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[jay-ell]

She must be quite a large woman.

Not any more. She's been dead for thirty years.

[pmcd9]

I woke up this morning wondering what's going on in that van.  It made me optimistic there would be a strip posted.  Sadly I was mistaken.

[pmcd9]

But wait... I just noticed he is promising a strip this afternoon.

[wombat]

He is such a tease.

[theinevitable]

build one's own house out of one's hands

I like the idea that Cormac McCarthy lives in a house made of his own giant hands.

Noun: Oralingus.

This is one of the Achewoods that I didn't find funny at the time, but now I think back to it randomly and crack up.

[pmcd9]

Now the message promising a strip this afternoon is gone.  The link begging for money is gone too.

[wombat]

I still see them both.

[pmcd9]

I still see them both.

Did you refresh your page?

[pmcd9]

Okay, now it's back.  Stop this ride, I want to get off.  Ha ha haaa...

[greenkoolayd]

Crikes man, put up a jokey page with Ray a'splaining how things have gotten slipped off your cracker so we can quit making shit up in our minds, y'know.

can

[Dangermoose]

The man who mentioned a sawzall got hissef a can.

My only other thing I want to offer as a failing lurker is this:  what if it ended up that Onstad's greatest achievement was indirectly putting a great writer in touch with his editor?   (Given that Onstad plays English like a piano and is fairly young, I'd expect more, but you never know.)

[theinevitable]

whenever I hear a particularly awesome piece of American English Vernacular, I think of Achewood.

which is weird. "Hey, black dude who works with me, you remind me of an internet cat."

[pmcd9]

what if it ended up that Onstad's greatest achievement was indirectly putting a great writer in touch with his editor?   (Given that Onstad plays English like a piano and is fairly young, I'd expect more, but you never know.)

The great writer seems to have done a runner.  I think we may have scared him off.

It's okay Mike, we still love you even if you never write that great novel.

[littlefallsmets]

I ain't gone, I'm just...

I'm trying to tamp down a family argument that almost got me thrown out of ANOTHER place to live, which would make it twice in six months, and... while I think I'm making progress on that front, my grandmother's in her second day in the ICU. And we're still working on getting my car fixed after my girlfriend parked it in front of a library with the GPS on the dash and the inevitable smash-and-grab that inevitably greeted her when she came back out with the Twilight novella.

In the face of these predicaments, making like Albert Brooks in "Defending Your Life" is crushing enough, let alone actually working on writing.

I appreciate the offers of help and I might eventually follow through on them but, right now, feeling like I'm letting people down by not immediately engaging their kind offers and/or getting feelings of inadequacy piled on top of feelings of inadequacy by people who misread my personality as being spurred by negative reinforcement when there is nothing that motivates me less than having my ten thousand previous mistakes pointed out... these things are counterproductive to short and long term goals equally.

However, maybe this is the simplest explanation for Achewood: the author fucked up a little bit and fell enough behind where all attempts to dig out make him feel even worse because he can't fix it all immediately/without disheartening criticism/easily/without-secondary-setbacks and so he's just spinning further and further down a shame spiral.

Which, of course, makes me empathize with Onstad to the point where my internal quip "he only said Monday afternoon, not THIS Monday afternoon" is significantly less funny to me.

[Choop]

omstrad just gave us a fuck you friday sans cartoon