My Sketchbox currently has dozens and dozens of stupid drawings, and 99% of them are just heads. I can't draw worth anything, but I can usually make a face and surround it with some lines that will make it look something similar to a living being. Not necessarily one you've seen before, but living none the less. Check out some of these heads:


This man's eyes are uneven and he has no expression on his face, which is sad because a face is all he is. This is the first drawing made for the sketchbox, and it's the one I'm guaranteed to see every time I open the thing because it's right in front, which is more than a little depressing.


This guy has shades because he is cool.


This gentleman is far and away my favorite of the bunch. He exudes a fundamental intensity that I wish everything I've ever created possessed. Alas this is not the case.


Eugh.


If I were to make up a name and backstory for the above head, he would be a British explorer named Byjove. His name is his catchphrase and his catchphrase is his name. I can't believe I'm posting after a long day running on four hours of sleep. I know it shows, but I don't care.

I don't update this blog enough. I've been writing things to post here in a word processor, but they just end up incredibly long and overblown, yet unfinished. I'm like a big time rock band that gets into making six-minute epics with no point, like everything on the third album from Oasis - only not totally fucking awesome (and I dare you to tell me that making songs that sound like hurricanes made of guitars isn't totally fucking awesome).

The fact is, if I'm going to get any better at writing, something I've been out of practice at for several years, I need to actually write. So that's what I'm going to do.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'm going to come up with a worthwhile post, and actually post it. For real, no fooling. Until then here's a hurricane:




So awesome/stupid/awesome.

For a guy who considers himself to be at least somewhat artistic, I can't draw very well at all. Whenever my pencil touches paper, a grotesque abomination crawls out, scaring its creator into throwing his utensil out the window and hiding under his bed like a girl. You know how girls hide under beds all the time.

To remedy this situation, I have begun my Sketchbox - a box of index cards I will eventually fill with small drawings, just for practice, no pressure. It's perfect. It's beautiful. You're jealous.

Seen here is the first posted entry - A British Man. I do hope you enjoy.

More to come.

[Submitted Via E-Mail]

TIM HONEY, I HAVE BEEN READING YOUR WEB!!!!! I LIKE IT...I JUST WISH YOU WOULD WRITE LESS ABOUT RAPE.....I NO U ARE ONLY JOKING...BUT THAT IS A BAD NOTE ON MY BOOK...PLEASE DO NOT GET ME WRONG I LOVE YOUR WORK!!!!...........JUST THE RAPE...THING IS WHAT GET'S ME...I LOVE U SON...MAYBE YOU CAN WRITE ON HOW MUCH YOU LOVE YOUR MOM...HINT..HINT...I LOVE U ...WRITE ME SOON...LIKE I SAID I LIKE YOUR WORK......LOVE MOM OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

HAVE A GREAT DAY .....THERESA....

A note from Tim:

I love you, Mom!

Mass producing my own peanut butter should have been a piece of cake, as I had most of the ingredients lying around anyway. Even the various glycerides - like a sucker, I kept a huge jar of the things just sitting in my fridge collecting dust. The one component I actually had to go out of my way to obtain was the rapeseed.



My logic was that I'd process my own vegetable oil, yielding a fresher, more delicious product. I had to hit up some pretty shifty looking websites to find rapeseed, but once it arrived in the mail, I was ready to get growing. Much to my surprise, planting the rapeseed didn't produce the beautiful yellow flower shown here, but an odd, human-shaped mound. It started out fairly small - about the size of a child - but quickly grew to resemble a fully matured man within a week. Unfamiliar with these things, I'd casually stroll out and water the thing daily, occasionally reassuring my neighbors that I didn't have a corpse buried in my backyard. I think they were okay with it.

Then one day the person-shaped mound was gone, with a big hole where it used to be. I thought maybe some gophers were the culprit, and chalked things up to poor pest control. But later that night, as I slept comfortably in my bed, I was knocked to the floor by a swift kick to my midsection. Before I knew what hit me, my head was being pretty firmly against the hardwood paneling as my pants were being ripped from my body. For the next several hours I was anally violated by someone, or some thing covered from head to toe in what I swear to god was dirt from my very own garden. It was the most brutal and horrifying experience a human being could possibly withstand.

I guess I bought the wrong seeds!