*Scripts and layouts for Lost Toasts #193-196
*Pencils for Lost Toast #193 (yeah, for this Thursday... I'm so behind)
*TSTS: Book Two plots
*TSTS: Book Two - Episode One rough draft
*Untitled Noir Project - Issue #1 Rought Draft
A short one today - I split the intended second post in two so that I could update a part along with the site on June 1st.
Another post will also go up a week from now. (Yay!)
I hope you're enjoy it so far...
-B.
5:31
Darren unlocks the front door.
“Why do we open at 5:30 again?” he asks.
“I’m trying to teach you how to hate,” I reply.
So far, so good.
5:36
No one has come in yet, so we decide to help ourselves to some coffee and sit in one of the booths until we can figure out something better to do.
“I can see myself in my coffee,” I tell him.
“That’s great,” Darren tells me as he sips his.
“…do you ever think that your reflection is really just another you?”
“Nope,” he sips again, “I’m pretty sure you’re alone on that one.”
“…the coffee version of me is totally black.”
“What’s the werd.”
“A-werd up.”
5:38
Darren can’t take it anymore.
“We’re wasting our talents here,” he complains.
“I have talents?”
“I’m wasting my talents here,” he corrects himself.
“I was actually hoping you’d say ‘yes’,” I tell him somewhat murkily.
“You work in your family’s coffee shop, you can’t figure out how write beginnings to stories, and you can’t talk to girls,” Darren says, “None of these things are talents. These things are going to make your life miserable.”
“I can talk to girls,” I say while furrowing my brow.
Darren raises an eyebrow, and smiles a little.
“Anyway…” he ignores my comment, “We need to start working on our plan.”
“Our plan?”
“To be awesome enough to leave this place,” he clarifies.
“Oh, that plan.”
“I think we can actually do it,” he tells me, “But you’re going to have to be a lot cooler than you are right now.”
“Please,” I say, pointing very casually at myself while my face attempts to look very cool, “You don’t get cooler than this.”
There’s a pause in the conversation, and then we both laugh, because the thought of me being anywhere within the realm of “coolness” is hilarious, and possibly funny.
After we calm down a bit, I say, “What do you have in mind?”
He shrugs, “I want to start off easy. See if I can’t get you to ride in a car without completely freaking out.”
I cringe at the thought. Obviously, I hate cars. And vehicles. And giant mechanical things that move really, really fast.
So many things can go wrong while you’re inside of a car. For instance, while the engine is doing those rev-things, where the gears and such spin and spin and spin at ridiculous speeds – nuts and bolts could fly off, shatter the windshield and rip right through my skull. Or some really depressed person could get behind the wheel of one and decide that slamming his vehicle into the one I’m riding in would be an awesome way to die. Or ninjas could attach bombs to the gas tank while we’re driving, and no one would notice until we slowed down enough to hear the ticking and by that time it would be too late because WE WOULD ALREADY BE DEAD.
“I’m not sure if I like this plan of yours,” I say with narrowed eyes, “You’re not trying to kill me, are you?”
“Only a little bit.”
I shrug, “I’m cool with that.”
...until then, forgive me for the horrible joke title of this post, and enjoy some awesome moves from The Soupy Toasterson and Dr. V.
Episode 1: “The Girl in Question” (Part I)
4:30 a.m.
The alarm clock goes off. I reach blindly out into the darkness, and eventually find the snooze button, which I slap pretty hard. Now, I can enjoy the couple extra minutes of sleep that are legally mine.
4:31
I’m suddenly convinced that the alarm clock is mad at me because I slapped it in the face – and that it will retaliate by not ringing. But ha ha! The joke is on you, stupid alarm clock thing, because I am up and not sleeping.
4:32
Ugh. So tired. Maybe I’ll just keep my eyes closed for a little bit. Waking up will be easier if I get used to the idea of waking up before I actually
4:37
The alarm clock goes off again. So it wasn’t mad at me. Very cool.
“Now, shut up,” I grumble, as I slap it once again.
Right at that moment, it decides that a life of abuse is not worth living and leaps to its own death on the floor below. Its glowing red eyes extinguish. I get out of bed and decide to mourn later – I have to get ready for work.
4:38
I zombie walk to where the shower lives, and secretly wonder why the floor is always so cold in the apartment. Maybe it hates my feet.
4:39
Oh, shower, shower, shower, shower, shower. Who loves you? That’s right, I love you. Soapy, soapy, scrubby, scrubby, lather, rinse, repeat.
4:51
Maybe the floor is cold because it feels unloved? If that’s the case, it should entirely know better. My alarm clock loved it so much, it decided to spend the rest of its natural life with it.
4:59
Dressed, combed and brushed, all in 8 minutes – I am entirely glad that I was born with a penis.
4:59.06
My brain tells me to check if I was, in fact, born with a penis. I decide to ignore this command, and continue with my day.
