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Zilla, Pabst, and Jose

10 Nov

If you’re new here, you might want to meet my alter-ego before proceeding.

Channeling her inner Houdini, she managed to escape some time ago.

Evidently, she roamed all over God’s creation with a supply of Pabst, a friend of hers, and my temperamental time machine.

They also stole a bottle of champagne, but at this point, that is neither here nor there.

She’s been in my ear all morning attempting to explain herself.  Twiggy arms flapping in excitement, stomping her tail to provide the occasional soundtrack, miming the actions of what is either an ancient tribal ritual or a story about being trapped in the middle of an Hermes sale (I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually)-regardless, she’s got a long way to go in describing her whereabouts these past months.

She wore herself out in the middle of a tale about Jose (the buddy of hers I mentioned), and so in an effort to get her to quiet down a bit, I asked her to write you all a note about how this adventure got started in the first place.

As you can see, the handwritten explanations leave much to the imagination.

Just thought you should all know that I have verified the expiration date of her rickshaw license.  Early 16th century, though it looks like she could have extended if she hadn’t missed the deadline.
She’s slowly piecing it together for me, but I’m sure I’ve just hit the tip of the iceberg.  I’m debating giving her access to my password on here, so if you see an occasional drawing sans explanation, rest assured, it’s Zilla.
Rawr.
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The nighttime goldfish ghost.

24 Feb

In eighth grade I briefly owned a goldfish with a deflated eyeball sack.

I know, he was pretty awesome.

At night he’d swim around his tiny bowl and hit the side with his face.

Vision was a little hard for Ralph with that droopy eyeball.

He wasn’t long for this world, and after about a week in my lair, I offered his body to the porcelain Gods.

 

Since I was a big fan of the little guy, I’ve decided to immortalize him here, both sacks re-inflated.  I figure he’d want to look presentable to the blogging community, I know fame was always a big aspiration of Ralph’s.

So here he is.

Your nighttime goldfish ghost.

Surfing the blogosphere, one pumped eyesack at a time.

G’night bloggers.