Thursday, August 25, 2005






Who likes pancakes? I'm not really asking, but I just wanted to ask. What? Huh? Zah? Durp! Typing is fun! So I finally got around to watching The Jerk 26th Anniversary DVD and altho I still feel that the movie itself still holds up as the greatest American comedy ever made, the special features are horridly lacking (and this coming from the fellah who pulled a bixby irish and bought the non-spesh ed. Sin City that just came out). The only feature remotely worthwhile was supplementary footage to the Mexican Cat Juggling sequence, where PigEye Jackson goes beyond cat juggling and into fish teasing (where he produces a goldfish in a bowl, then taps on the glass, waves an empty fish food canister over its bowl, and eats sushi in front of it) and plant abusing (where he uncovers a potted fern and screams stuff at it like "I'll f@#k you 6 ways from f@#king Sunday you f@#king whore!"). But at least it gave me an excuse to finally buy The Jerk on DVD. And, according to World Domination reader Wayne Unten and All Things Browe! inspiration Brian Growe, in other DVD news, the next volume of the animated Batman (all the streamlined WB episodes) comes out December 6th! Ask Garrett for it for Christmas--he'll buy it for you bustamante!
Heather ended up having to a meeting today so she had to cancel our appointment for the week, so I pretty much had all day to reflect on my Swiss army turtle farm and sauter my toe cleavage. Assuming we can meet next week, it sounds like I'll be a busy brogan once more, because not only will we go over my latest pass on the Haley project, but she'll probably also give me a storyboard revisionist test for The Replacements--here's hoping I riznock the casbahdor on this one and actually and finally score a job. And speaking of boards, here're the last of my Aphrodite boards that I'm willing to show. Acting-wise, they're probably my favorite, which figures since they're the last panels of the scene. I guess sometimes you just need 160 drawings to get properly warmed up. Snoogans!

"The business of the philosopher is make ideas available, and not to impose them on people."
--T.H. White

Wednesday, August 24, 2005




Sweet foliated flat-beds, readers! I totally got to meet Cloris Leachman at work yesterday! And after eleven minutes of negotiations, we finally came to an agreeable accord: I'll let her heckle any customer of mine that she wants if she'll bake 160 gift buckets of brownies for my minions who're hijacking every last doorknob from the Taj Mahal this weekend. That's right India! You may have succeeded in canceling Clone High, but let's see how taj you are when I'm mahauling your doorknobs away! The Atomic Poonjabi is back! And while we're talking about Mexican midgetry, I received a tasty tip from World Domination reader Emmanuel Deligiannis that our adorable old darebag and John Edwards enthusiast, Art Munoz, is rushing a frat this semester. That may or may not consist of only three members. Which may or may not reside in a discarded Magnavox MTS televison cardboard box clubhouse. And may or may not be called Delta Sigma Siesta. I'm thinking about sending them 94 FedEx envelopes filled with pizza. Wait. I don't think that's how that prank works. Truth is, I don't know what I'm doing. I guess I just sed that to impress you. That's why I'm wearing a suit and tie as I type this. I know you can't see me, what with the internet and all, but I think the attire dashes a hint of class into my text, don't you? Especially since I'm actually wearing an elegant ball gown with long cashmere gloves and polysteroid slippers. (insert awkward pause here) Oh shit. I wasn't supposed to say that.

Aphrodite boards.

"The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then--to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look at what a lot of things there are to learn--pure science, the only purity there is. You can learn astronomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six. And then, after you have exhausted a milliard lifetimes in biology and medicine and theocriticism and geography and history and economics--why, you can start to make a cartwheel out of the appropriate wood, or spend 50 years learning to begin to learn to beat your adversary at fencing. After that you can start again on mathematics, until it is time to learn to plough." --T.H. White

