tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7632998076580738122024-02-20T08:10:36.521-08:00Confessions of a Hack Comic Book ArtistThe official blog of comic book artist and illustrator Gerry Kissell.Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-22969356836355955602020-03-14T19:09:00.004-07:002020-03-14T19:12:24.676-07:00Old Vet Meets Younger Vet While at Walmart<div class="_5pbx userContent _3576" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-testid="post_message">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the current idiotic climate of assholes panicking and hoarding, I had to go to a second Walmart today to see if I could get some
things that we couldn't find at the other grocery store. I went in on the pharmacy end, and grabbed a grocery
cart, and started walking down the main aisle--where
the registers are--toward the grocery department. As I went into that first turn,
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKu6y5O6BPG1V7t0Vg4f5taXuYzyPO_Dtji1pxsnEGI-IajYd7wau3DR0X3alV93FzfshAMD9h2yyV3fn7n90WLw0sJ-WpkKGinrqQDa-PrkK8GcnnASPVez0qstmqP4BT7usB24WH3z4/s1600/WIN_20200314_20_41_32_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKu6y5O6BPG1V7t0Vg4f5taXuYzyPO_Dtji1pxsnEGI-IajYd7wau3DR0X3alV93FzfshAMD9h2yyV3fn7n90WLw0sJ-WpkKGinrqQDa-PrkK8GcnnASPVez0qstmqP4BT7usB24WH3z4/s200/WIN_20200314_20_41_32_Pro.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
I looked up and saw about 30 feet in front of me a man in his late 70's
pushing a cart toward me, with his wife next to him looking at the
ladies clothes, and man, did i not know that glassy eyed look he had, as
he just blankly looked ahead and pushed the cart as she shopped. I
noticed on the man's head was an Army Korean War Veteran ball cap. As we
were about to pass one another, I saw him turn and lock eyes with me,
and I remembered my own hat, and realized he was looking my Combat Medic ball cap (see the
photos) and right as we approached one another, he gripped the cart with
his far hand, and leaned toward me, smiled and put his closest fist
out. I smiled back, and put my own fist out, just as we passed one
another we fist bumped.</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Go Army!</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Highlight of my fucking week.</span></div>
Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-26458422897198151262020-03-10T20:32:00.002-07:002020-03-10T21:04:55.866-07:00That Time A Hippie Thanked An Army Vet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfY4KMnmO6IvncNhhY_jk04Uj__hkU1DBvE79xCkmGGYRb6z3N0oUAOJ7q9Gz1vHi1UwnPIkriD99vU49ocOZTv-5MpBPyUxy6o1pdRR9SbQ2rvwhVAX7v9vaXWTgnviMboyfKajbJWw/s1600/12141180_10153738660349973_7068292892247608627_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfY4KMnmO6IvncNhhY_jk04Uj__hkU1DBvE79xCkmGGYRb6z3N0oUAOJ7q9Gz1vHi1UwnPIkriD99vU49ocOZTv-5MpBPyUxy6o1pdRR9SbQ2rvwhVAX7v9vaXWTgnviMboyfKajbJWw/s320/12141180_10153738660349973_7068292892247608627_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Like many Veterans, I am always caught off guard when someone thanks me for my service.<br />
<br />
A few months back,I was in my local Walmart grabbing a few things, and was walking down the sauce and dressing aisle, when I happened to pass a young hippie looking couple with their house dress with flip-flop wearing grandmother. As they were about to pass me, the young hippie dude suddenly reached out and grabbed me by my arm, and said, "sir?" I stopped, turned, and clenched my fists thinking, "Welp, shit...gonna have to beat a hippie to death, today." But, I quickly realized he wasn't starting a fight. I looked at him and said, "Yeah?" He then reached out his other hand to shake mine, and continued, "I want to thank you for your service, sir."<br />
<br />
<br />
1. I'm really funny about shaking hands...germs and shit.
<br />2. I was flummoxed in how the fuck this guy knew I was a Vet!<br />
<br />
<br />
But, despite my OCD, I'd rather get germs than be rude, so, I shook his hand...I nodded, and said, "It was my honor. Thank you for letting me serve."<br />
<br />
<br />
He, the little hippie wife, and their grandmother, moved along down the aisle smiling. While I continued walking the opposite direction down the aisle. The hand he shook was gripped tightly, so I didn't accidentally touch my face with it. I kept looking back at them as I neared the end, and as soon as I turned the corner and lost site of them I brought my hand out of my pocket, held it i9n the air like a surgeon, and made a mad dash towards the bathroom.
I was also still befuddled over how he knew I was a Vet, as I raced toward the bathroom.<br />
<br />
<br />
Once in the bathroom I began scrubbing my hand with soap and hot water. At some point I glanced up at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes moved to the top of my head where I saw that I was wearing my U.S. Army Veteran hat.<br />
<br />
I laughed, shook my head at myself, and thought, "You fucking idiot."
🖖😂Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-67331849875490175932017-08-23T08:50:00.004-07:002017-08-23T08:59:20.950-07:00My Erma Bombeck-esque story about my daughter "accidentally" trying to kill me<div style="background-color: black; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Rough week. Yesterday was the worst, which started off the night before, when Zoe announced she would be unavailable for an hour, as she was taking a bath. You know, with all the lady oils and shit in the water. Then she apparently only did a cursory rinsing of the tub afterward. Leaving a wonderful surprise for me, the next morning, which was yesterday morning, as I went to take my morning shower. As I put my left foot down, I felt something viscous. So I shifted my left foot more center tub as I brought my left foot in. However, I knew, as my right foot came into the shower, for certain, I was in serious trouble. I had stepped into what can only be described as a thin layer of snot, and as my right foot tried to find its balance, I was going down.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>What happened next was all in some weird kind of slow motion. My body slammed into the shower curtain, and I started thinking, Wow. So this is how I go out. Killed by my daughter's laziness. I was now caught up in the curtain, like a dolphin in fishing net.I hear the sounds of the curtain rod ripping from its anchors in the wall. Oh, good, I thought, I didn't hit my head on the toilet. Oh, shit...the door frame! I slammed hard on the floor, on the flat of my back, and shifted my eyes, and looked to my right, as I did, seeing I'd just missed the door frame, as my head smacked, thankfully, outside the bathroom, on the carpeted floor. Everything that could go right, when something goes horribly wrong, had happened.<br />I lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling fan, motionless, all swaddled in my shower curtain cocoon. I wasn't freaked out. I just sat there, getting angry. At what? I'll tell you, I was growing angrier, by the second, at Zoe.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>Then I realized, I better calm down and check if I was damaged. I moved my feet first, then my head. Good, no spinal injury.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>I reached up and grabbed my phone, sitting only inches from me. I opened messenger and began sending texts to Zoe. After about a dozen quick messages, of which ended with one brief "Thank you for trying to kill me, AND establishing your alibi of being at work when it happened. Well played." Of course I was joking. But, I was in an angry frame of mind and my humor is known for being very cutting when I'm in a bad mood.