suburban

suburban terror.

the nightmares kept coming.  night after night.  soon, I started to wonder if I was in a perpetual dream state.  the faces all had an eerie smile, that propped up on the left side, like a puppet string was holding them up or something.  that's not a natural smile, no, people don't smile like that.  

even at Target, the same looks on faces.  why was I in Target anyway?  that's not a place I would ever go.  i don't have kids, so I don't need to pick up diapers or Oreo cookies, and I certainly don't need a new lamp, or CD's, or whatever else the fuck they sell there.  maybe I've been too judgmental about Target?  see, I'm in a nightmare again.  night after night.

 

Meta-Burban

I've been in the Judge Dredd editing booth trying to wrap a cut of something, before I have to turn it in to someone else, who has to do something to it, whom then has to pass it on.  

And beside writing a million fucking death defying scripts, I just haven't had time to be consistent with updates.

So, with that said, here is a piece I did a million years ago. It's sell able.

Goons forever,
am

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