Thursday, June 11, 2015

MAR Comics Collection

Okay, now that I am writing again, I have gotten off my fat, lazy ass and updated the site after the whole Razzi incident where they lost all the pictures that I was hosting there, and then vanished off the face of the gawdamn planet.  Some unimportant blogs have been deleted, some had the blank space where a picture used to be removed, and then I re-hosted the MAR comics, hence this entry.
This is all of the issues that I have made to date.  Maybe I'll continue these some day.

When I first made them, they were at an accounting job where I got bored often, so I crudely drew them on the back of the Missing Account Reports, or M.A.R.  That's where the title originated, but then evolved to be the names of the three characters; Max, Art, and Rae.
(if you need to see them larger, right click and 'open image in new tab/window')

After these initial comics, I decided to drop the 's', start over at '01',
and move from pen & paper to a digital medium.

This is where it get really fun!  "MAR presents True Telemarketer Tales" was a sort of spin-off from MAR, and by far my favorite.  I made these while working at a call-center.  These were funnier because all of the comics were based off of real incidents and real names.

Sunday, June 7, 2015


    Another night alone, sitting in front of the computer with a mouse in one hand and a vodka on the rocks in the other, trying to kill time before complete exhaustion overtakes me, hopefully before the sunrise. I aimlessly click back and forth, page after page of news prattle, stupid people doing stupid things in stupid videos, social media sites to catch up with friends and family, playing free unskilled games in hopes of draining your wallet that I had no intention of ever purchasing, and the occasional bit of fantasy self-fulfillment porn. The most amusing thing that I find from all of this cyber-wandering is the constant bombardment of cheesy ads supposedly directed at me personally with my hometown shoehorned in the text that has been gathered from my IP address, a half-assed attempt to impress me into thinking, “Oh, golly! This MUST be legit! Let me just click on this and download what couldn't possibly be a trojan virus!” Idiots. I'm not new to the ways of the internet. I'm a goddamn pro at wasting as much of my adult time as possible with my little two buttoned friend!

    Later on into the night and into my fifth beverage, I notice one of these banner ads blinking with neon red letters at the top of a news site. I only noticed it because it had my name flashing as the first word. “James!” it read, “MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 10 miles away!” I laughed heartily to myself, nearly spitting out some of my precious vodka. Who still uses that term these days? MILF? Just another example of how the advertisement industry is way out of touch with the world. I swallow my almost airborne mouthful and furrow my brow a bit. How did they know my name? I didn't think you could get a name from an IP address, just a location. Damn, these programming nerds are getting really good at their jobs these days! I click refresh for the latest news articles on the site.

    When the page fully loaded, I was knocked back in my chair, mouse flung from my hand, and a single ice cube fell onto the floor and slid behind me. I was assaulted by an extremely loud, shrill dinging sound from the computer speakers, as if a deranged slot machine was trying to murder me with my winnings. I gather myself and reach to turn the speakers off. I don't ever remember turning them up that loud. I hardly even needed the speakers when I browsed the web. I scanned the page for what could have possibly made that audio attack. “James! MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 9 miles away!” That was the only ad on the page and the only possible source of annoyance. I thought it was weird that the same ad was showing since sites like these usually keep a plethora of them on cycle. I guess the MILF people paid extra to be more prominent. I shrugged it off and continued reading.

    I found an article on cyber attacks and hacking that have been happening lately. I thought that was amusing since I felt semi-invaded myself from the shrieking MILF banner. News seemed to be slowing down for the night, so I clicked on the title to read more, half out of interest, half out of boredom. The first thing to load was my friends at MILF Incorporated. “James! MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 7 miles away!” Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Was this to be my fate for the remainder of the night? I was getting tired of MILF-vision. So tired in fact that I was thinking about striking that category from my more adult related browsing. Wait. Seven miles? Didn't that say ten the last time? Or was it nine? I know it wasn't seven. So, what, am I now in a MILF countdown? MILF live GPS updates? “Got MILF? You're about to!” Damn, these nerds are good!

    The article didn't load. The only thing on the page was the banner. It wasn't the first time this has happened. It's not like I have the most advanced ISP or connection, so there's bound to be some hiccups. I move the arrow to the refresh icon once again and click. No article, same ad, updated distance. “James! MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 5 miles away!” That is one fit MILF to be able to run two miles in five seconds! I'm almost tempted to meet this Olympian MILF! Fifty-year-old woman with way too much plastic surgery, caked on makeup, huge muscular legs shooting out of a short leopard print skirt. I chuckled, amused at my own jokes. The article must either be down, not updated, or something technical that my limited education is not privy to. I click on my saved bookmark to go back to the main page of the news site. “James! MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 4 miles away!” That was the only thing on the page. I wondered if the news site was another victim of the recent hacking hijinks and was taken down. Oh well, I was pretty much done with that website, anyway. I clicked on the bookmark to go to my personal e-mail.

    “James! MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 3 miles away!” This isn't funny anymore. No e-mail, just MILF, and the bitch is getting closer. I was starting to get a bit freaked out. Two separate sites taken down and replaced with the MILF ad? I close the browser window and open it again in hopes of washing away the MILF. “James! MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 2 miles away!” It seems that you just can't wash MILF out. I know I didn't download anything, so this couldn't possibly be a virus. Was I being hacked somehow? For what purpose? With all honesty, I am not that interesting of a person to go through all this trouble for. I have no money in my bank account, so good luck with that, pirate assholes! Wanna steal my identity? Have at it! I barely want it myself! I furrowed my brow and click refresh.

