My wrestling comic's done.

It features twenty-two panels (including the title), which employ a total of twenty-one different figures, and two backgrounds.

I watched five seasons of the American Office while making it.

It took twenty-six days to complete, and used one eraser exactly. The last rub erased the last pencil-mark off the last figure, and then the rubber went flat.

I made it for a pro wrestling website, which launches on August fifteenth. Once the website's up, I'll post it here.

But it's done, it came out well, and I'm proud as a peacock raised by lions.

A discussion from June.

Say, Ian--what's a good summer project that'll appeal to a broad audience and land us a creative job?

I've got just the thing! Let's make a comic strip that parodies professional wrestling!

A hole in one, by Jove! But let's restrict the comic to four panels, so that it won't take the entire summer.

That's a good ground rule, but twenty-one panels would make you really cool.

Really? Oh, I'd quite like to be cool!

Twenty-one panels of a professional wrestling comic strip will magnetize vaginas. Labias rushing to your face, like piglets to a nursing sow.

Like a beard of vaginas?

Draw a twenty-one panel pro wrestling comic, and you'll be shaving a beard of vaginas.

Fuck Inception.

"Hey, if I have 'rules' instead of 'plot,' 'characters,' 'theme,' or 'anything resembling the human experience,' can I make sixty-three million dollars, opening weekend?"

Yes, yes, you can.

"Don't worry; it may sound like shitty writing, but actually, it's excused by the rules. (Or is it? (What is 'real,' anyway?))"

Seriously. Every single scene is either 'world-building exposition' or 'boring, incoherent action.' The Last Airbender is guilty of the same crimes, but most intelligent audiences understood that it was a punch-line...at the time.

Is it still a 'twist ending' if it's the most clichéd, parodied twist in the book? The twist is that they actually used that ending.

Without spoiling anything that the film doesn't spoil by existing, in the first place--I can state that by the end, nothing means anything. The film would be 'masturbatory,' but it doesn't give the impression that anyone had a nice time doing it.

Fuck Inception.

Broken Freezer.

A new sketch!

A Reason for Fingers.

Without our fingers,
it would be harder to count
haiku syllables.

Another word we need.

Vapt, n., The distance between a theme park guest and their lap-bar; exactly wide enough to make the guest feel both, 'unsafe' and 'fat.'

Fuckin' rock stars...

In the Rock 'n' Roller Coaster Starring Aerosmith, the eponymous band is late for a concert. They drive off in a limousine, and beckon us to follow them in a limo of our own.

So there are two tensions in the story:

Will Aerosmith make it to their concert on time?

...and...

Will we see them perform in concert?

We veer through LA's highways--which are deserted. No sign of Aerosmith's limo, but we can hear their music. And then we arrive backstage...and walk into a gift shop...

...and walk out of the attraction.

We don't see a concert. We don't even see Aerosmith again.

So to answer the second tension:

Will we see Aerosmith perform in concert?

No.

What about the first tension?

Will Aerosmith make it to their concert on time?

We never find out.

It's weird that Imagineering would set up such a specific tension and not bother answering it. It's like telling a joke without ever giving a punch-line.

IMAGINEERS
Why did Aerosmith buy a chicken for Thanksgiving?

GUESTS
I don't know; why?

The Imagineers walk away.

That can't be it. Imagineers are professionals. They may make the sorcerer's hat (a symbol of hubris) the icon of a theme park, but they understand that a story is comprised of 'a beginning,' 'a middle,' and 'an ending.' Surely I'm missing something.

Let's think back to the last time we saw Aerosmith. Well, it was in the pre-show room. But that wasn't our last encounter with them, was it?

We heard them--that is, "their music"--while we were driving. And when we arrive backstage, the music ends. That was our last encounter with them.

...did Aerosmith fucking play their concert without us?

An eventful day.

My meeting with my professor went well...

...and I've applied to teach English at two LA community colleges...

...and it's hot enough to fry a slab of sidewalk on the sidewalk...

...and I'm spending the rest of the night 'being really sick,' 'listening to musicals,' and 'reading comics.'

A word we need.

Lobweek, n., A week where you coincidentally run out of everything--detergent, shampoo, frozen dinners, and so on--resulting in a ruinously expensive trip to the grocery store.

One of the dumbest conversations I've ever had.

The context: my friend and I belong to a pro wrestling message board. On the board, there’s a series of articles called “the Hall of Shame.” These articles profile the dysfunctional lives of professional wrestlers.

Two “Hall of Shame” articles are mentioned in this conversation.

The first profile was on Davey Boy Smith, who allegedly drugged his wife, and then proceeded to rape her.

The second profile was on Jim Neidhart, who adopted Tyson Kidd when he was ten years old. Now Tyson Kidd and Nattie Neidhart (Jim Neidhart’s birth-daughter / Tyson Kidd’s adopted sister) have been dating for nine years.

Don't worry--the conversation's about 'incest,' and not really about 'pro wrestling.'

Without further ado...