Blurgh, the long spring of art death threatens to spill into the summer. I feel like I'm making up for having less drawings anymore by posting them huge and yaking about them a lot.
Apparently, nowhere in all my blabbing about Eric's curse did I mention he's a sad bag of bones when he first transforms. He looks and acts pretty terrifying for a bit, it's a state which is quickly remedied. Meantime don't let him lick you, that spit'll strip paint. Eric: Ah, and for the record, I don't have boxers with muffins on them. They're obviously cupcakes.
Original original character revist timeh:
Tom used to be something of a loose cannon, certainly never a villain but ordered his clothes from the same catalogue.
If Benís life seems oddly idyllic relative to the rest of my cast, itís because heís already died and gone to heaven. I suspect I have a lot of subliminal guilt about using him for a punching bag of pathos throughout my late childhood.
The only good way I've found to win the argument that Corneliusí glatnism can't possibly be as miserable as he says has been to remind him of the days he was a GIANT HOWLING MUTANT PHLEGM, because it makes him turn white and stagger off to look at pictures of kittens.
(For the interested, I believe lubii, the beasties that pass on glatnism, may now look something like mini cousins of this fine thing.)
Back into the woodwork I go.