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>Then, just as I hit send on that last message, Zoe calls me. I answer the phone, still lying like a burrito, wrapping in a shower curtain. I answer, "Yes? Zoe? HELLO?" Nothing. She butt dialed me. I hung up. Then, I decided I better get up. I rolled over and out of the curtain, stood up, feeling like I'd been hit in the back by a baseball bat. I'eve been hit by a bat, in the back, so I know the frame of reference. I walk out, naked, into the living room, and plop down on the sofa.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>The phone rings again. It's Zoe calling again.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>I answer, "Yes? Are you there?"<br />She replies, "Yes," and then begins to yell at me, "Why are you calling me? You know I'm at work!"<br />Me, "I didn't call you. You called me."<br />Zoe, "No, I meant the call before this."<br />Me, "That was you, as well. You butt dialed me after I sent you a bunch of texts."<br />Zoe, "Oh. Well, okay. I saw those. But, I have to go. I'm at work."<br />Me, "Okay. Well, again, thanks for trying to kill me."<br />Zoe, "I'm really sorry, dad. I really am, but I have to go."<br />Me, "Okay. I'll see you when you get home. Unless you have any more hidden elaborate traps that will do me in, before you get home."<br />Zoe, "No. I don't! I love you. Bye."<br />Me, "Yaaay, a win for me. Love you, too. Bye."<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>The rest of the day was really boring shit. So, I end the story there.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>Today is Zoe's birthday. She's 18. I will make her a cake. But, I am going to be doing it both in pain, AND in protest. I told her, "If you try killing me again, just so you know, you will now be tried as an adult. So. You should know that."<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>She laughed.<br /><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>That is all.</span></div>
Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-55666380188956958492016-09-26T00:56:00.002-07:002016-09-26T00:59:56.024-07:00ACTUAL SHIT GERRY HAS SAID (or done) AS A CLERK<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2D3Y_98XRgLxVedD1LATSnEDBOhRsChTGC6Z1bjUMD_YJVLAvnRqJ27EcwEhG_EYEKc24aIg4CHCjytPwV1x5RWWCWNt3_Km0MoGP3DAllyCiFWndvhJyAfFrx6CZsso3wimK32Hl3k/s1600/clerk+stories.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2D3Y_98XRgLxVedD1LATSnEDBOhRsChTGC6Z1bjUMD_YJVLAvnRqJ27EcwEhG_EYEKc24aIg4CHCjytPwV1x5RWWCWNt3_Km0MoGP3DAllyCiFWndvhJyAfFrx6CZsso3wimK32Hl3k/s320/clerk+stories.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the late 1980's, I worked at the
Stafford Courthouse Seven-Eleven, in Virginia. I loved working the
graveyard shift, because the most interesting people came in.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One night, just before midnight, I had
a 16 year old kid and about four of his friends roll in, and they
grabbed some sodas and come to the counter. He took the lead as first
in line, plopping two sodas down on the counter in front of me. I
smiled and asked him, "will that be all?"
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He replied politely, "No. I'd like
to get a pack of condoms."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I turned toward the rack we had behind
the counter, and asked, "Any preference?"
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He looked a bit sheepish, but replied
with, "What's the largest ones you got?"
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">His friends started laughing. He turned
and smacked one in the chest, and told them, "Knock it off,
man."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Well, to say the least, I was amused by
the request. So I felt a need to take this a bit further, and said,
"Well a popular large condom are called Magnums. But, if you're really
packing, you might want the Hefty Man brand."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The kid said, "Okay. I'll take
those." I reached down bellow the counter, and grabbed them and
brought the "Hefty Man brand" up and dropped it on the
counter, in front of the kid.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He and his friends all had this weird
look on their faces, as they looked at the large roll of what was
actually just a roll of black Hefty trash bags that we kept behind
the counter— for when we needed to change out the coffee station
trashcans— so,I quickly bellied up to the register, and said,
"That'll be $12.98 for the Hefty Man condoms, plus $1.20 for the
sodas. Don't forget to use the built in drawstring to catch and
lock-in all your man sauce."
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The friends cracked up, and the kid
laughed, despite being a bit red in the face.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I then just sold him the Magnums,
though he most likely just needed regular size. Well, the word "need"
is stretching things a bit. </span></div>
Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-8865240102791315812015-11-11T17:24:00.001-08:002015-11-11T17:25:11.946-08:00A Veterans Day Special: Bravo 4-10 vs. The Latrine<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>A Veterans Day Special</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bravo 4-10 vs. The Latrine</span></span></div>
<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> In the
military we were all trained to improvise and overcome any given
situation. I was with Bravo 4-10, back in 1990, and during our weapon's
training, we'd been marched for about a half hour or more, out into the
middle of Fort-Lost-In-The-Woods, where we actually lost someone who
stopped to piss along the way. Because of the risk of the missing
soldier accidentally wandering across one of the firing lanes, we were
then ord<span class="text_exposed_show">ered to sit and wait in the hot Missouri summer sun until they found the missing recruit.</span></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=1656363412" href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1656363412"></a><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
After what seemed an eternity, and with chow and a canteen of water
already passed through our systems, we were allowed to use one of the
antiquated WW II latrines that had been all but forgotten, out in the
middle of the black widow and recluse spider infested Mark Twain
National Forest. I believe this old wooden relic, with it's back to back
solid row of wooden toilet seats, not individual seats, but one long
hollow wooden box with about 20 or more holes cut into the top of each,
that dropped our waste into some horrifying toxic mixture down below
that we could not see, but only smell. The smell of the place could be
picked up almost a click out, and once we saw it, it filled us all with
dread. It was old, like something from a Sam Raimi horror film. There
were no lights inside, just the sunlight coming through the door and any
cracks in the rook that was in great disrepair. If I could compare the
odor to anything, it stank of not only old and new shit and urine, but
also like death. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> People were dry heaving before even entering
and everyone was trying to hold their breaths to go in. A few threw up.
