Threatening MacGyver.

This one’s for all the none of you that asked for more of my deformed characters. Don’t worry, this is about the last of them and I’ll be back with written content in the next day or so. But first, the next Flattened Cock Threat I am sending to Richard Dean Anderson. I sincerely hope nobody actually arrives at this page by the result of any combination of those search terms, but secretly I know that they will. I’m looking at you ‘indo-chinese handjobs chuck norris.’

My bizarre inner world hastily sketched onto bristol after the jump:

Will it scan?

I’ve just bought a scanner, and that means you will be seeing way too much of some of the following things:

1.) Half-completed scans of my terrified cat

2.) My bizarre and let’s be honest, childish drawings

3.) Flattened cock

Which one did you guess? If you guessed all three, you would be…wrong!

I will, of course, be pursuing all three of these options, but you will only be able to see my bizarre and childish sketches. Because, as logic dictates, attempted scans of my cat will go only to my girlfriend, while flattened cock scans will be sent, along with threatening notes quoting obscure bible verses, exclusively to TV’s MacGyver, Richard Dean Anderson.

So, here’s the kind of sketch I spent years practicing technique for:

That’s right, it’s Abraham Lincoln with a steam powered robotic arm. I call him “Rocketpunch Lincoln.” I created a whole universe of drawings for Lincoln, involving a complicated back-story prior to his presidency that involved him heavily (as a cybernetically enhanced secret agent,) in the events of the Crimean War. These sketches included Karl Marx as a werewolf (creatively named Were-Marx,) as well as such memorable characters as The Shaolin Pope, a robot servant named The Gentlemen’s Companion and, of course, the obligatory Napolean Bonaparte Super-Mech. I was all set to start a comic of these fucking ridiculous concepts, when I noticed something:

See, I just get too excited while drawing, stopping frequently to pump my fist in the air and to make explosion noises with my mouth, and sometimes forget that I was supposed to be drawing such trivial matters as say, another arm. This ultimately results in awkward, last minute adjustments that leave all of my pictures with absurdly detailed focus points, such as weapons or top hats, but huge, glaring errors, such as possibly broken limbs flailing haphazardly at hastily…

Caution! Low flying ZINGERS!

What celebrity beef-bucket was recently spotted causing Chaos with his tragic car Crash?

This stud-pastry was c-Ryan after the accident and probably wished he hadn’t gone for that last Phillipe at the local gas station, when his fuel tank was Breach-ed! As the burning fuel engulfed him, this Little Boy Blue up, taking most of a city block with him!

Paramedics were Nowhere to be found, and the hunky man-cake was pronounced dead on the scene, awash in a Crimson Tide of blood!

Talk about your Cruel Intentions!

That’s the kind of shit you’re in for, guys. Take it! Take it all and then say my name, fuckers.

Seriously though, guys, I’m done. I really appreciate all the help some of you put forward, and though the numbers weren’t all we’d hoped for, my article was a hit with the staff and we’ll probably be doing more. I mostly just wanted a reason to post that crying eagle. It’s like they took my soul and turned it into a bird and then 9/11ed it.

Also, if we’re to be honest here, I was really just looking (as all writers secretly do,) for an excuse to write some zingers. It is, after all, the ultimate form of the written word.