Jack looked solemnly over the somber crowd and grimly wondered silently and darkly to his grave self how many sorrowfully knew of the abysmal terrible cruel and cold fate that hellishly would morosely befall them all—in a totally bad way. The bleak future yet to come: the Invasion, the War, the Bombs, the Famine, Death, Capitalized Nouns, Fire and Symbolic Crying Babies. They would know soon, he thought with his mighty brain full of mindpowers and brainmight.
There was a surprising amount of handlebar moustaches amongst the very youthful happy youth of the very young. Moustache wax must’ve been on sale, verily, or demons possessed them all. The three-quarter hat is the very height of indie fashion, as it turns out. We have all very much seen Newsies, as it also turns out. It was a brisk very Saturday on this very fateful very-berry-berry Crunchberries. Mmm. Shit, man, it, like, rained hard, dude.
The Place: Bethesda North Marriott Hotel Ampersand Conference CentreNot For You Studios was out in force at this gala extravaganza bathed in the spotlights and lime-coloured light. The crowds could not get enough of these seven up-and-comers, greeting them with the ultimate in Hipster praise: an absolute lack of any acknowledgement whatsoever. In the indie niche, nothing says “You’ve Made It!” more than when nobody gives a shit about you.
The Time: Saturday, September 26th, 2009, 11:00 AM until QUESTION MAAAAA-AAAAARKKKK-K-KKKK??!?!?!?!?????!?!?!*
* (Answer: 7:00 PM)
The Thing: Small Press Expo
The How: Magic. And cocaine. And magic cocaine. Made of ground Unicorn. Magic MEXICAN Unicorns, hombre.
“Not for who?” one girl said, when asked about the creative crew of Art Visioneers. “Uh, I think I, like, read their mini-comic, once,” another raving fan exclaimed, barely able to contain his overwhelming apathy and indifference. Oh, yes, the independent art and literature scene was awash in Not For You Studios fever, straight-faced and cold-shouldered.
Inspired by the “Time-Constrained Comic” panel, Mr. Jack Happy produced his own ten-minute comic. SPOILER ALERT: This took sixty sexy minutes, which is like six times the ten-minute comic!
It was during the Critics’ Roundtable that Jack realized something very important. He had not worn a jacket. He had not brought a jacket. IT WAS RAINED. OH DEAR GOD, WHAT HATH SCIENCE WROUGHT?!
Mr. Happy was very happy, indeed, to meet the lovely and inspirational Spike, of Templar, Az fame. She told him a stirring tale, the story of The Ocean’s Saddest Whale—Jack dubbed him “Wailin’ Whale Jennings,” inside the void of noise between his ears (this was one of those ‘Fifteen Minutes Later’ Coulda-Been-Good jokes).
Apparently, according to the illustrious Spike, there is a whale with a unique song, observed by Folks-Who-Study-Whale-Song-All-Day-Long-and-Maybe-Cry-Into-Pillows-at-Night: it is unlike any other whales’ song, and it, in fact, terrifies the other whales and causes them to stay abreast of W.W. Jennings. The theory is that this whale is either a member of a soon-to-be extinct species or is deaf. That’s right, even whales can’t understand the deaf very well. Mr. Happy doesn’t feel so bad anymore, at least about that.
So inspired by this Homeric epic of whale-like (ha-ha-ah) proportion, Jack did the arduous task of Googling said Jennings the Lonesomest Whalefriend. Here it is: Death Cab for Whalie (I would steer clear, too, if given this comparison were true).
Spike also drew an adorable squid in Mr. Happy's newly-purchased copy of volume one of Templar, AZ, for which Jack will heart her forever. Good Christ, Jack Happy is stupid amounts of a fan-boy over Spike, let’s just say.
Not For You also attended the spotlight on Jeffrey Brown, during which Mr. Happy solidified his place in Hell with some sketching. It never hurts to go that extra mile to ensure Satan takes notes in the margins of his diary about how he’s going to jam terrible things inside your rectum when you burn in the eternal Pits. It was also discovered, as well, that Jack finds the moderator for this panel to be a dull, dull woman with dull, dull questions.
—Dullasaurus Rex: “So, as an artist, how do you like art?”Finally, The Center for Cartoon Studies held a comicking workshop, which was attended by Not For You. We learnt much of the sacred art, such as “Westerners read left-to-right,” and “panels are those square things on the page.” (No, in all seriousness, it was fun and not-at-all-dumb-like-that).
—Brown: “I, uh, you know, like it.”
—D-Rexface: “So, as a comic artist, how do you like comics?”
—Brown: “They’re coo’.”
—Planet Dullplanet: “So, as an arist of comics, how do you like art in comics?”
—Brown: “Hm, well, it’s—“
—Dullforce Omega: “TIME!”
AND SO WENT OUR CONQUEST, YE PURVEYORS OF OURN SITE OF TUBULAR ACCESS!
[Bears exeunt, stage-left.]