Tuesday, August 23, 2005






So I was asked an incredibly stupish question today, and yet it made me think all the same: were there vegetarian cavemen? After a couple contemplations, my answer to this query is no: for one to be a vegetarian, one has to either make the moral choice that eating other creatures is wrong or else make the dietary decision that giving up meat is best for one's health. Something tells me that cavemen didn't have the brain capacity to form inquisitively complex notions such as "fur is murder" or "how high is my cholesterol." And speaking of cavemen, I decided to listen to Anonymous and get this blog some sponsors--not the sponsors of Google, but rather those of the popular show Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. Such sponsors as Lawn Destroyer--When You Don't Even Care Anymore; Cubic Yard of Earthworms--What You Do With It Is YOUR Business; Wilson Ear Drills--We Don't Recommend You Use Ear Drills, But If You Do, Use The Best!; Spider Whistle--Also Works On Certain Ants!; Dog Assassin--What You Can't Put Him Down Yourself; and of course Gas Plus--Actually GIVES You Gas! And please tell me someone else also saw Harvey Birdman Sunday night. Crickets with ricketts it had me giggling like a tumbleweed. They pulled a What's Up, Tigerlily? and recycled an original Birdman cartoon from the '70s and redubbed the soundtrack with Gary Cole, Steven Colbert, and the rest of the current Harvey players. It's very yummy, and even had TCM's Robert Osborn to introduce it. I've also been watching a slew of James Cameron movies on TV lately, and even tho I did long ago OD on Titanic like nearly everyone else this starboard of the Lusitania, I must say, why hasn't this bastard done anything in the past 8 years? The kid's got some major talent and I wanna see more! We all know the man's gotta handle on structure, thrills, and suspense, but for some reason, I just have a soft spot for directors who are loyal to their favorite actors (see Bill Paxton as Punk #2 in the beginning of Terminator)--names like Coen, Raimi, Burton, & Hitchcock pop to mind here. And it wasn't til recently that I realized Iron Giant is really nothing more than an animated remake of Terminator 2--boil them both down and you basically have a boy with a single mother teaching his robot protector human morals and compassion. Really the only difference is in T2, the boy is being hunted whereas in IG, it's the robot who's the prey. And I suppose by making this connection it would be easy for me to think less of Brad Bird but actually I respect him all the more. Brad excels at taking an idea that's already been done and yet he can film that idea in such an entertaining way, you'd swear it's original. After all, Incredibles didn't say anything about the superhero genre that hadn't already been sed by Watchmen, Powers, The Tick, or even that turd Bionic Six, and yet I will continue to lick my Incredibles DVD until its cinematic powers are mine to behold. But anyway, James Cameron, how bout you get back to work and show us what that beard can do in the new milennium! Same for you Brad, minus the beard comment of course.

Here are some more Aphrodite boards.

"I've come to be reminded so much that in art, as in life, the journey is often just as interesting as the destination...if not more." --Mike Kunkel

Sunday, August 21, 2005


I wanna pitch my day today to Tori Spelling and Rosie O'Donnell and have it made into a CBS movie of the week. It was a day that started in inspiration, and ended in, well you'll see. My first customer of the day was a little boy named Joshua who probably clocked in at 4 years old max. When he first sat down, I only figured he was a regular boy--after all, he was smiling and laffing and joking with me and his dad. His dad began to adjust what I thought to be Josh's collar. And then I saw it wasn't his collar at all. It was his feeding tube. I don't remember his specific health problems, but little Joshua has been thru A LOT including multiple open-heart surgeries and literally having half his heart and brain removed (he even showed me his brain scar). I'll state again that this kid is no older than four. And because of all these operations and hospitalizations, modern science claimed that Joshua isn't supposed to be able to talk or walk or play like a normal child, and yet, that's exactly what I mistook him for. In fact, he recited his ABCs to me and I found out he has a great love for music and head-butting his sister. He even has an irrational fear of Asian people. And this is my fave aspect of being a caricature artist--meeting people like Joshua, learning about the stories of people foreign and domestic who are interesting, funny, kind, and in the case of today, a miracle. It's people like them that drive me in my art and my storytelling and my comedy--these are people I want to entertain, these are the people that I feel would love to be my audience, because I've really loved being theirs. Anyway, that was my daily inspiration.
Now, I won't get into the specifics of how my day ended, but I will tell you that it ended with a belligerent little shorty that I work with threatening me "onstage," "in costume." Now, I'm not one to be intimidated, but this guy's life is such a train wreck, that I believe he has nothing to lose and is in fact, a very dangerous person. So in the event that this guy actually tries to hospitalize and/or kill me, I'm
a. calling for a Henchman Reunion Jamboree '05 to avenge my untimely whatever.
b. turning this post into my Last Will & Testament if, well God forbid. I hereby leave World Domination Weekly and almost all its rights and subsidiaries (including that of the name Osgood McSonogram) to my good friends Garrett and Chia--I trust that they will maintain the humorous integrity of this blog after my passing. To dearest Erenthea, I leave all artwork from my beloved project Aphrodites A-Go-Go, because she seems to enjoy it so much. Gute--you get all my toys to adorn your office at Cartoon Network; Toon--you get whatever's in my medicine cabinet....to adorn your cubicle at Nickelodeon; Wayne--you get the toilet to the immediate left of my medicine cabinet; Browe--you get my neck hair, because I don't think you have enuf of that; my good friend Bill Buckley--you get my entire collection of Olsen twin mystery books; Mike Williams, you get my patented "loaf of pants;" Justin, I leave you my severed carcass. Which is to be stuffed and preserved. To adorn your cubicle at Nickelodeon; and to Dik, my latest reader, all that's left to leave you, are my words. And my crumbling Ikea bed. Here's to survival!