    “James! MILFs in your area want to meet you! One MILF is just 1 miles away!” It didn't even bother updating “miles” to the singular form. With a shaky hand, I reach for my glass and chug down that last of the watered-down vodka. Gross. Vodka flavored bottled water is not something that would sell well. I click the refresh button and wonder what the next update would say. My heart sank into my asshole and I felt like I was about to vomit up the entire contents of my stomach.

“James! A MILF is right outside your door!”

    No. That couldn't be... that couldn't be possible. Even if “they” know where I live, they couldn't possibly travel that fast. Then my mind started to wander to dark places. What does MILF even stand for? Murdering Insane Lunatic Fucker? Mutant Inbred Lashing Freak? Malicious Insidious Laughing Phantom? No, wait, that's a “P”. Oh my god, why even quibble with myself over inane details? There's someone at my door. At least that's what I am told. By an ad. On the internet. The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems. It just cannot be true. It can't! Even if there was someone at my door, there's three locks on it that would keep them out. There was no way they could get in. I was safe. I click refresh.

    A sound grabbed my attention before I could look at the screen as it loaded. The half melted ice cube that was behind me slid across the flood and hit my foot. I stared at it for what seemed like hours. I did not want to look at the screen for fear of it confirming my suspicions. If I don't look, it's not true. I'll just stay like this, in this position, for the remainder of the night. I'll wait it out. I'll wait for the sunrise to burn away all of the horrible things that come out at night. That's how it works right? I couldn't even fool myself. There's no way that I could sit here with my heart beating as hard as it was. I'd die of some kind of heart failure or aneurysm. I knew that I would have to buck up and see this through. I slowly raise my head to face the computer screen. I swallowed hard as my suspicions were accurate.

“James! A MILF is right behind you!”

    Terror gripped me like a pit-bull with a raw steak, thrashing my insides around. Tiny beads of sweat formed on my brow. A singular tear leaked slowly down my cheek. My bottom lip was quivering as if it was twenty below in the room. I froze in my chair, unable to breathe, unable to blink, unable to move. When everything was absolutely still, I heard it. Breathing. Not my own, but right behind me. I dared not look around. I knew that if I looked at it, I'd die, either by its hands or my own fright.

    All moisture had left my mouth. I tried to swallow, but could only muster up the motions with a dry, sharp sensation, like drinking sand. I had no idea what to do. Jump out of my chair in hopes of running away? No. It came here miles away in mere minutes. There was no escaping it. Fight back? With what? I scanned the desk, but couldn't find anything worthy of a weapon strong enough to fight off what I imagined to be eight feet of pure horror. What will happen if I click the ad? Could that have been the answer this whole time? “You had the power to go home all along, Dorothy!” I gather up every bit of strength I could, slowly move the mouse in hopes of not disturbing “The MILF”, and hover the cursor on the ad. I clicked. Nothing. I clicked three times. Still nothing. The ad was just a static picture, not a link at all.

    I move the mouse over the refresh icon. A ferocious battle between my curiosity and my sheer primal terror began. I could still hear it breathing. Should I refresh? What would happen? Would this be the very last thing that I ever do? It's already behind me. Is it waiting for the final click as a confirmation to attack? I lick my dehydrated lips and close my eyes. Curiosity had won.

I click refresh...

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

"Charlie and the Forest Oysters"

     Charlie was a simple man who liked to collect.  Living deep in the forest, in a rickety old shack that he built himself from the remnants left behind by the tall wooden inhabitants, there wasn't much else to do besides collect.  His favorite thing to collect was pearls from the forest oysters.

     He would skulk through the woods and train his ears on the sounds that the forest oysters would make.  They usually weren't hard to find since they were often very loud and huddled in groups.  When Charlie would pounce out from the foliage, they would scatter as fast as they could.  More times than not, there was at least one that wasn't as fast as the others.  With an old rusted hammer in hand, he would chase it down and try to corner the slow forest oyster.  Once he was close enough, Charlie would swing as hard as he could to crack its top shell open.  When the forest oyster stopped moving, he would turn it over to collect its treasures.  Usually, he'd have to force it open so wide that it would break the hinge and lay flat.

     The first thing Charlie would do is cut out the wet, slimy meat in the middle to eat later.  It was the best food the forest had to offer.  He heard that you could eat it raw, and sometimes he did right on the spot since it was better fresh, but he liked to cook it over an open fire the best.  After collecting the meat, he would then proceed to remove all the pearls.  Sometimes, if he was lucky, he'd come across a brilliantly shiny one or even one that was the color of the sun!  They were so pretty to look at that it would take his mind off of the hardships of living alone in the woods.

     When Charlie was finished hunting, he would return to his home with the spoils of the day.  He would add the forest oyster meat to one of the many jars where he kept it preserved for later consumption.  Then, he would walk over to a small, grimy antique bathtub, the kind with the clawed feet, and toss in the pearls that he collected to the thousands of white gems he had already gathered over the years.

     Sometimes, after a hunt, Charlie would grab a few pearls from the collection and head over to a wall where he had hung up a dirty, cracked mirror.  He would smile as wide as he could, cracking his chapped white lips and exposing his red puffy gums.  He would take the pearls, one by one, and shove them into the irritated, squishy tissue, decorating the milky smooth whites with small streaks of crimson.  Once he was finished, he would smile once again and admire his new look while thinking, “Now, I'm as beautiful as the forest oysters!”

     Charlie was a simple man who liked to collect...