Space Pirates Ltd.

I Hate Blue Dad from doopdoopdoop on Vimeo.

waka waka dongs are funy

Ethan Patrick Parry: Yes hello Dan, we will be working out, yes you are coming?

Daniel Robert Delaney: Yes of course, you read my mind, I have a glutton of fat and I am for the fat men to laugh at. Who will ever love me!

Ethan Patrick Parry: No fear for you to have, please make haste and follow me to the terminal.

Daniel Robert Delaney: Ho!

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The depredation and racialism profiling taking place inside our humble Internet community is appalling. Children today are being raised to believe in the lies and whims of gentiles and Romans. 7 out of 13 children each day die of intentionally swallowing spiders in their sleep. The Pope is forced to sit in a giant, transparent, rolling jack-in-the-box. His holy proclamations can only be heard if we choose to turn the holy crank until it gets to the part where the nightmarish spring clown pops out only instead of a clown it’s holy proclamations. I’m speaking figuratively of course. The Pope is no nightmarish clown. He is a kind and gentle beast. It is we who have mocked the teachings of our Lord God Almighty on his Golden Thrown of Glory. And thus, I think it is high time we had a little history lesson.

Open your Bibles to Jonah, Chapter Fish and read along with this illustrated guide to the classic story of truth and faith, and mostly whales. (more…)

Red from doopdoopdoop on Vimeo.

I had to make a video for the color red, so I made this. Also, I’m storing my stuff on Vimeo now. THIS IS A TEST YOU ARE THE SUBJECT

Actually, it’s pronounced “Anime” (more…)

Aphex Twin - Come to Daddy

By far, one of the most fucked up songs I’ve ever heard in my life. Aphex Twin makes liberal use of overdriven vocals. The vocals are backed by a drum n’ bass beat that is all over the place and a fuzzy melody. All I can discern from the lyrics is screaming about the need for souls…as for the video itself, it’s got that whole possessed-children thing down pat.

Enjoy.

The comics in the campus paper here at the University of Pittsburgh can really, really suck some times. Even the writing can be comicly bad.

Fortunately, there are a handful of good writers. They submit their work to a public with high expectations. They know that anything less than the best will have their heads chopped off and their bodies thrown to the lions. The same lions that haunt frat parties and survive only on canned light beer.

Sometimes, a Russel Crowe type character will emerge from these gladiators of ink and paper. They will bring forth justice, entertainment, and most importantly, the anger of an organized religion. Kondrad Klinkner, I salute you. We salute you.
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I’ve spent a lot of my life in about three cities. Philly, my hometown, was my first eighteen years. Since then, I have spent several semesters of school at the illustrious University of Pittsburgh. The aggregate time adds up to something close to two years. Other than that, the major metropolis that has enjoyed my company the most would have to be New York.

And to be honest, New York is the worst of the lot.
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Recently, the mayor of California and famous action hero, Arnold Schwarzenegger, spoke at a conference addressing the climate, and how to make it hip.

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You know a comic is good when you see a stream of Lemmings careening down a crowded street caught up in the paranoia and defeatism of Nuclear hysteria.

Blacksad is what would result if Looney Toons and Phillip Marlowe had a baby. The gritty world of a private detective populated by anthropomorphized animals. Blacksad himself is a black cat with a white muzzle. This seems to be the perfect species for him, the avatar of a noire private eye’s complicated code of honor. The choice for the protagonist to be a cat, an animal known for its own warped ethics and policies, makes Blacksad the consummate gumshoe. He is strong, conflicted and constantly at odds with society over his own personal brand of light-handed justice.
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Imagine you are at a relative’s house for a winter holiday. Imagine everyone has to get one other member of the extended family one present. Imagine that you drew names out of a worn Phillies cap (it might be old in Age, but it is young in Love ). Imagine that you pick out the name of your cousin Norman, who is ten years old. Imagine that your cousin Norman loves comic books. Imagine that you recently received forty dollars for giving that old man at McDonald’s a hand job in the bathroom. What do you buy your cousin Norman?

Answer: the recently released collection of the entire series of Bone written by Jeff Smith, priced conservatively at $40.00. He will fucking love it. (more…)

Every week I attend a class, and in this class we sometimes watch porn. Now, before you go jumping off your warm squishy bee-hinds in excitement you should probably understand something. This class is called Transgressive Cinema, which means in a nutshell “Movies that have freaked out and continue to freak out the squares.” While you may or may not consider yourself a square, or failing that a quadrilateral of any kind, you should consider exactly what that means. We have watched close to thirty-nine jillion films thus far in this class, and nearly all of them have had a ratio of ten diarrhea bombardments per every one boob. If you’re like me and haven’t taken math since you were four, basically what that means is that if you like porn, which considering you’re on the internet I can only assume you passionately do, you still may be unlikely to enjoy Transgressive porn. (more…)

This is an ode to my new apartment.

I am no poet, else this would be a poem. It is not a soliloquy . It is certainly not a sonnet. Tragically, I could not even produce a ribald limerick. And I know everybody loves a good limerick. So, sadly, please settle for this small ode, composed mostly of prose.

My apartment and I have flirted for a short while. We’ve met twice, under certain auspices so as not to appear too interested. We would probably be together soon, but I must return to the coast for the summer. Most likely, my apartment and I will pick things up again in August when I return to Pittsburgh.
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lets help him improve it

www.nickmongo.com

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Marvel loves the X-Men in the same way that a father loves a son who will eventually be a high-paid professional athlete. Everybody loves Marvel Comics’ favored son and as a result, Marvel pimps that son out like my uncle, Slick Willy Rickards, pimps out his hoes back on 10th and South in Philly. Walking into a comic book store I often feel like the United States gradually losing the war on drugs. I see dozens of X-branded titles written by people who have no business writing the complex characters X-men’s mutant heroes have become. Somewhere in Colombia, the secret king of Marvel Comics sits back in a shadowy chair and quietly chuckles, puffing his giant cigar and signing off on several new mutant-driven series: Unbelievable X-Men, X-traordinary X-Men, X-ceptional X-Men, InX-plicable X-men and (most critically acclaimed of the lot) Adjective X-Men.
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