Oh dear, the little "awesome" hearts are blue now instead of black.
I CAN'T DEAL WITH ALL THIS CHANGE
Add me on Switch: 7795-5541-4699
+3
Dark Raven XLaugh hard, run fast,be kindRegistered Userregular
The agrees appear to have monocles too. Classy!
There was a line to this effect in Strip Search too, Mike was all "writers, dime a fucking dozen, change em out like lightbulbs" while Jerry sat there with a panel 3 Tycho face.
Oh brilliant
0
MichaelLCIn what furnace was thy brain?ChicagoRegistered Userregular
Gabe should be careful. People who were wear glass shouldn't throw... pens?
I value Jerry's writing more than Mike's art! There, I said it. My all time favorite PA strip is "I Hope You Like Text".
Don't get me wrong, I love the art in PA too, and Mike is obviously an awesome artist. Jerry though... he's a wordsmith. A Wordomancer even. Nobody's writing can produce the deep belly laughs for me like he can. I so desperately want him to write a book. Like, a fantasy novel or something. Epic Legends of the Hierarchs, anything!
I mean, I don't plunk down $20+ on PA books to read archived comics I could read on the internet for free, I buy them to read Jerry's commentary.
I guess what I'm saying is, I have a gigantic man-crush on Jerry Holkins. TeamTycho!
Everyone has a price. Throw enough gold around and someone will risk disintegration.
Jerry though... he's a wordsmith. A Wordomancer even.
Time has dulled the effect, but there was a stretch when this first came out that I literally could not even think it without laughing out loud, grinning, or smirking in public:
I actually couldn’t watch the “rap” all the way through the first three times I attempted to. Gabe had only caught about seven seconds of it when he began to bleed freely from the nose and mouth. Was this some haunted video, then, like the one in The Ring? Would I soon die? I have wished to; since I took in the vile width of this thing thoughts of my own death are the only salve. There is an especially demonic portion of the video – let us say thirty-one seconds from the hated beginning, which was the end of all pleasure on Earth. Their Godforsaken stooge begins to wave around a PSP faceplate he has printed out, but they have sped up the footage so that by thirty-six seconds in there can be no doubt: the man has been lobotomized. There is no man left. In the video, the meat continues to twitch, electrical accidents birthing grotesque jerks in the unknowing beef. It speaks! But it is not language. It is like the wind blowing through a pile of skulls.
My favorite bit of Tycho writing has to be the Carrot Cake Soup story:
Long story short, I’m getting my chicken soup on, it’s Sunday afternoon, and Gabe’s reading some Preacher in the Den, which is also the living room, the bathroom, and the foyer. I am interacting with pasta dough in what I think is a stern way, when I hear him say that he might like the soup better if it were, in fact, carrot cake. It hits us, hits us both, simultaneously, like a semi made out of lightning which is also a professional boxer. Carrot Cake Soup. You cube the carrot cake, some pieces have frosting and some don’t, and you put a handful of these chunks into a bowl full of milk. So let’s go do it. We’ll do it later this week, he says. But I know that’s the same as not doing it. Why not now, I say? I know a store where we can get all the stuff. You can just buy it, the way you can buy stuff in the household cleaners section and make a bomb big enough to kill God. The stuff is just lying around there and nobody’s doing anything with it. It’s not a crime to buy them separately, and what we do at home isn’t any of their fucking business.
I think someone might have been following us as we pulled into the parking lot, we walked toward the grocery store and tried to keep the conversation natural. We certainly didn’t discuss carrot cake or the soup one might make by cutting it into cubes and swimming islands of it in cold milk, pleasure islands, like you’d see in a magazine. At the bakery counter, a woman asks if she can help me, and I’m so nervous that as I’m pointing to the carrot cake behind the glass, my finger starts to tap in Morse Code that reads:
I AM ABOUT TO COMMIT A CRIME AGAINST GOD AND MAN STOP
And where is Gabe with that Goddamn milk? There he is, in the self-checkout. Idiot. There’s cameras all over that thing, it’s like a Goddamn surveillance tree. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. A red light flashes on, and off in my mind. At another checkstand, I pay with untraceable cash, assuring the woman that I will eat the cake by myself, without assistance from cows. I smirk. This woman has no idea that she’s just sold me the trigger to a flavor gun. Carrot Cake Soup is like the taste of watching girls make out. It has an extraordinary power that oscillates between gentle and overwhelming, between light and dark, between pleasure and more pleasure. When it was over, I realized that I was panting. I was in possession of carnal knowledge. And I knew that, somehow, every taste beyond this point was in the service of the one that still lingered, waited, to remind me that nature has laws, and those that break them are criminals, and though they roam free enough the knowing will hold them, and keep them, until the last.
Also his writing in the Rain Slick games has always been choice.
Funny comic as usual, but not accurate. Jerry's writing is more important than the art, always has been. A well written comic with crappy art is still a great comic (xkcd anyone?) but a comic with great art but crappy writing is still a crappy comic. I still like to go back and read the very first PA's, even though the art is way inferior, because they still hold up as funny, thanks to great writing.
