Who Invited That Guy?

Here we are again. I bashed this one out earlier in the week and thought, ‘surely I’ll come up with something more sane’, but why would I want to do that?


Who Invited That Guy?

In a modern, high class function room atop an illustrious inner city hotel, Eric thought the cocktail reception seemed to be going well, as an unfamiliar face strode up to the circle of colleagues he stood with, nibbling on a cabbage wrapped hors d’oeuvre.
“This room is clean enough to perform several invasive surgeries in, is it not?” Bellowed the stranger.
“Heh, I guess it is rather spotless” replied Frank from accounting.
“Say, where are you from, Mr…?” Asked Jenn the services manager.
“Joe. I am Mister Joe and I hail from the feudal monarchy of never mind! Furthermore, I have urgent business to attend to. I bid thee adi-due! Bon evening, esteemed brethren” Mr Joe babbled, scuttling off in great haste.
While his behaviour seemed a little odd, he was ordinary enough in appearance and Eric found his presence not entirely unsettling.
“What a strange fellow” remarked Jenn.
“Funny, I was about to say, what a dick” Frank replied.
“Your voices are still audible to me and I am not a phallus” barked Mr Joe’s voice from across the room.
Conversation paused momentarily and glances were shot in Mr Joe’s direction, then the reception resumed in high spirits.


I may not be able to get one in next week, as I’ve got a hectic week coming up, then heading up the coast on the way to Sydney for the big family Christmas. I’ll be taking my laptop and some art supplies, so no doubt there will be drawing and writing done and I’ll have stuff to show when I get back.

Merry festivities!

The Wild Frontier

A little late but here we are again. Toying with first person and genre for a change. I have a strong feeling that next week will be my most idiotic piece yet, so stay tuned for that one. Until then, enjoy, comment, say hi.


Click on the image for a brief explanation of my process and larger sizes on flickr.


I’ve always loved westerns, but never wanted to be a cowboy. I can’t grow a beard, my face is not weathered, my hands are soft and horses take a peculiar disliking to me.
Yet, here I am, outside a saloon, about to face off with Toothface Taylor after sticking up for Laelene the prostitute, when he was liquored up and getting slap happy.
While it’s terrifying and not nearly as cool as in the movies, I do feel pretty fucking rugged. Do I actually stand a chance? Well, I have played a lot of lacrosse, my reflexes aren’t bad. I was ok at the shooting range and I always kicked my brother’s arse at Halo. He’s still drunk from last night. Maybe I won’t die.
Ooh, we’re starting the walk. I’m sweating a monsoon. Stay calm. Focus. Spin, draw. Oh, he’s fallen over.
“Do I still have to shoot him?” I enquire. Nothing. Thanks guys.
What’s he doing? Writhing around with his hand in his… Right, he’s trying to draw. Guess I’d better shoot the bastard. Squeeze bang. Is he dead? He’s still moaning. What do I do now?
What am I even doing here? These people don’t need insurance.