Those of us in charge, the squad leaders, could see the Drill Sergeants
were enjoying this new kind of torture, watching us all with great
amusement. I knew it was my moral obligation to share with the guys my
improvised solution to the problem. I told my guys to pull out our M40
pro-masks...or as civilians would call them "Gas Masks." We put them on,
cleared them and, lead the charge of the second wave going in. once
others saw what we were doing, especially those inside, began scrambling
to put their masks on as well. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Suddenly everyone calmed down and were able to navigate the situation with calm.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
Of course, being me, I had to announce, "Now all we have to worry about
is getting our asses and balls bit by black widows hiding under the
seats."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-42674614703249840752015-06-17T01:18:00.005-07:002015-06-17T01:35:44.895-07:00<h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>DECEPTION AND MURDER IN A MIDWEST TOWN</b></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUeo-H6Q533dF20CU0-nzMVOFJzgr3nh6SjUGEUxqLFP1J_1vEAs_tiF1BjkmseTRH4OZcsvulIOQhi-3vtLtwUol7gCPYYwARkmCfJgi4Aa-BKC_Y5HxiNziYFT3r_WLBZSJrhEVv5zQ/s1600/deedee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUeo-H6Q533dF20CU0-nzMVOFJzgr3nh6SjUGEUxqLFP1J_1vEAs_tiF1BjkmseTRH4OZcsvulIOQhi-3vtLtwUol7gCPYYwARkmCfJgi4Aa-BKC_Y5HxiNziYFT3r_WLBZSJrhEVv5zQ/s200/deedee.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As I recall, I met Gypsy and her mother Dee Dee Blanchard for the first time in 2011, at Visioncon, a popular scifi and comic convention in Springfield, Missouri. I was there to promote my new book for IDW, <i><b>Code Word: Geronimo</b></i>. What could I say about them? They were friendly, cordial, Dee was a kind and attentive mother, and Gypsy was a loving elfish, if not more bird like little girl seeminlgy bound to her wheelchair. But, as I and thousands of others who thought they knew this mother and daughter duo, learned today that not all was at it seems. In fact, today, when the Green County Sheriff's commander spoke, he used those exact words to describe the situation that has tragically and most horrifically unfolded over the last several days.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mijlcAjAGS8Qzv5sLHaFHQbpR-B0Q8EpJid9gU57U1OQVcs-Fldscp50KjX8CV1GiEuyhPfy65A5S17UXcQuvsnK72cd4UAYWBW8Lw2VAlFa8H7w8uqPuJLZF_TjozI1wd9ZDDacW-s/s1600/Screenshot+2015-06-14+20.44.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mijlcAjAGS8Qzv5sLHaFHQbpR-B0Q8EpJid9gU57U1OQVcs-Fldscp50KjX8CV1GiEuyhPfy65A5S17UXcQuvsnK72cd4UAYWBW8Lw2VAlFa8H7w8uqPuJLZF_TjozI1wd9ZDDacW-s/s200/Screenshot+2015-06-14+20.44.00.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It began for most of us on Sunday, when pple close to Dee Dee and Gypsy had reported both of them as missing. No one had seen them since the previous Wednesday, June 10th. Then, Sunday afternoon, someone mysteriously posted on Dee's facebook page "The bitch is dead." and an hour later, "The girl's dead too."<br /><br />Then, after a search of the house, it was reported that Dee Dee's body was found. She'd been brutally stabbed to death in her bed. The mind just went slack. What? This woman, to my knowledge had not one enemy in the world. She was always kind and friendly. What the fuck happened?! I must have wept for an hour, when I saw the news. My daughter sa, in shock herself, and rubbed my back, trying to help her old dad feel better. But, everyone of us who knew them were all terrified of what had become of the young helpless Gypsy. We all feared the worst. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I spoke with my friend, author Shane Moore, a retired, and decorated police detective from Illinois. He spoke the words none of us wanted to, but were all secretly thinking; "What if Gypsy had something to do with her mother's murder? What if she posted those messages on facebook to mislead people and make them think she was dead? Sure, what Shane said comes off as cynical, but, like all of us, he hoped that wasn't the case. He just knew that things weren't adding up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then relief came, that Gypsy had been found in Wisconsin, with the young man that law enforcement believed had committed the murder. But, as the hours passed that relief turned to even more horror, as those words Shane had spoke came true. Gypsy was now no longer a rescued daughter but charged with helping murder her own mother.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We also learned that Dee and Gypsy had scammed people for years, that Gypsy was never disabled or bound to a wheelchair at all. She was not as young as we'd been led to believe, either. Not a teen, but a twenty something. She didn't require the oversized glasses that made her look so diminutive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk8SQBZ4kuy7rkAGe_9_qRo2Xj5YRQiSD5pqRtps7kAiJXYf_NaM5O8jOrUyJdzeyDmL57VeFyZCLpa-sNW4UenAUednTYTnLpNbsXO1FtKLa91Ezq0P90dZQTXRTPvcRMMHslck3a7k/s1600/gypsy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk8SQBZ4kuy7rkAGe_9_qRo2Xj5YRQiSD5pqRtps7kAiJXYf_NaM5O8jOrUyJdzeyDmL57VeFyZCLpa-sNW4UenAUednTYTnLpNbsXO1FtKLa91Ezq0P90dZQTXRTPvcRMMHslck3a7k/s200/gypsy.jpg" width="200" /></a>Though we are far from knowing or understanding what lead to this calamity. What we do know is that on June 10th, a young man Gypsy had met online, came to get her. Then, according to police, Gypsy handed the young man a knife and told him to kill her mother. And while police collect their evidence, all the rest of us will sit in wonder, shaking our heads, trying to wrap our minds around what has happened, and questioning our ability to know good people when we see them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the mean time, I took all the videos of Gypsy and me chatting together over the years while at Visioncon, and I deleted them all today. I want no mementos of her. Any good memories are tarnished, fractured, unclean. Because I was one of those people taken in by the facade. Now, I only want to just move on, and let it all go. And who am I? I am no one. Just one more peripheral player, perhaps one voice in the Greek chorus, or more likely just one more member of the audience of this macabre play, who watched a favorite character be turned into a villain. The heart breaks, man. It just breaks, and all you can do is hope something will happen to make it stop hurting. So, I write this blog tonight as a catharsis. Because, as my friend John Del Vecchio said to me once, and I paraphrase, "once you write something down that happened to you. You don't own it anymore. You've let it go."<br /><br />Here's to letting shit go.</span>Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-79769955946213572892014-11-06T22:19:00.004-08:002014-11-06T22:19:50.004-08:00GALACTOSE CAN KILL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuTtMsBe_oUKwUcMCT8UPHYW4TbO2NKRRFPTNLiZ1ZW8S-JXq2MGezlDaIFoxxZyNOhrFUnNg6ImC-Qkwz1b0lDqraXq1TUgL_XquaERFvvH9-musHpg9TZPyEhSz_yF5p_qhDUJxVmY/s1600/galactose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuTtMsBe_oUKwUcMCT8UPHYW4TbO2NKRRFPTNLiZ1ZW8S-JXq2MGezlDaIFoxxZyNOhrFUnNg6ImC-Qkwz1b0lDqraXq1TUgL_XquaERFvvH9-musHpg9TZPyEhSz_yF5p_qhDUJxVmY/s1600/galactose.jpg" height="320" width="215" /></a></div>
I found the following very interesting.<br /><br />"You’ve probably heard ads saying that milk is extremely good for you,
but is there any truth to this? Trace reveals some evidence that milk
