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Yo Yo Yo!

Nothing like hitting readers with the double whammy of admitting that I had no way out of my current storyline and also switching up the art style simultaneously! Nice! Way to make my readers feel comfortable!

Hah, I really painted myself into a corner with that story and before I knew it I hated it and despite giving me some great excuses to draw big fantasy strips, it was slowly draining the life out of the comic…so I pulled the plug. I just wanna go back to writing jokes for a while. Put the crew back together and just write some funny stuff for them. No more big stories for a little while. Just short week long stories or stand alones. I hope that’s cool with you guys.

As far as the art shift goes, come on! This is Montgrave! That’s what I do! You know it and I know it. I can’t stick to the same stylistic choices for more than a month. What am I Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light? Unfortunately, I don’t have one unique and amazing style of art to call my own, unlike the aforementioned Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light.

Anyway, I hope that you can get over the shock of me shooting myself in the foot with the story and switching up a little bit on the art (who knows if it will stick around or not, right now I really enjoy it…much like how I enjoy the work of Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light). But if you come back here for Friday’s strip I’ll know that you’re not mad at me (the truth is I stopped checking my Google Analytics about three months ago so I’ll have no idea if you come back or not…shhh, it’s a secret!).

At the very least that handwritten text is getting pretty good, eh?

See you on Friday!

- Zac

PS. If you’d like to find out more about the work of Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light, head down to your local mall (seriously) and go into the store full of paintings that look like they were lifted off a tin of holiday cookies but which are sadly devoid of the glimmer of hope that they might be discarded in exchange for cookies, and ask to speak with the fat fucker whose made millions of dollars by exploiting the fact that your Grandmother; A) knows nothing about art and B) believes that it’s possible that something sold at a store in the mall across from a Mrs. Fucking Fields (I’m seriously hung up on this cookie thing now) might one day miraculously appreciate in value.

Truth be told she’d be better off going back to Beanie Babies and hoping for that market to turn around. I’ve heard that Beanie Babies are the only truly safe investment in today’s economy. Personally, I’m already deeply invested in Pog futures and I’m not looking to diversify at the moment. My stock broker, a nine year old boy from 1992 whom I visit in my time machine has said that Pog’s are “here to stay” and that a good slammer and a steady hand is all the insurance I need. But I digress.

In order to save you from doing a google image search for his work or (God forbid) actually having to see it in person allow me to summarize it for you. Now I could say a lot of awful and aggressive things about his work and while it would be fully justified, it wouldn’t do the real atrocity of these paintings justice. See because his work isn’t that obviously evil, it’s much more fucking insidious than that. How do I put this? Thomas Kinkade’s work is to painting what Family Circus is to comics. It’d be like trying to explain to somebody how fucking awesome the new Morrison/Quietly run on Batman is and having them look befuddled and ask you how that compares to Family Circus. Your fucking brain would melt. On the spot. Brain would just leak out of your fucking skull and they’d have to watch it happen like they just opened the Ark of the Covenant.

See, that’s what’s so fucking evil about it.  It’s solidifying the idea for millions of Americans (yes, literally…one in twenty homes owns a Kinkade…no shit) that his work is art…and that sentence should’ve made you throw up in your mouth a little or there might be something wrong with you. I dunno, maybe I just throw up a lot. Either way, I shouldn’t drink so much this early in the morning. Especially not when I have to drive a school bus in two hours (don’t worry, it’s inner-city kids…this is the closest thing they get to riding a roller coaster, they love it).

PPS. Sorry my PS was so long. Oops, I forgot the ‘ENI’ in that sentence. Oh, well. Too late now.