And here are a couple Aphrodite boards.

"Never think it to be unbelievable. Never think that." --Mike Kunkel

Saturday, August 20, 2005






How are you, dear readers? Fantastic. How am I? Well thank you (or more accurately me for asking for you). So thank you Matt. Oh you're quite welcome my lad--how're the kids? Funny you should ask--Finster adores the metric system and Hortence is celibate--you know, small hands--smells like cabbagood gawsh no the multiple personalities have returned.

Doing pretty well today--Project: Continental Divide is progressing full-throttle, and I have my Mazda Protege back from the shop (spesh shout-out to Dolphin Boy for the ride!). I saw a commercial for A Bug's Life on ToonDisney today and actually got a little depressed whenever they showed off Heimlich--that character is forevermore gonna hold a bittersweet sentimentality in my eyes due to the loss of his voice, Mr. Ranft--doesn't mean the character is ruined tho. I feel the same way about Phil Hartman and not a day goes by where I don't miss him whenever I see Newsradio or SNL or "what could have been" on Futurama, yet he still remains one of my foremost Jesuses and is someone I can laff with forever.

Here are more sketches of my new villains--The Retroactively Infant Sphinx Squad! When I finally get an Aphrodites pitch bible off the ground, these drawings probably won't be used in it, but I still like to do an extra pose/facial expression or two when developing a character to really help me to physically and mentally understand him. The main difference in development since last time is they're no longer thieves but cursed saboteurs--Leroy, the bearded one, is the sarcastic mastermind; Ebray, the bald one, is "the paws" of the outfit; and Scheppke, the brawny one, the muscle. I think this is the most basic info I can give. So until next time, keep up the flossing lads--you finally have that scoundrel Gingivitus on the run!

"The only thing necessary for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing." --Edmund Burke

Thursday, August 18, 2005



Nothing too new to report--just another day of lawn sorcery and percolating enchiladas. I have decided, tho, to completely forsake transitions. For example, to get back at me for charging my car repairs to his EA account, Garrett drove down to San Diego, broke into my parents house, and left a tape in my old bedroom called "Whacking To The Oldies," which, as it turns out, is nothing more than inappropriate footage of Rue McClanahan and Cloris Leachman bobbing the uncle and giving the undercarriage a bit of the old "how's your father." So of course my mom finds it, then start the questions, and despite my explanations, my mom thinks I'm into gilfs and now she's looking for women to hook me up with at church crotcheting retreats. My dad believes me tho, and that's why I'm no longer allowed to go out to play with Garrett anymore. Hope you're happy with yourself. And now I'd like to introduce everyone to my latest Aphrodite villains--Leroy, Ebray, and Scheppke--The Retroactively Infant Sphinx Squad! They're basically professional thieves and sphinxes with an ageing disorder making them baby sphinxes with the minds of dirty 52 year old men--Gotta catch 'em all! Word to your uncles!