4:59.19
Yep. Still have a penis. On a related note, I think my brain might be defective.
5:04
I knock on the door to Darren’s apartment. A few seconds later, he emerges, eyes puffy from a lack of sleep.
“I’m going to punch you in the face,” he tells me, “Any second now. It’s going to happen.”
“I know,” I nod in a very understanding way, “Its okay. Let’s just go to work.”
As we walk down the hallway, he raises a fist and weakly tosses it into the air.
“Did I get you?”
“Almost. Try again.”
5:12
In the middle of our walk to the coffee shop, Darren finally wakes up enough to use a few more words.
“I think we should be doing something,” he says.
“We are doing something,” I tell him, “We’re going to work. You remember work, right?”
Darren shakes his head slowly, “I mean in the larger sense. We’re totally wasting our summer with this work shit, you know?”
I shrug, “Maybe.”
“Not maybe, we are,” Darren insists.
“Okay, so what do you want to do?”
Darren takes no time in coming up with his response: “I want to get out of this stupid town.”
“…sounds like a good idea,” I say, “But how are we going to do that?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “By being awesome?”
“Or, we could find a car.”
Darren laughs at this idea, “Please. You wouldn’t last half an hour in a car without going crazy.
“…probably,” I admit, “Being awesome it is, then.”
“Count it,” he says, holding his fist out for me to pound.
I pound his fist with my own.
And then, he grabs my arm with his other hand and swings at me with his fist. I manage to duck just in the nick of time, and I feel a breeze pass over my head.
“Almost,” I say with a smile, twisting my arm out of his grip, “Try again.”
And I get chased all the way to the store.
5:15
I’m going to die, I’m going to die, my lungs are going to give out, my heart is going to explode, and I’m going to die in the streets of Brinkley, and I’m never going to get the chance to go anywhere, or ask her out, and holy shit, I’m going to die.
5:16
We make it to the shop, and we’re both exhausted, so we collapse on the sidewalk in front of the front door.
“That was not cool,” Darren tells me, “Not [breathe] cool [breathe] at all.”
“If I die, I’m totally going to kill you,” I respond.
I love that crazy bastard.
5:18
Finally, we’re up and in the store – we open in just twelve minutes.
“We’re not going to have enough time,” I tell him.
“We’re totally going to have enough time,” he replies, “If you can manage to do your till quickly today.”
We both know that isn’t going to happen.
5:23
I’m glaring at the till. It’s grinning at me, with its rows of dead looking button eyes and its unmoving mouth full of cash.
Darren has already opened his own till, counted the float, and has started getting things ready in the back.
“Just open the stupid till,” he yells while the smell of brewing coffee hits the air.
“I can’t just open the till,” I explain, “It’s a delicate process.”
He emerges from the back and sits on the counter space next to my till, “It is?”
“Sure,” I mumble, “It’s a complex piece of gadgetry. If you open it wrong, it unleashes its rage, and attacks you. I’ve told you this before.”
“I know,” he grins, “But it’s always fun to hear you try to explain your crazy with words.”
My brain begins to concentrate very hard, and so my face scrunches into an expression to match.
“You have to be very careful,” I say these words at a whisper while I move my left hand towards the button that pops the till open, “Or else it knows what you’re doing…”
“You look like you’re diffusing a bomb,” Darren lets me know as I slowly move my body away from its mouth.
My finger touches the button.
And in a burst of thunder and rage, it shoots its lower jaw towards me. The sound of the ball bearings moving roars until the jaw stops dead with a jolting THUD. The momentum causes a rouge quarter to hop over the lower lip, where it lands on my foot with a soft “puh”. Slowly, I retract my hand.
“Missed me again,” I taunt the machine while I bend down to pick up the liberated quarter.
“Sorry little guy,” I apologize, foiling its bid for freedom, “You gotta’ go back inside.”
As I stand up, the back of my head cracks against the strong jaw of the till, and coins spill everywhere. I grab the back of my head, while Darren starts to do one of those sudden laughs that would’ve made an awesome spit take if he had been drinking anything.
“That,“ he chuckles, “was the best thing I have ever seen.”
I look up at the register with what I hope is anger, and not pain.
“I’ll get you next time gadget,” I tell it ruefully, “Next time…”
Yes, it's true! Season One of The Soupy Toasterson Show goes live on Tuesday (May 22nd, 2007). The completely amazing and wonderful PulpHaus webpage, however, has to wait until June 1st (boo).
So, until then, the first two pieces of the first season will be broadcast live from this space - and will have their own cozy nook on the site when it launches.
Don't forget, if you're not in the mood to wait ages and ages for the drips and dribbles of Season One, you can buy the entire book on August 1st, 2007!
More information coming soon!
-B.
