday, June 15

by Robert

The Film Festival has been lots of fun. Both of my movies have already screened. Portrait of a Zombie played Saturday, and Mr. Children-for-Hands played last night (tuesday). People laughed a lot through both of them, and they cheered at the end. It felt good.

A guy from DragonCon was at the Portrait screening and invited it to play at the film festival there. I'm so sick of that movie, but every time I think it won't ever screen again, it does.

During the animation screening, most of the other pieces were on 35mm film, had really great sound, clearly had a good bit of money and time invested in them, and looked way more polished and professional than Mr. Children-for-Hands. But I think mine got one of the best reactions out of the audience. They laughed all the way through it, and when it was over, there was a brief pause before everyone started laughing again. So what do you think about your budget and amazing technical skills now?

I'm happy about how all this turned out. It's one life-goal crossed off the list (I've been wanting to get into this animation screening for years). Now I just need my own cartoon show.

The best part about doing all this art and movie stuff is knowing that I'm not the only one enjoying it. So keep enjoying it. You're the best part.

Monday, June 13

They told each other the same stories over and over again.

They reiterated how attractive they think each other is.

They would make food for each other.

When one was about to fall into a deep pit with spikes at the bottom, the other would say, "Hey, look out. Pit."

Rocket ships zoomed. Politicians spoke. Legs jigged. Spirals spun.

Sometimes she would go to Maine for nine weeks to teach children. Sometimes he would walk quickly away from the ghosts hanging out in the laundry room.

They started a Company selling cakes to help people break the bad news to each other. The most popular ones were "I Had Sex with Your Husband," "The Cops Think You Killed All Those Families," and "You'll Never Walk Again." Their Company did very well.

In the End, when they were both very old, he became fat and had no arms or legs and she was littered with scars, hobbling around on a polished wooden cane. They never wore any clothes, the temperature was always warm, and she pushed him around Paradise like a wooden barrel.

Monday, June 6

"I'm one of a kind," she says. "I can lift twenty times my body mass."

The man holding the paper cup nods his head, unable to hear what she is saying over the loud music. "Nice weather we had today," he tells her.

"Follow me," she says, leading him into a room near the back of the house. "I can break your ribs without trying hard at all."

He smiles and follows, thinking something fun will happen.

"Parties can be so dangerous," the Dragon tells his date, Bit of Cloud. They watch as three party-goers are stomped into mush by the dancing crowd. "I like the danger. I'll start a fight later."

Bit of Cloud doesn't care at all. She's tired of violence in ways none can imagine.

"Hello?" The music stops and a voice echos over the loudspeaker. "I'm glad everyone came to this Fun Party. As you all know, we're celebrating. Please lift twenty times yoru body mass, if you can. The winner gets a blueberry muffin. There is a bite taken out of the blueberry muffin. I took a bite out of it."

"I should go," says one to another. "I have work in the morning."

"Go," says another to one. "I will win that muffin without you."

"True, I saw it in a dream."

"Love me."

"Too late."

The party fades out and everyone is confused as to where it went. All that is left is the muffin, and the disembodied confusion. Connect the dots.


. .

... . .. .


Thursday, June 2

I went out for a walk and got stuck in the mud. Its real deep, too. I'm up to my shins and can't get out.

Maybe the worst part about the whole thing is that the puddle is across the street from a bus stop, and the people waiting for the bus are just sitting there watching me. A large round woman carrying grocery bags asks if I need any help.

"No... I think I'm okay," I tell her. Actually, I think I'm sinking further, but I don't feel like talking to or touching any strangers right now.

It gets later and colder and of course it starts to rain. it's been raining a lot lately, but I had hoped it would wait until I figured this whole stuck-in-the-mud thing out. But it's dark now, I'm soaking wet, and I'm in to my knees.

"Hello, Henry." I turn to find an old friend standing on the sidewalk, dressed exactly like me. "Looks like you're stuck," he says, his cape flapping behind him. He holds a large umbrella over his head. I can see myself reflected in his goggles.

"My name's not Henry, Jason," I tell him. "I'm The Midnight Mailman."

He laughs a big fat man's laugh. "Whatever you say, Henry."

I try to pull my legs out as hard as I can, but nothing happens. Solid stuck. "It's my name fair and square! We aggreed whoever won the scavenger hunt gets to be The Midnight Mailman."

"And you think you won that scavenger hunt, do you?"

"I did! I found the four leaf clover, the rolling pin, the ancient talisman of Oobu, Mr. Hardigan's bra, all those--"

"You cheated!" He waves his umbrella at me.

"Did not! I was just faster."

"And you think you deserve it? Stuck in mud, without any arms or legs even." He adjusts his bowtie with his thick fingers. "You look ridiculous. You're an embarassment." He spins on his rubber boot heels and clomps his way down the wet sidewalk. "I'm The Midnight Mailman, Henry! You're nothing."

"You give it back!" I yell after him. "I'm The Midnight Mailman! Me! You can't have it! You can't have it!" I sit down in the mud. "I'm the Midnight Mailman..."

I fall asleep there next to the sidewalk, in the dark, in the rain. I wake up several hours later sunk in to my shoulders. Mr. Happy Puppet Head is there looking down at me.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks me. "I've been waiting all night!" He grabs hold of my head with his mouth and slowly pulls me out of my puddle of shame. My boots are gone, though, burried forever. I look down at my feet, but I don't really have any. They're attached to my legs which I lost a few weeks ago, so now I look like I'm floating 3 1/2 feet over the ground. The physics of how this is possible eludes me.

"Tonight's Boggle Night, you know that!" Now he's yelling. "How am I supposed to play by myself?"

"Boggle can be a one person game," I say.

"What? How can I possibly beat myself at Boggle? And look at you, covered in mud, floating around. Ridiculous!" He stomps away and I follow.

After about fifty yards he stops and turns on me. "You know how important Boggle Night is to me! You know! Don't pretend you don't know how important it is!" He spins around and runs home.

I know how important it is. Ever since he got hooked a few months back, every night has been Boggle Night.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling the rain wash the thick mud from what's left of my body, I twiddle my fingers. Maybe I'm not worthy of the name The Midnight Mailman. Maybe I'm a failure, an embarassment, a disappointment.

Somehow, as I'm walking home, I get stuck in another mud puddle. When the schoolchildren waiting for their yellow bus offer to help, I accept. I don't have enough dignity left to refuse.