"What happens when you discover something you weren't looking for?" --Mike Kunkel

Wednesday, August 17, 2005






So last night I was counting the stripes on my latest zebra-panther I'm genetically engineering, which is an action I am under a lot of criticism for--not because I'm playing God, but because most people think I should skip the genetics altogether and buy myself a tiger--it's a big cat with stripes, same thing and easier process, right? To these critics I say, "YOU HAVE NO IMAGINATION! AND YES, I AM HAPPY BEING CATHOLIC AND HAVE NO INTEREST IN WITNESSING JEHOVAH! GO WEAR A T-SHIRT!" And then I slam the door in their face, take out my rosary of vengeance, do a few beads against them, and then go back to grooming my zebra-panther refreshed and showery. And isn't it weird that by Djibouti state law I'm allowed to breed mutant predatory cats but not lemurs that can handle a gun? I know, like I said--weird. Anydoogiehowser m.d., returning to my original thought, last night I was counting the stripes on my zebra-panther, and this heaviness just...hit me. The only thing I can call it is a frustration with life I suppose, so I realized it's time for a change. So, to break outta my routine, today I moved to Madagascar to open an embroidered quilt outlet, became the surgeon general's chief advisor to gerrymandering, taken up pewter voodoo, and I even grew tusks due to a radioactive retainer I found at Arby's. Sadly tho, my quilt outlet has already closed due to a violation of "human rights" and a forced evacuation of all my labor force. Sucks yeah, but it was worth it see them all hurriedly limping away. It's for the best tho because I couldn't go to work today anyway because I had to take my car to the Mazda dealer this morning. I don't think anyone but Chia knows about this, but last time we went cafe sketching, on my drive home my driver's side automatic window kinda rolled down of its own accord and as an extra rebellion, refused to roll back up when I pressed the button. So for the past week my window has been an inch away from being rolled all the way up because that's the highest I've been able to manually lift it. It's made things very difficult at drive-thrus and interacting with security guards to get into studios. The Mazda peeps told me there's a problem with the window regulator plus they found out my struts are leaking so the bill's gonna be higher than expected, so I told them my name is Garrett Shikuma of the Hormel Shikumas and to bill me at my work, Electronic Arts.

I'm just in a drawing hump right now, I guess. I don't like what I draw right now, I don't like the style of what I draw right now, I just need "to bring it." I suppose I can take some life drawing again, but I get so bored when I have to get all academic in my art--it's a vicious cycle. It's also not at all inspirational to hear about legendary story artist Joe Ranft dying yesterday in a car accident. It's just so crazy and awful to think how many people die from cars on a daily basis, and then one person outta of the hundreds turns out to affect the outlook and spirits of the entire world with his wonderful work and the tragedy is tripled. May he be entertaining the patrons of heaven with his storytelling as he did for those of us on earth.

Here are some more Aphrodite boards.

"Sometimes, it's the journey to the discovery that gives us the satisfaction more than the discovery itself." --Mike Kunkel

Tuesday, August 16, 2005







So bad news on the McSonogram front dear readers. I was totally planning to overrun Guadelajara this weekend with my legion of Christopher Lloyd clones, but now I'll have to delay the invasion since my usual supplier mistakenly sent me 14 jars of midget toes instead of the shingles (eighteen pair), monument toppler (now in candy-apple red), baker's dozen genetically vicious acrobatic lemurs equipped with .74 automatics (I can no longer breed them myself since my permit expired), elbow tongs, the JCREW burgundy tweed v-neck (size L), and Filipino bride I actually ordered for the mission. Needless to say, my usual supplier is no longer my usual supplier and rest assured, I'll never shop at www.freakzilla.org again. In fact, I'm using my patented enchanted nutcracker jaw on him so that from here on yogurt, everytime he looks thru a periscope, he'll see hornets.

And now the "if it weren't for my horse" statement of the day: "I lost $100 in a boccie ball game yesterday." I heard that on the shuttle to Disneyland today. And have you ever noticed that the name Barbara consists entirely of "b"s, "a"s, and "r"s? I know, I know--impressive!