It was posted on Thursday - trust me!!! Though I really should get to work on Monday's stuff... (eep)
After reading Doug's Twitter post over at the Contrapants blog, I find myself overly intrigued by the concept of "+5 to Dapperness". If you hear me say that, or see me write that in the near future, it is because that awesome idea has eaten the rest of my brainspace.
That is all.
-B.
I am being to hurt you with mine eyes.
Burst into flames, burst into flames...
(And click the link in the title above!)
If you want a feel for what the first book - heck, maybe even the whole series will be like, I would recommend listening to Chris Thile's song "Stay Away".
Remember, I'm going to start running bits and pieces on the interweb starting on May 22nd, 2007, and the entire book will be available for purchase on August 1st, 2007. (Maybe I should look into grabbing one of those countdown clocks... thoughts?)
So remember how #21 never did get posted? What's that you say? You don't really read Lost Toast?
Oh...
Okay then. I'll just uh... I'll just go this way for a bit...
*sniff*
“Isn’t that weird? Touching someone right after you break up with them? I think it’s weird. And possibly illegal.”
And another Lost Toast - clicky los linko above.
(Really, I must think of things to say in this space.)
I am sad.
There's this IPod commercial on television with a song called Flathead that I entirely love. It's entirely faux hipster spaz rock, and I just want to flail my arms and kick my legs whenever I hear it. The Apple folks are eating my brain, and I am a-feared.
Please advise.
-B.
For those of you expecting some Python, sorry - this is going to be the direct opposite of that. Think in the style of "classic" Soupy Toasterson, and you'll be in the ballpark.
This is What I Remember
It's been what. Six weeks now? More? I don't know. It actually probably depends on when we stopped lying, and really stopped talking to each other. Because there was a difference. There was that time we said good-bye, and then continued to stalk each other through other contacts. And then, there was that time where we got so angry at each other, that we kept talking to each other just to spite the other person. And then, there was the time that we finally dropped everything on the table - our history, our present, our future - and left it all behind for good. I don't know about you, but I think that's the real day everything ended - mostly because I immediately spent the next several moments ridding my life of things that reminded me of you.
The green sparkle pen, the pictures of years-gone-by on the computer, the notes on grid paper, the two real pictures that I had of you, the play lists I made for you...
I was surprised by how little time it took to gather up over five years and pack it away. But whatever. That's still how it happened.
And after I did that, the most amazing thing started happening. You started to fade. The things you liked to say, the way you used to laugh, the way you'd act as though you caught me when you caught me just... looking at you. All that. I started to realize that those memories were becoming much fuzzier around the edges - as if they hadn't really existed at all, fabrications of my own little mind.
And soon, that's probably what I'll think they were. Memories of things that never could have happened. I mean, really. In so many years, will I believe that I felt so strongly for you, when I don't even remember what you look like, what you sound like? And when I see you again - if I see you again - and you're this completely different person, with this completely different life, it'll only prove me right. The you in my head - she never existed. That wonderful person, that girl who could make me smile just by paying the littlest amount of attention to me... all just some cruel ruse my head decided would be funny.
But of course, I'll still remember that time in my life as if it were real. It'll just never, ever feel like it did. But what can you do? Life goes on...
Stay tuned.
-B.
Finally, the third anniversary strip! This one seriously took an entire day off to do - hope you enjoy!
I would like to take this moment - yes, this one right here - to thank my fans. Especially the ones who have been sending me quite a few e-mails recently. Your response to my... whatever it is I seem to do, has been amazing, and... if you're up for it, I'd like to showcase a few of you right now. Sound good? Well, I can't hear you, Invisible Interweb Presence, so I'm just going to plow right on ahead.
Thank you Charles, for your offer to bolster the size of my minuscule penis. You may be surprised to learn that you aren't the first to offer me the chance to trade up from "Cod" to "Halibut" status - but I can assure you, you are the first who offered to do so with your very own loving hands. I thank you for that, and I'll be in touch.
Also, another thank you is going out to Deena, who sent me a link to a place where I could learn how to penetrate my partner for upwards to two hours in a row! That was entirely unexpected, and above-and-beyond what I see from most of my fans. You, are a treasure.
And finally, a HUGE thank you to all of the organizations giving me awards for having the world's tiniest pickle. Back when I bought the jar at Safeway, I didn't expect to come home and find this kind of praise. While part of me wants to know how you found out about it so quick, another part is just happy to be recognized - and for that, you'll always be in my heart.
That's all the thanks I have time for right now, but keep sending those e-mails! You'll never know when you'll see your name in this very space!
I really wish life was like a comic strip sometimes. The occasional "Very Special Episode", and the rest would just be crazy hijinx. As always, click on the link above, and get ready, because the big 3rd Anniversary strip is coming down the pipe on Thursday!
A professional wrestler names "Hugh" has the gimmick of being an exterminator. His promo catchphrase?
"Prepare for Hughmigation!"
"Peace out, bitches," would be the most entertaining thing to hear come from Queen Elizabeth's mouth on her death bed.