might not be all it’s hyped up to be.<br /><br />Go to <a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.audible.com/dnews" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.audible.com/dnews">http://www.audible.com/dnews</a> to get a FREE Audiobook of your choice when you sign up today.<br /><br />Read More:<br />3 Servings of Milk a Day Linked to Higher Mortality in Women<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.livescience.com/48503-3-servings-milk-linked-higher-mortality.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.livescience.com/48503-3-servings-milk-linked-higher-mortality.html">http://www.livescience.com/48503-3-se...</a><br />“Drinking three or more glasses of milk per day may be harmful to women's health, a new study suggests.”<br /><br />Milk intake and risk of mortality and fractures in women and men: cohort studies<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.bmj.com/content/349/bmj.g6015" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.bmj.com/content/349/bmj.g6015">http://www.bmj.com/content/349/bmj.g6015</a><br />“During
a mean follow-up of 20.1 years, 15 541 women died and 17 252 had a
fracture, of whom 4259 had a hip fracture. In the male cohort with a
mean follow-up of 11.2 years, 10 112 men died and 5066 had a fracture,
with 1166 hip fracture cases.”<br /><br />Heavy milk drinking may double women’s mortality rates<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="https://www.sciencenews.org/article/heavy-milk-drinking-may-double-womens-mortality-rates" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="https://www.sciencenews.org/article/heavy-milk-drinking-may-double-womens-mortality-rates">https://www.sciencenews.org/article/h...</a><br />“Despite
delivering calcium and protein, drinking a lot of milk doesn’t seem to
provide a net health benefit for women and may even hinder their
long-term survival prospects, Swedish researchers find.”<br /><br />New study claims milk increases risk of death, cancer - but an expert says the findings are flawed<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/health/wary-new-study-linking-milk-mortality-expert-article-1.1991820" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/health/wary-new-study-linking-milk-mortality-expert-article-1.1991820">http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style...</a><br />“Analyzing
more than 61,000 women and 45,000 men, Swedish researchers found that
women who drank three or more glasses of milk every day had nearly two
times the risk of death and heart disease, and a nearly 44% increased
risk of cancer, compared to women who drank less than one glass a day.”<br /><br />Milk loving Swedes could suffer from high intake<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.thelocal.se/20141029/high-milk-intake-may-be-deadly-swedish-study" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.thelocal.se/20141029/high-milk-intake-may-be-deadly-swedish-study">http://www.thelocal.se/20141029/high-...</a><br />“It might be time to forget all you have heard about milk increasing your bone strength.”<br /><br />Milk may be linked to bone fractures and early death<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.nhs.uk/news/2014/10October/Pages/Milk-linked-to-bone-fractures-and-early-death.aspx" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.nhs.uk/news/2014/10October/Pages/Milk-linked-to-bone-fractures-and-early-death.aspx">http://www.nhs.uk/news/2014/10October...</a><br />“‘Drinking
more than three glasses of milk a day may not protect bones against
breaking – and may even lead to higher rates of death,’ the Mail Online
reports.”<br /><br />Famine may have driven evolution of milk tolerance<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.uu.se/en/research/news/article/?id=3154&area=2,5,10,16&typ=artikel&na=&lang=en" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.uu.se/en/research/news/article/?id=3154&area=2,5,10,16&typ=artikel&na=&lang=en">http://www.uu.se/en/research/news/art...</a><br />“Most
of us grew up drinking milk. We were told it was the ultimate health
drink. It is packed full of nutrients like calcium and other minerals,
vitamins, including vitamin D, protein, fat and sugar in the form of
lactose.”<br /><br />Got Milk? You Don’t Need It<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/07/07/got-milk-you-dont-need-it/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/07/07/got-milk-you-dont-need-it/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0">http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/...</a><br />“Drinking milk is as American as Mom and apple pie.”<br /><br />Got Proof? Lack of Evidence for Milk’s Benefits<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-mark-hyman/milk-health-benefits_b_3551079.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-mark-hyman/milk-health-benefits_b_3551079.html">http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-mark...</a><br />“There is no biological requirement for cow's milk. It is nature's perfect food, but only if you are a calf.”<br /><br />Yes, You Can Still Eat Cheese And Be Healthy. Here’s How<br /><a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/06/25/health-benefits-cheese-healthy_n_5523094.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/06/25/health-benefits-cheese-healthy_n_5523094.html">http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/06...</a><br />“We love cheese in all its many iterations. Halloumi, paneer, mozzarella, burrata, cheddar, blue, brie ... the list goes on.”"<br />
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<br />Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-30592695051852358862014-09-24T19:43:00.001-07:002014-11-06T22:34:19.699-08:00So, this Combat Medic walks into a bar...<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZGHpQK83iUqwOrtxHZF5YESX4CEEaTvunDhJ-YAVx0JUfYZU6-oDZLXEE_SvPeQf4Ls1_9XYXt5yZyMZk2yc7s0KYe7_1WrXhStZt_c1uD7Racxx-B28x-ErkrFO6_rHNzyEWOANeTA/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZGHpQK83iUqwOrtxHZF5YESX4CEEaTvunDhJ-YAVx0JUfYZU6-oDZLXEE_SvPeQf4Ls1_9XYXt5yZyMZk2yc7s0KYe7_1WrXhStZt_c1uD7Racxx-B28x-ErkrFO6_rHNzyEWOANeTA/s1600/06.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>As soldiers, we were trained to improvise and overcome obstacles. Here is an example of my own personal experience as a soldier, with improvising and
overcoming a given situation. The incident took place many years ago when I was asked to save a chair in the E-Club, by a female soldier who was
leaving the table to use the latrine. When she returned, I had several
other soldiers working with me, as we had her chair on it's back, on the
floor, with two guys performing two-man CPR on it, and we had used
items from around the bar (Napkins, straws, swizzle sticks, etc) to
splint the chair, run an IV, and cover it in different kinds of
bandages. She stood there in shock, asked, "What the hell are you
doing?" To which I told her, "You need to back up, ma'am, we are saving your
chair!"<br />
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Never ask a slightly inebriated combat medic to save your chair. Or even a sober one, as a matter of fact.</div>
Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-66301241799140421312014-09-13T01:36:00.002-07:002014-09-13T01:36:40.554-07:00The Thousand Yard Stare - New Painting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG_o3PwEBx_i7uTg8Bmdb-FTlVSp49aM462jAarg8-SZ0rpzvUwfm6zHz0oiipbi75eQqb_2agcJpxcSi3JPRRGUoD8A98A1jWYc4vrTbKel9moCQ7YVVnj4SBculJLBBVAwyXWjCxEw/s1600/The+Thousand+Yard+Stare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG_o3PwEBx_i7uTg8Bmdb-FTlVSp49aM462jAarg8-SZ0rpzvUwfm6zHz0oiipbi75eQqb_2agcJpxcSi3JPRRGUoD8A98A1jWYc4vrTbKel9moCQ7YVVnj4SBculJLBBVAwyXWjCxEw/s1600/The+Thousand+Yard+Stare.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PQOHzv6DrFcFiMt7DXqWnktnf3Qg29KYw7yfCqzYhFtpGfZgqjuyqaFkAjoEv5SIMAyGlwjSM3qBDk_LceXA_CmS2b2HqUmmXGxLDsD1cFPYtLHq6xivtknc-NcO-aMkSKFOFLxOnog/s1600/run+between+the+raindrops+-+variant-flat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PQOHzv6DrFcFiMt7DXqWnktnf3Qg29KYw7yfCqzYhFtpGfZgqjuyqaFkAjoEv5SIMAyGlwjSM3qBDk_LceXA_CmS2b2HqUmmXGxLDsD1cFPYtLHq6xivtknc-NcO-aMkSKFOFLxOnog/s1600/run+between+the+raindrops+-+variant-flat.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></a> <br />
A brand new piece I did for a Vietnam War novel cover, that I was given a lot of freedom to create. In it I wanted to convey that thousand yard stare so common amongst war weary soldiers. I wanted to have a soldier, peering through thick jungle vegetation, during monsoon season. <br />
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Now, after I finished the painting, I learned the book I was hired to do the cover for, was actually specifically about the battle at Hue City, during the Tet Offensive. There was no jungle in the book. Not one to be beaten by my own stupidity, I did a variant of the cover, by separately painting a damaged temple wall and window, from Hue, and then, once done, adding it as a new layer, over my original painting, so the Marine is now peering through the damaged temple window. I still am keeping the original jungle painting, for my own gallery and displays. I am just really fond of it. My brother Steven served as a marine in Vietnam, and he served as an inspiration for this piece. So, I guess that is why.<br />
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Below is a great photo of my brother Steve and his buddy John Green, in Vietnam, 1970. <br />
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<br />Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-65051083477884838852014-08-29T21:44:00.002-07:002014-08-29T21:44:21.301-07:00New Cover art for Josh Becker's "True" World War II novel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_c4Vo2_t_I0NYSFGmpQYvEb9ttK0A-Y9x896qohCX39z1sScCvWY7v5QOCGVybtj-VdfeZ5xDxqMw6ML6QBnZDP6fdOxie4Q_3KYXb4wdH59ciFZPEvEN_ooycCz2fbudC8-QFNhsxhM/s1600/Day+of+Infamy+-+BookCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_c4Vo2_t_I0NYSFGmpQYvEb9ttK0A-Y9x896qohCX39z1sScCvWY7v5QOCGVybtj-VdfeZ5xDxqMw6ML6QBnZDP6fdOxie4Q_3KYXb4wdH59ciFZPEvEN_ooycCz2fbudC8-QFNhsxhM/s1600/Day+of+Infamy+-+BookCover.jpg" height="231" width="320" /></a></div>
Cover art I painted for my friend Josh Becker's new "true" novel about Pearl Harbor, called Day of Infamy.<br />
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I am very proud of this cover.<br /><br />Visit Josh's site at <a href="http://beckerfilms.com/">BeckerFilms.com</a>Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-74576955459850651832014-08-14T14:06:00.001-07:002014-08-14T14:09:02.885-07:00The PastFor a lot of my childhood friends from Fredericksburg, Virginia, none of them knew when we were kids, that I was the product of a kidnapping. For his own reasons, my father took me to Fredericksbug, to raise me there because he believed that my mother and siblings wouldn't be able to find me. I lived in fear for a few years, when we moved there, afraid to speak of my mother. You see, I made the mistake of speaking about my mother to my school counselor once, and the hour plus long nightmarish car ride around town with my father afterward was something I never wanted to go through again; threatening me with my mother, "Do you want to go back to her?! I'll just make you go back to her." So, I never spoke of my mother or six siblings to any of our teachers and especially to any counselor. I didn't trust them.<br />
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My father was never a good father. He tried, but he didn't have the temperament, so he failed. It didn't help that he was an alcoholic. When he was drinking, he was a monster, and he drank until I was 16. Though it did slow quite a bit after I was 13, because I began shaming him for how he acted drunk. I would tell him the things he said and did. The way he would threaten me. Then, as his back got worse, there were the prescription drugs. He was taking so many. He would do things, when he was on them, that when I would tell him later, he began to doubt me and called me a liar. I tried believing in my dad, but, once he began denying what he was doing, I was finished with him. I wasn't a child anymore. I never had been. I was already working two jobs, and was failing school because of it. That lead to one of the worst things he ever did. It took place just before I left home, when I was nearing 18. I wanted to quit the jobs, and focus on school, because I was doing so poorly. He told me I had to keep the job and refused to listen to me. My reaction was the first time in my life, really standing up to him, saying, "I am not doing this anymore! I'm just a kid!" To which he told me I will, and I responded by storming from the car, to go deliver newspapers on my paper route and and replied, "Fuck you, I am going to quit." I heard his car door open and close and the sound of him hobbling toward me on the crutches he used because of his bad back. I turned as he got closer, and saw the look of murderous rage in his eyes. But, i was done being scared. He'd pushed me too far, and my one time pushing back was too much for him to bear, so, there he was, stepping up into my face. His left hand let go of the crutch and pushed me back against the mailboxes. His other hand left the other crutch, so now he was completely leaning on his crutches, pushing into me, his left hand now up and grabbing my throat. His right hand had reached into his wind breaker pocket and he pulled out the Colt .45 Commander, and shoved it into my chest. I really don;t even remember what he said to me. Something akin to Bill Cosby's line about "I brought you in this world, I'll take you out." But, I was sick of it all. So tired and unafraid. I should have been afraid, but I wasn't Instead, and he could see it in my eyes, that I didn't care anymore. He could see that I just accepted it and had this expression of, "well? You going to do it or what?" Years later, after my father died, the Colt was left to my cousin's husband. I should have wanted it, but I didn't. My cousin never saw that side of my father, they didn't know how much of a monster he could be. I am glad. Everyone should have someone who sees the good in them.<br />
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You would think, for me to receive such rage from my father, I must have been an awful kid. But, you see, I was a good kid. I did what my dad said, without fail. That is until I saw him for who he really was; an abusive, pill popping, alcoholic who kept me around solely for the money I brought in. he got more from his disability because of me. That is until I turned 18. The closer I got to 18, he was making it clear I had to pay for myself. Remember, I was in school and failing because of this. But, once he lost that war of wills with me in that apt building hallway, it was over. I had no value to him and wasn't afraid of him anymore....so, he was done with me. From that point forward he would do things to get me to leave. In one last effort to get me to break, after I got off work, I came home and he wouldn't let me in the house, because he'd gone into my wallet and had read a letter from a sealed envelope that I'd written to a girl. I thought to myself, "I don't do drugs, I am honest, and a good person, so what's his reason for going into my wallet, retrieving a private letter to someone else and reading it. In it, I was angry that he wouldn't allow us to have a phone, even if I paid for it. "I don't want your mother or her kids calling here." So, in the letter to the girl, I said, "My father is acting like an ass about getting a phone." My dad then told me I had to apologize for calling him an ass. To which I told him, "I didn't call you an ass, I said you are acting like one. Besides, what were you doing in my wallet, and opening my private mail? I don';t do drugs or do anything illegal, so what were you looking for?" He didn't like the redirect, and kept trying to go back my needing to apologize for saying he was acting like an ass. To which I said no. An unstoppable force just met an immovable object.<br />
