This one’s more whimsical than funny, but I quite like it. After inheriting three teenagers, and growing one naturally (with one more to come), this thumbnail, done during my child-free years, feels rather prescient.
Honestly, if I never have to remind another human being that they have to brush their teeth ever again……
Dr Jones– Psychiatrist
“Crosses, garlic, running water… although we can’t tell if the last one
is because he’s a vampire or just because he’s a teenager…
Okay, so they’re storming the castle, and the defenders are pouring hot…. oil?…. and there’s a drunk guy…. and he wants a cold…. oil?……
You know, sometimes, I look back at these scratchings made ten or more years ago, and I think “Wow, I could have made something of myself, if I’d just pushed at it. I can see where it all could have fit together.” And sometimes, well…… this.
No. I have no idea what I was thinking. I really, really don’t.
” ‘Ave you got a cold one?”
Let’s be honest. The Hulk is the comic book version of Paul Revere: anything you fit into that whole “Hulk SMASH!” vibe is going to be as funny as “Give me (insert here) or give me death.”
Or, at least, funny to me.
This is the inside of my head. You all just live here.
“You know, that really is getting old…”
It’s a good, old-fashioned SF trope: what if the aliens we contact are so far in advance that they don’t see us as equals. But the trope stretches farther, and farther back than that: Voltaire’s story Micromegas, published in 1752, shows aliens that consider Earth unpopulated because nothing so small as humans could bear intelligence. Upon interacting with us, they change their opinion: we’re idiots.
This is my own, small, visual contribution to that trope.
“One small step for a Vilognian…”
There’s not much to say about this one. Okay, yes, Barrabas was chosen first time out. But isn’t it nice to see him coming back to defend his title. May the odds be ever in his favour.
“Choose now: Jeremy Smith or Barrabas!”
“Between you and me, this is all getting a little bit old.”
Sometimes, when life throws you lemons, you just have to find a good quality gin to go with it. We all gots stuff, amirite? Even werewolves need walkies.
“Just wait thirty minutes, it’ll all be fine.”
One day, I’ll get someone clever to turn this into the cover of my autobiography.
“And I still say we’re lost.”