"Why do people not think, when they are grown up, as I do when I am young?" --T.H. White

P.S.--New blog rule--if you don't watch Stella, you're no longer allowed to visit this site. Hey check it out--Aphrodite boards!

Monday, August 15, 2005













Well dear readers, due to my overpowering Orange County ennui and just general adoration of the man, I am officially declaring August 15th Mike Williams Day! Therefore, every August 15th from now forward, stay home from work to look at ghetto porn, drink spicy apple cider, and go fez shopping (for you and your dog!) to celebrate. For those of you unfamiliar with this titan among toenails, introduce yourself by perusing these file photos of the REAL American hero not to mention reading his life story below. I think you'll agree--he is ADORABLE! Happy Mike Williams Day everybody!

"Starving nations never seem to be quite so starving that they cannot afford to have more expensive armaments than anybody else." --T.H. White

Mike Williams, originally Mikael van Derwilly, was born in dadaist Holland, but is not into porn. Growing up a content and even faddish young lad, Williams spent his childhood afternoons strolling the dikes and tulip fields of his hometown slurping “fichu van derlollies,” delicious ringworm-flavored lollipops made of pure Dutch hash. His parents, Darryll and Terracotta van Derwilly, ran a chain of gorilla-operated windmills. His father Darryll, a key figure in the Holland Mafia, abandoned organized crime when he realized smuggling clogs really wasn’t illegal at all. Darryll’s decision proved fatal, however, when the entire van Derwilly family was simultaneously incinerated and extinguished by a Mafia “dike-bomb.” Mikael, the only one to survive the blast of tulip stems and ape spleen, was punished by the Mafia for his will to live and was promptly sent to Colorado as an indentured servant in the Rocky Mountain kidney mines.

Hardened by his hard luck and leathery labor, Williams released his aggression towards Allah by enlisting in a boxing miner league (pun sadly intended. And windproof!) Quickly ascending the ranks of the league, Williams soon obtained the nickname “Bag of Knuckles,” as he skinned the topside portion of his opponents’ hands for trophies. And he had a bag. And he kept the knuckle pelts in the bag. Hence the name “Bag of Knuckles.” You’re a little slow, aren’t you? No matter. As his boxing career germinated and his nickname progressed to “Ugly Miguel” and later “Glacial Josh,” Williams punched his ticket out of the kidney mines by achieving national notoriety and even went on to fight 137-time world-champion Doju-manwhore Will Buckley. Williams ruefully retired, however, after beating a severe learning disability into the fiery Irishman and was therefore banned from the sport.

Still in the public eye but now without a job, Williams maintained his fame by creating Chipple, a fondue-like chitlin consisting of collared persimmons, breaded pork, and back issues of People magazine. But when health inspections proved that Chipple was 97% pure Dutch Hash, Williams found himself now barred from the cooking industry as well.
Forbidden from both the ring and the kitchen, Williams unsuccessfully dabbled in numerous odd jobs including head rubbing, homogenizing cognac, fez blocking, prostituting elk, carpentry, bookkeeping, bicycle messaging, and balladeering.

Starving, Williams became so weak he lost the ability to speak. A creditable illiterate, he could only communicate with the world by doodling numerous drawings and flipping the pages to create a pictorial message. When one day “flipping” for crumb fare, Williams was discovered by Dr. Dana Lamb esq., a veterinary gynecologist turned art professor, who in turn gave Williams a full-ride scholarship to the university of Cal State Fullerton. It was here that Williams photosynthesized his begging into craft and became the first colored person to graduate from the university, but again, is not into porn.

Success and notoriety belonged to Williams once again as he regained his voice and led a successful career in animation, working on such television shows as Futurama and Betty La Fea and movies such as the Golden-Globe nominated Bigelow the Clown, Bigelow Returns, Bigelow Strikes Back, Bigelow & Robin, Bigelow p: The Return of Durante, Bigelow Goes to Jail, Bigelow Saves Lent, Bigelow Does Dallas, Bigelow Dies, Bigelow in Purgatory, and The Last One: The Musical.

