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My absolute favourite part of that is Gabes desperate attempt to make polite conversation.
I've been there, so many christmas dinners.....
HerrCron on
Now Playing:
Celeste [Switch] - She'll be wrestling with inner demons when she comes...
Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age [Switch] - Sit down and watch our game play itself
So I was looking for a news post in the archives and I found this:
There is a mystifying mural in the D Concourse of my airport that always fills me with unease. It concerns some vaguely arcane theme, at least, I think it does, but one gets the impression that there are meanings and layers of meaning which lurk at the periphery of awareness.
Beginning at one end of the walkway, a strange narrative surges with aggressive determination, hurtling toward a twist ending that will leave you breathless. A parlor magician and his credulous hobgoblin assistant direct our eyes toward their magical equipment, which looks like a an abandoned miniature espresso stand. Their faces have a pallid, greasy cast and their bone structure is blatant to the point of being ghoulish. The implications are obvious. They are magical ghouls, and you will watch their magic show or be destroyed.
They close the hatch on their espresso stand, which initially makes it look like a spectacular, polychromatic Ho ho. Soon, it resembled a burrito made from the guts of broken kaleidoscopes rolling around on an audio/visual cart. One can only imagine how difficult it was to move their surreal food before. For the next two hundred feet of wallspace, they spin the cart around and around with singleminded purpose, occasionally glancing at the viewer in a threatening way. I've never had the courage to break eye contact with these fiends, as the latent violence of their expression has always produced the necessary stamina.
When the suspense can no longer be borne, the burrito is breached to reveal a hermaphrodite. I don't know if burritos are their larval stage, or what. I have no idea what the fuck it is doing in there. Honestly, the magicians seemed a little surprised too, but they can't make it look like the contents of their own Goddamn burrito were somehow unknown to them. It begs the question - was he always in there? Can hermaphrodites turn invisible? Have we thus far underestimated the hermaphrodite threat?
My first PA was when I was considering the purchase of a newfangled "em pea three player," and was linked to this particular vingette:
Looking back, that comic is far from their best, but I was instantly hooked.
Crazy how that was back when iPods were something only crazy Mac addicts or people with too much money to burn had. Now everyone has them. Firewire woo!
Which iPod was the newest when that comic came out?
tsmvengy on
0
KalTorakOne way or another, they all end up inthe Undercity.Registered Userregular
My absolute favourite part of that is Gabes desperate attempt to make polite conversation.
I've been there, so many christmas dinners.....
I remember Gabe posted the art for that comic minus the word bubbles - one of the brilliant touches is that Tycho's wine glass has been drained, and Gabe has a milk glass.
My absolute favourite part of that is Gabes desperate attempt to make polite conversation.
I've been there, so many christmas dinners.....
I remember Gabe posted the art for that comic minus the word bubbles - one of the brilliant touches is that Tycho's wine glass has been drained, and Gabe has a milk glass.
Did a little reading through the newsposts and found it:
Cyvros on
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silence1186Character shields down!As a wingmanRegistered Userregular
edited November 2008
Anyone remember the comic strip (I think it was a series) where Tycho tricks Gabe into playing DnD? What was that called?
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.
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.
I'm trying to figure out when I started reading this comic, I've been through the archives so many time every comic gives me a warm nostalgic feeling. I think I might have to bake these fuckers a cake, nothing I can think of has been so consistently entertaining for the past ten years.
Trevor on
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silence1186Character shields down!As a wingmanRegistered Userregular
And starring one of my local news affilitates, and it's pretty close to the mark which is the reason I DON'T WATCH LOCAL NEWS:
You found the morning show one! that was mentioned a few pages back by me and another guy as MIA (as far as my searches went) but its ftw, I love that 2nd panel, "sim get me some fucking coffee"
:^:
Venkman90 on
0
KageraImitating the worst people. Since 2004Registered Userregular
edited November 2008
Remember the one where Tycho and Gabe finally kiss?
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.
(CW)TB out.
best one ever
Oh this is awesome. I really should go back and read all the archives some time
Posts
My absolute favourite part of that is Gabes desperate attempt to make polite conversation.
I've been there, so many christmas dinners.....
Celeste [Switch] - She'll be wrestling with inner demons when she comes...
Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age [Switch] - Sit down and watch our game play itself
this made me think of
Gabe is such a great friend.
Yep.
Looking back, that comic is far from their best, but I was instantly hooked.
Crazy how that was back when iPods were something only crazy Mac addicts or people with too much money to burn had. Now everyone has them. Firewire woo!
Which iPod was the newest when that comic came out?
I remember Gabe posted the art for that comic minus the word bubbles - one of the brilliant touches is that Tycho's wine glass has been drained, and Gabe has a milk glass.
Did a little reading through the newsposts and found it:
Do you mean this one?
[Harridan] has signed online.
[Guild] Harridan: We need a name from the guild for a comic.
[Guild] Infari: OoooH! ME!
[Guild] Harridan: Done.
Was it this series?
I love the magic hate ball.
My all-time favorite:
And starring one of my local news affilitates, and it's pretty close to the mark which is the reason I DON'T WATCH LOCAL NEWS:
best one ever
Yes! That face in the last panel is CLASSIC!
Also, last panel
Does anyone have the edit of this where Gabe turned into Tycho?
You found the morning show one! that was mentioned a few pages back by me and another guy as MIA (as far as my searches went) but its ftw, I love that 2nd panel, "sim get me some fucking coffee"
:^:
Oh this is awesome. I really should go back and read all the archives some time
Unfortunately the original link appears to be down and I have a bad connection here, so searching is painful.
But the phrase "How's the weather?" "Fine and sometimes bear" will live with me forever.
This is probably my favorite.
This is one of the first comics I remember reading. I'm sure I was reading before then though.
I use this anytime I have to set up a security question on a website.
Don't steal my identities plz.