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That was the end. I walked away, sought help from my godfather for a place to stay, until I could figure out what to do, he only had to help me for a few days and then another good friend gave me a place to stay, until I figured out what to do or found a place. I left and never looked back. My father's and my relationship was rocky until the end. His senility near then end really aggravated an already frayed relationship, to the point I refused to even talk to him the last year of his life. He would say awful things about me to my cousin, whom I love very much. I told her, "You can have him. I can't deal with him anymore." He'd done one decent thing for me, and that was help me pay my attorney's fees, so I could keep custody of my daughter. But, he was such an awful human being, he couldn't let me have that. He resented "having" to help by allowing me to sell his gun collection, my "inheritance." he was fighting throat cancer at the time, and was afraid he wouldn't make it. But, I made it clear, "If I lose my daughter because you won't help with the one thing you can help with, you won't have a son to leave them to. I will leave this life and you can leave it to someone else." <br />
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After that, he agreed, begrudgingly, but he still agreed. So I brought a friend of mine to his house, and my friend made notes of all the weapons we collected and my father told him how much each one was worth. Then, with them sold, I was able to pay off the last bit of what i owed my attorney. I was awarded sole custody of my daughter and I thanked dad for it. What did he do? Unbeknownst to me, he told my cousin I stole the guns from him to pay for the lawyer bill, even though I have a a friend who was a witness, and knows better. It didn't matter. It took me six years to find out about this. In one phone call he managed to take away the ONLY good thing he'd ever done for me. I called my cousin and found out more he had said. I was done with him. <br />
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We never spoke again. He died a year later, just before Christmas. <br />
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I loved my father, but I also hated him. Here is the weirdest part, despite everything, I even miss him. When he wasn't being a pompous self righteous ass, he was fun to talk history with; the one passion we shared. Despite the mean and awful things, I miss him. He and I were left unresolved. Our life ended like a favorite TV drama that got canceled after a cliffhanger ending. <br />
<br />Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-17234706017489321212014-04-09T23:36:00.004-07:002014-04-09T23:36:52.485-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Just a few samples of work I have done recently</div>
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<br />Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-39840523286813953952013-11-01T16:32:00.002-07:002013-11-01T16:32:41.893-07:00New Book cover I painted.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF4HGFWLmlXBMf24AHcndrUXo2sBAiQFSC4pAS1IB4ofrOVizH0fsKgLxONQ4ILmOBslUP9OipmVdVYfjx49JCjNh3qyhohyphenhyphenqIgffHT19HVy-XwKJwd9sBpnUH3oNKcMouZO_YGdUCH8/s1600/new+book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF4HGFWLmlXBMf24AHcndrUXo2sBAiQFSC4pAS1IB4ofrOVizH0fsKgLxONQ4ILmOBslUP9OipmVdVYfjx49JCjNh3qyhohyphenhyphenqIgffHT19HVy-XwKJwd9sBpnUH3oNKcMouZO_YGdUCH8/s320/new+book+cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-1621249286797281282013-05-23T20:34:00.001-07:002013-05-23T20:34:11.462-07:00Buy your own signed copy of Iron SKy
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhemhpMksGbzBBK66EieSHZgvTkuZvvHVmA_QY87KfmEopreHcl1ZOh5N64OvpyFBkywhSu9aWUChc_MFh0lT4S4h7dbMOWpNmojjuaJLkZfKBKrUI1xjSaOmD8RuW7d8onstZyjRXupBA/s1600/ironskycover.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhemhpMksGbzBBK66EieSHZgvTkuZvvHVmA_QY87KfmEopreHcl1ZOh5N64OvpyFBkywhSu9aWUChc_MFh0lT4S4h7dbMOWpNmojjuaJLkZfKBKrUI1xjSaOmD8RuW7d8onstZyjRXupBA/s320/ironskycover.jpg" /></a>
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</form>Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-30627149941146018872012-10-08T14:47:00.004-07:002012-10-08T14:50:50.120-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCUPks0xcq7qIenrdysZemhlvCDK1DM7i2nL2HybhiAZX6ndj83jHVJaprJHJimSinsTxVnHuwWa5AKBfeISdUiM8U13ulpPzH6mesynRFNnAubHZYL4aCwgTD3ck1ackbWc3PdEhMwk/s1600/version+two.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCUPks0xcq7qIenrdysZemhlvCDK1DM7i2nL2HybhiAZX6ndj83jHVJaprJHJimSinsTxVnHuwWa5AKBfeISdUiM8U13ulpPzH6mesynRFNnAubHZYL4aCwgTD3ck1ackbWc3PdEhMwk/s200/version+two.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
New <i><b>Doctor Who</b></i> pin-up I did for myself, as I am a <i>Whovian</i>.<br />
But, others seem to be enjoying as well. I call it, "Open wide and say ah."<br />
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Here is a close up...<br /><img alt="http://gerrykissell.com/store/stuff.jpg" class="decoded" src="http://gerrykissell.com/store/stuff.jpg" /> Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-58208009498259138952012-08-12T13:46:00.004-07:002012-08-12T13:46:28.458-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZ2Svxnc3FPOk5vKFzNKE1-NND_qf54HshwmzT_pu_aKnPQXnALpsYxQ-xZ4i1O-HGWpYPiKPfgvkM1bfxcluyjIHA79OKHXd2DtCN9mI-J5sknAYiZdCc1sHhjfsLClqeNWR5YSE9us/s1600/Monkey+Box+-+Book+01-+page+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZ2Svxnc3FPOk5vKFzNKE1-NND_qf54HshwmzT_pu_aKnPQXnALpsYxQ-xZ4i1O-HGWpYPiKPfgvkM1bfxcluyjIHA79OKHXd2DtCN9mI-J5sknAYiZdCc1sHhjfsLClqeNWR5YSE9us/s200/Monkey+Box+-+Book+01-+page+01.jpg" width="128" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The finished art (unlettered) for pages 1 and 2 of </span><i><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Monkey Box</b></i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Bpt1aCHjGMEVGNhDJ6soTsVEz1jdYmETwnG9lYoU2mVetdw9nFJs_w9bY2ZB6L9U17lBghZjxqtKh27mKMvcHJROPv4kIkcm8sPdyZhgsxlRcFcP5SovtsEGeLqwzfg7EzECAXl-ryw/s1600/Monkey+Box+-+Book+01-+page+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Bpt1aCHjGMEVGNhDJ6soTsVEz1jdYmETwnG9lYoU2mVetdw9nFJs_w9bY2ZB6L9U17lBghZjxqtKh27mKMvcHJROPv4kIkcm8sPdyZhgsxlRcFcP5SovtsEGeLqwzfg7EzECAXl-ryw/s200/Monkey+Box+-+Book+01-+page+02.jpg" width="128" /></a></div>
<br />Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-17972791562244225702012-08-07T17:31:00.001-07:002012-08-07T17:31:59.048-07:00<u><b>Monkey Box </b></u><br />