Leaving the industry due to a stressful ingrown testicle but still thirsting for prestige, Williams mastered the art of Jedi mind control and even obtained a cane to prove the point. Now a wisened master, Williams returned to his alma mater to “take out the trash” and teach the ancient art of penile origami.

Today, Williams is a shaman monk residing in the ancient temples of the sacred hills of San Bernardino. He occasionally leaves the temple to play jai alai for charity events or to address the State Assembly in opposition to porn, because he is not into it. He has peace of mind, a thermos, and a “thing” that is big for a guy his age. One time Mike saw a blimp.

Sunday, August 14, 2005





So I was thinking today, because yes, I think too okay. Not that there's anything wrong with that. To the contrary, it's why I am. Or so they say. But who're they? The Christmas babies, guy. And I'm sorry, but that Lucky Charms leprechaun is fulla shit. I hate to go on a cliche semantical cereal diatribe, but I just woke up today and realized I'm offended by these commercials. How many decades has Lucky suffered thru these motions now? All he's trying to do is maintain his trade secrets to keep his cereal profitably afloat in a competitive capitalist market and yet hordes of meddling kids (why are the kids in all cereal commercials such bastards?) disrupt the day's productivity by demanding free cereal or making him reveal secrets of future marketing strategies before their official press release pretty much turning the present situation into a premature press release and that's what gives us the commercial. But as a proud Irish American, what I almost hate the most is the constant hate crimes these children inflict on our loveable, hard-working Irish stereotype of a mascot. They're purposefully targeting the Irish--after all, why don't they ever bother that soulfoul Golden Crisps bear or the blatantly Mexican Tony the Tiger? And most infuriating of all, why does Lucky joyfully accept the abuse? I have never known a fellow Irishman to take such mistreatment unless he was too drunk to do anything about it. Now if this were the case with Lucky, then great. Fractions divided. But he's not--he's ALWAYS sober! And suppa dilly there? Why doesn't Lucky drink? That's just something that good Irish people don't do. The good Irish (the kind that's "fighting") don't not drink. And Lucky even has magic powers--get 'em off your back man and just turn those kids into a radish. Or Jason Priestley. Or sumping. Guy. Man, if I were a leprechaun, I would be SO about the kinder smackdown, those kids would die of internal swallowing. That's how I roll. Goodnight sweet prince. And here're more Aphrodite boards!

"I'm a man who can cry. Now it's true it's usually when I've hurt myself but it's a start."
--Steve Martin

Saturday, August 13, 2005






Hey, who here knew that Ezek is short for Ezekiel? I don't think many of us did know that, mainly because so many of us live outside of Alabama and Palestine. Anyhowser, I don't have any manifestos or hero worship planned for the day, but I did recently come upon this old e-mail from my old friend James "Old" Harrington: the backstory being that we played an all-too brief game where we would teach each other about different species of animals--this is his informative blurb on the Southern Leopard Frog and inspiration for today's sketches:

The Southern Leopard Frog is found in freshwater, moist areas of leaf debris and in rotting logs all around Georgia. It is usually a nocturnal frog but can often be seen basking in the sun on the water's edge. These frogs are mainly insectivores, but will also eat small animals like worms. In the center of the tympanic membrane (behind the eye) of the Southern Leopard Frog is an off-colored spot. This spot is one of the major distinguishing factors between the Southern Leopard frog and its cousin, the Northern Leopard Frog. Most Southern Leopard Frogs come from one parent families, which leads to emotional pains late in their life. All too often these frogs turn to drugs to cover their painful past. Most clinical psychologists will be more than willing to prescribe opiates to the frogs, but there has been a major shift in the health care industry regarding frogs. With the major providers such as Blue Shields dropping frogs and boxing kangaroos from coverage, many are left in a difficult situation. Most turn to suicide, but others opt to break into drugstores and steal pills. In the last few years President Clinton, with help from the US military and the NAACP, has targeted these frogs with special outreach programs. The idea is not simply to lock them away after one incarceration, but to instead counsel them so they can return to their lakes, rivers, and lagoons as productive frogs. If they return to the courts a second time, they are shipped to France and eaten.

"Ordinarily I don't like to be around interesting people because it means I have to be interesting, too." --Steve Martin