Don't get me wrong, LOVE Mike's art, but the writing is still the heart of PA.
It's not "Jerry's writing." If you listen to the podcasts/watch the 4th panel, it's clear that they collaborate really closely on the words, and Mike often comes up with the funniest stuff (or at least the punchline).
A dichotomy it jokingly imposed. Pointing out that the strip is innacurate is like pointing out that Mike doesn't actually bite out the tracheas of people when he's nervous about how to pronounce ".gif."
To be fair, a decent writer could probably write 1000 words in about the time it takes a decent artist to do a picture. I mean, doesn't the average strip take Mike three hours or so?
You know what? Nanowrimo's cancelled on account of the world is stupid.
SkwigelfPassed out in a cloud of farts and cigarette smoke.Registered Userregular
Personally I would be positively jubilant should Jerry ever decide to do his own LiveStream show.
Mike has "Gabe Art". A fundamentally sound and illuminating show which details the "nitty gritty", if you would, on how Mike goes about creating the body of the comic, much the way Doctor Frankenstein patched together his monster from the looted parts of the deceased. A little Steven Silver here, some John Kricfalusi there...you get the gist.
But what about the "electricity"? The intellectual spark that breathes life into the often impressive doodlings of our erstwhile artiste?
What this world needs, nay yearns for, is Tycho's Polysyllabic Scrivenings™.
+2
KalTorakOne way or another, they all end up inthe Undercity.Registered Userregular
Posts
I CAN'T DEAL WITH ALL THIS CHANGE
There was a line to this effect in Strip Search too, Mike was all "writers, dime a fucking dozen, change em out like lightbulbs" while Jerry sat there with a panel 3 Tycho face.
I cannot unsee the M.C. Drescher, but it makes me smile more than it probably should.
Don't get me wrong, I love the art in PA too, and Mike is obviously an awesome artist. Jerry though... he's a wordsmith. A Wordomancer even. Nobody's writing can produce the deep belly laughs for me like he can. I so desperately want him to write a book. Like, a fantasy novel or something. Epic Legends of the Hierarchs, anything!
I mean, I don't plunk down $20+ on PA books to read archived comics I could read on the internet for free, I buy them to read Jerry's commentary.
I guess what I'm saying is, I have a gigantic man-crush on Jerry Holkins. TeamTycho!
This is why you can't swap out writers. Artists ... meh.
Give me all the Google Glass.
Gabe's style seems to be undergoing another significant shift. Frankly, I don't care for it. It looks... sloppier?
Time has dulled the effect, but there was a stretch when this first came out that I literally could not even think it without laughing out loud, grinning, or smirking in public:
http://www.penny-arcade.com/2006/12/13
Ka-Chung!
Ka-Chung!
I think someone might have been following us as we pulled into the parking lot, we walked toward the grocery store and tried to keep the conversation natural. We certainly didn’t discuss carrot cake or the soup one might make by cutting it into cubes and swimming islands of it in cold milk, pleasure islands, like you’d see in a magazine. At the bakery counter, a woman asks if she can help me, and I’m so nervous that as I’m pointing to the carrot cake behind the glass, my finger starts to tap in Morse Code that reads:
I AM ABOUT TO COMMIT A CRIME AGAINST GOD AND MAN STOP
And where is Gabe with that Goddamn milk? There he is, in the self-checkout. Idiot. There’s cameras all over that thing, it’s like a Goddamn surveillance tree. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. A red light flashes on, and off in my mind. At another checkstand, I pay with untraceable cash, assuring the woman that I will eat the cake by myself, without assistance from cows. I smirk. This woman has no idea that she’s just sold me the trigger to a flavor gun. Carrot Cake Soup is like the taste of watching girls make out. It has an extraordinary power that oscillates between gentle and overwhelming, between light and dark, between pleasure and more pleasure. When it was over, I realized that I was panting. I was in possession of carnal knowledge. And I knew that, somehow, every taste beyond this point was in the service of the one that still lingered, waited, to remind me that nature has laws, and those that break them are criminals, and though they roam free enough the knowing will hold them, and keep them, until the last.
Also his writing in the Rain Slick games has always been choice.
Don't get me wrong, LOVE Mike's art, but the writing is still the heart of PA.
Screencap: http://oi44.tinypic.com/2pruvef.jpg
Mike has "Gabe Art". A fundamentally sound and illuminating show which details the "nitty gritty", if you would, on how Mike goes about creating the body of the comic, much the way Doctor Frankenstein patched together his monster from the looted parts of the deceased. A little Steven Silver here, some John Kricfalusi there...you get the gist.
But what about the "electricity"? The intellectual spark that breathes life into the often impressive doodlings of our erstwhile artiste?
What this world needs, nay yearns for, is Tycho's Polysyllabic Scrivenings™.
are you saying that a picture is worth some number of words
http:/the-gutters.com/comic/377-richard-clark
http:/the-gutters.com/comic/377-richard-clark