Character art<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUYD4cKDaUGZmnnC5ryBXvVZmKk93VFV2Ajj3yWhiu4uRAFyhBtkl3qZBPP7mfLQu9mi6dC5S4sMTA7jjAXzsrLr01ZvasTd4djwCntNrDxirFvfQ05n01pcVgABvgXzrxj9t9NI6HHk/s1600/JORDAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUYD4cKDaUGZmnnC5ryBXvVZmKk93VFV2Ajj3yWhiu4uRAFyhBtkl3qZBPP7mfLQu9mi6dC5S4sMTA7jjAXzsrLr01ZvasTd4djwCntNrDxirFvfQ05n01pcVgABvgXzrxj9t9NI6HHk/s200/JORDAN.jpg" width="128" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0APVewN1bpqIQIu1TneWL-r_Qx7M-mC_i4PNk7ksoYJP47IsaTsYr-ddoPnzar5c3hyolNiabSeAc4bUncmkK7dnMPsDOcG9ymanfLkoSHy9k_3Fl4pwF02bO-rLtKMK9v9h4ti6kqso/s1600/SHAMUS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0APVewN1bpqIQIu1TneWL-r_Qx7M-mC_i4PNk7ksoYJP47IsaTsYr-ddoPnzar5c3hyolNiabSeAc4bUncmkK7dnMPsDOcG9ymanfLkoSHy9k_3Fl4pwF02bO-rLtKMK9v9h4ti6kqso/s200/SHAMUS.jpg" width="128" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzpYj_9ppzvE2N56rllzjfmJzIT8neXH32_xnAeQ_R7TM2GhbA0Kwudp82iXOW2Wprr3j1fPeA6MUFoiYEu-RN8bmgBY2DQDQiI6fy578mqUh7f6e8XePN2I8iDo2c95J8bFoKUCAwqw/s1600/ZYZ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzpYj_9ppzvE2N56rllzjfmJzIT8neXH32_xnAeQ_R7TM2GhbA0Kwudp82iXOW2Wprr3j1fPeA6MUFoiYEu-RN8bmgBY2DQDQiI6fy578mqUh7f6e8XePN2I8iDo2c95J8bFoKUCAwqw/s200/ZYZ.jpg" width="128" /></a></div>
<br />Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-85594085850121399052012-08-06T21:47:00.001-07:002012-08-06T21:47:37.967-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoqVsiIeTPOkmxixbHR5WJzeMF7IUTzPWROaBTn6kD6vbzDJxDZnzG4nTJ0QG8t_GCo6hdBR6grwUp4Cm4Awc9WckFceK5U9ZiK4oNG_SilF1juwAP7S_MpVptHC3DZPkWdN6nOZX640/s1600/Monkey+Box+-+Book+01-+page+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoqVsiIeTPOkmxixbHR5WJzeMF7IUTzPWROaBTn6kD6vbzDJxDZnzG4nTJ0QG8t_GCo6hdBR6grwUp4Cm4Awc9WckFceK5U9ZiK4oNG_SilF1juwAP7S_MpVptHC3DZPkWdN6nOZX640/s200/Monkey+Box+-+Book+01-+page+01.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
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Page One of Monkey Box, work in progress.Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-85766976507780991702012-07-13T14:19:00.001-07:002012-07-13T14:21:10.970-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc4QTzJxsBWNE7axWXvL7zsnazgwU2TBr_b_UQwEICl2LT5Nn6Km91WBDnizxu1VhGPmhEbIDWAEE9ygiOhlldK8OH02hyasETsn2NYnrUsnfFB45GVxymRWT3tRsjHGD4VPrTSFLkIk/s1600/2416387-prv12743_cov_super.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc4QTzJxsBWNE7axWXvL7zsnazgwU2TBr_b_UQwEICl2LT5Nn6Km91WBDnizxu1VhGPmhEbIDWAEE9ygiOhlldK8OH02hyasETsn2NYnrUsnfFB45GVxymRWT3tRsjHGD4VPrTSFLkIk/s200/2416387-prv12743_cov_super.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXOByIh4zKIJ_tfAKJL6dGSSkuLhsFkpF0KXFi0JUvnKWTMPR4LzUjT1d9o3Sc022HHU1uT_IXoz6yQHnVpXOgeGXoYMKOI05gdvkAHBSURD8LcdXVoiSdBrrYz69JwLcOCzTpPvVjfc/s1600/ZoeStayPuft-flat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXOByIh4zKIJ_tfAKJL6dGSSkuLhsFkpF0KXFi0JUvnKWTMPR4LzUjT1d9o3Sc022HHU1uT_IXoz6yQHnVpXOgeGXoYMKOI05gdvkAHBSURD8LcdXVoiSdBrrYz69JwLcOCzTpPvVjfc/s200/ZoeStayPuft-flat.jpg" width="154" /></a><br />
<br />
My daughter's drawing appears in the new issue of Ghostbusters #10: Haunted America issue #2.<br />
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Here is her drawing.Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-34401815504708102342012-07-04T11:49:00.001-07:002012-07-04T12:43:00.992-07:00<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap="">For all my fellow veterans and patriots:
It isn't a religious decree, but was and is my pledge to the
country of my birth. I took this pledge every school day as a boy,
even practicing it at home. Later, I took an even greater oath, when
I had the honor of serving in our armed forces.
I love this, the original pledge. This is how it was written by
Francis Bellamy, and how it should be spoken. </pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""> </pre>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFnY-J-Wdr3vKADfW3CEJ1nhvlU15Dg7QX9uO6h-n9W6o8Duxr66zxnLFgqQyMBvZK1_wMQFKc8c8zWXZUQczeNQyp2FSY92gjF8kGNP3i1_Spng1lj8GEqWRGtdriapHnxrkxatKn30/s1600/gerry03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFnY-J-Wdr3vKADfW3CEJ1nhvlU15Dg7QX9uO6h-n9W6o8Duxr66zxnLFgqQyMBvZK1_wMQFKc8c8zWXZUQczeNQyp2FSY92gjF8kGNP3i1_Spng1lj8GEqWRGtdriapHnxrkxatKn30/s200/gerry03.jpg" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am the giant on the left.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""> </pre>
<pre style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""><b>I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE FLAG,
OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,
AND TO THE REPUBLIC,
FOR WHICH IT STANDS,
ONE NATION INDIVISIBLE,
WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL! </b></pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""> </pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""> </pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""> </pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""> </pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap="">Patriotism has nothing to do with politics or religion. It has to do
with loving your country, the way you would love your child or
parent; unconditionally, and with a willingness to give all you have
for it. There are two types of Americans; those whom have it, and
those whom, for one reason or another, suckle on it.
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Happy 4th of July!</b></span></pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap=""> </pre>
<pre style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" wrap="">Gerry Kissell</pre>Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-58832510080912774302012-07-03T14:36:00.001-07:002012-07-04T12:46:36.692-07:00<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhub0o2JGDusKratkq0PJiAP4Qr-Fdfhh-K2GZ15EjJiyQFH3jdxcaMzoFsKqvCNv6yaxeTVPK1ExaERWAKF9us7wefyBomdBmlRUnPFJf7TXqoT00LspCiRGYF7ObBHPWhBquxAgtbZrA/s1600/Picture+148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhub0o2JGDusKratkq0PJiAP4Qr-Fdfhh-K2GZ15EjJiyQFH3jdxcaMzoFsKqvCNv6yaxeTVPK1ExaERWAKF9us7wefyBomdBmlRUnPFJf7TXqoT00LspCiRGYF7ObBHPWhBquxAgtbZrA/s200/Picture+148.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Top 10 things people say that annoy me as an artist</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
by Gerry Kissell<br />
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>10. "You're a good drawer."</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
Really? Like a sock drawer?</div>
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<b>9. "That's kind of expensive for a portrait?"</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
I spent more time mastering my craft, than med students did in school
to become doctors. After 25 years, I have earned the right to charge at
least as much as a plumber, lawyer or doctor.</div>
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>8. "Did you draw/paint that?"</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
No. I tell people I can draw and <span class="text_exposed_show">paint and then post other people's art in my portfolio. <br /> <br /><b> 7. "You should be able to crank that out in no time."</b><br />
Really? You actually have determined the exact amount of time it takes
for me to find inspiration for an idea, sketch it out, do final pencils
and or inks and color and or paint it? Wow. What do you need me for if
you're so smart? Oh, I'm just the "talent."<br /> <br /><b> 6."I don't know what I want, I only know what I don't like."</b><br />
After 50 to 100 hundred hours of work, they finally approve the art and
suddenly ask, "You want how much for the final art?" Really?<br /> <br /><b> 5. "How come you don't know how to work on a car?"</b><br />
My ex father-in-law asked me that. I asked him back, "How come you
can't draw a portrait of someone and make it look exactly like them?
Ooooooh...same reason."<br /> <br /><b> 4. People who act like what I do is a
nifty hobby. </b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span class="text_exposed_show">I have done this for 25 years. I actually make a living at
it. It's my craft, my career, my lifestyle.<br /> <br /><b> 3. Women who like
the idea of dating an artist. </b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span class="text_exposed_show">Despite my warnings of the commitment
required to do what we do, and then still start bugging us when we are
painting at 11pm to 2am, "When are you coming to bed?"<br /> <br /><b> 2. "Man, I can't draw a stick figure."</b><br />
Someone who looks at my work, and the first thing they think to say is
that, well, it really doesn't annoy me. Honestly, I am glad, as that is
one less person I have to compete with to get a job.<br /> <br /><b> 1. "Here's the photo of my kid. Make sure to make him look good."</b><br /> If nature and a photo can't do it, I can't either.</span></div>Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-2776879819731649462012-06-28T12:51:00.002-07:002012-06-28T12:52:00.089-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydY4z-DAwMHI-GTcB59VytUuzm67S47lnnqmHM_k-9oGhgLZCGTukeHqtAB4R73FaTnWWuhDDe8ktlesK31vRr3k_693pLtSONvBj7IPCMmMeo7s8S_apmGEClYJvYGq1JOzm1vUrqkw/s1600/IMG_20120622_183814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydY4z-DAwMHI-GTcB59VytUuzm67S47lnnqmHM_k-9oGhgLZCGTukeHqtAB4R73FaTnWWuhDDe8ktlesK31vRr3k_693pLtSONvBj7IPCMmMeo7s8S_apmGEClYJvYGq1JOzm1vUrqkw/s200/IMG_20120622_183814.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOtSK_E8r10-P71X_CIiuDEtb1NQebufQ5rROGH75gdrDiddKlVsfqcrGkPLD7RLdALEC64Su_1zVMMQ2sYPxBgVvtx4Dj_e5-mrSXla6IlPwCA4q-nYqd-wlo79OY_Sc8p8AKJSw-nk/s1600/IMG_20120622_183443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOtSK_E8r10-P71X_CIiuDEtb1NQebufQ5rROGH75gdrDiddKlVsfqcrGkPLD7RLdALEC64Su_1zVMMQ2sYPxBgVvtx4Dj_e5-mrSXla6IlPwCA4q-nYqd-wlo79OY_Sc8p8AKJSw-nk/s200/IMG_20120622_183443.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOtSK_E8r10-P71X_CIiuDEtb1NQebufQ5rROGH75gdrDiddKlVsfqcrGkPLD7RLdALEC64Su_1zVMMQ2sYPxBgVvtx4Dj_e5-mrSXla6IlPwCA4q-nYqd-wlo79OY_Sc8p8AKJSw-nk/s1600/IMG_20120622_183443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-FR0CDqFQkjJgrcjrIJGAxgaeuyvJRocGMOI_dS519bpPx2TJOe_WkagVOpFp8s5mwTMHrHd7qnbfxpGLJaVKyoJpO2gvlwUTMFE6XUrjkOadu5WsPg5Ybwv0eg68lB9hg4o1DphE4I/s1600/outrage_coverart-small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-FR0CDqFQkjJgrcjrIJGAxgaeuyvJRocGMOI_dS519bpPx2TJOe_WkagVOpFp8s5mwTMHrHd7qnbfxpGLJaVKyoJpO2gvlwUTMFE6XUrjkOadu5WsPg5Ybwv0eg68lB9hg4o1DphE4I/s200/outrage_coverart-small.jpg" width="145" /></a><br />
Some photos of my model, Jim Hill, taken by my buddy Kenny Kalinowski, for the cover of the book. I particularly love the combat sandals he's wearing and the military issue bud light. lolConfessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-63677291804015278192012-06-28T12:35:00.001-07:002012-06-28T12:35:52.578-07:00At a convention this year, I did a Q&A about military comics. This little snippet is from that Q&A.<br />
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<b>Comic fan:</b> "Why do you only draw military comics and not super heroes?"<br />
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<b>Gerry: </b>"I guess because, once you have seen real heroes in action, it
is kind of hard to go back to drawing the imaginary ones."Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-4403062512482208212012-06-28T09:00:00.002-07:002012-06-28T09:02:15.384-07:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8Tvwsx4pc0rToqu4p2FWV5Js4vnycfDuU6moGaugdWMJ1yNFBfDz8daS09BVrWktFcZNWhw3kjP3g_9h9MRU_yjiwFIhB-ub5I_0kdG1NyI2jMlsea_9-V0nGiejjQbePCZuM6dwjB0/s1600/sci-fi_coverart_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8Tvwsx4pc0rToqu4p2FWV5Js4vnycfDuU6moGaugdWMJ1yNFBfDz8daS09BVrWktFcZNWhw3kjP3g_9h9MRU_yjiwFIhB-ub5I_0kdG1NyI2jMlsea_9-V0nGiejjQbePCZuM6dwjB0/s200/sci-fi_coverart_small.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdUe8GGRaYSb70ShTc4NrifWq9mjaphjs-vaIsSfqpyrTMcyUD7gPo5xQCfDHPdA-D_mATpfPS9AmZ0ft_b0KtVZqvEAnmyM5yc1iV6vm2sgtLhjGCQuvejFTOgIdS4fs3apNrnfMWWM/s1600/harperswar_coverart_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdUe8GGRaYSb70ShTc4NrifWq9mjaphjs-vaIsSfqpyrTMcyUD7gPo5xQCfDHPdA-D_mATpfPS9AmZ0ft_b0KtVZqvEAnmyM5yc1iV6vm2sgtLhjGCQuvejFTOgIdS4fs3apNrnfMWWM/s1600/harperswar_coverart_thumb.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8Tvwsx4pc0rToqu4p2FWV5Js4vnycfDuU6moGaugdWMJ1yNFBfDz8daS09BVrWktFcZNWhw3kjP3g_9h9MRU_yjiwFIhB-ub5I_0kdG1NyI2jMlsea_9-V0nGiejjQbePCZuM6dwjB0/s1600/sci-fi_coverart_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8Tvwsx4pc0rToqu4p2FWV5Js4vnycfDuU6moGaugdWMJ1yNFBfDz8daS09BVrWktFcZNWhw3kjP3g_9h9MRU_yjiwFIhB-ub5I_0kdG1NyI2jMlsea_9-V0nGiejjQbePCZuM6dwjB0/s1600/sci-fi_coverart_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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The cover art I painted for Warriors Publishing Group's novel <i><b>Harper's War</b></i>.Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-763299807658073812.post-59859312969044658872012-06-28T08:51:00.001-07:002012-06-28T08:51:11.637-07:00<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmwW2PqDF4VQ_nEqxSWwvhnmo8NU8YppEwGLlQDQHTBHKY6OQTIhA3OLExVvSX-EOkp8XSUMqxO7v6Q1hYjCJu5b6XXgmWVqA5bCcS0bcr-W4aI0hPnuSvAMm9DSs_zhQe3voSO0vA4w/s1600/Peleliu_File_coverart-small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmwW2PqDF4VQ_nEqxSWwvhnmo8NU8YppEwGLlQDQHTBHKY6OQTIhA3OLExVvSX-EOkp8XSUMqxO7v6Q1hYjCJu5b6XXgmWVqA5bCcS0bcr-W4aI0hPnuSvAMm9DSs_zhQe3voSO0vA4w/s200/Peleliu_File_coverart-small.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjIgcvEq8dEdUsFbpyN0YeWN0ZGQn3EIZuZuLD8WBMUU5V-eXDqbfrQSjDO_one6hWgVmJBGfffhv8i4pYUw_4iHLxdoJ_Ww7h3iSevyBjkkjGegBI4unkuxzrqycvNE8xsRHxvhlUlc/s1600/Peleliu_File_coverart-coveralone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjIgcvEq8dEdUsFbpyN0YeWN0ZGQn3EIZuZuLD8WBMUU5V-eXDqbfrQSjDO_one6hWgVmJBGfffhv8i4pYUw_4iHLxdoJ_Ww7h3iSevyBjkkjGegBI4unkuxzrqycvNE8xsRHxvhlUlc/s200/Peleliu_File_coverart-coveralone.jpg" width="145" /></a>The cover art I created for Dale Dye's 2010 book <i><b>Peleliu File</b></i>.Confessions of a Hack Comic Book Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18378881550008452404noreply@blogger.com0