Mister Scribbles

No one knows where the virus came from.  It was a weaponized strain, and a state that poured much effort into such a thing would have had to have the resources needed, which limited the list of suspects, to, well, half the world.  What is known is that from the mid-east outward, countries began to fall silent.  Certain of the major powers had advanced BioWep facilities, and this is where the story of the Graft begins. The mortality rate was 100% to humans, with symptoms horrible to behold.  The worst thing is that it took so long to kill the victim.  Transmission was airborne, immediate and all encompassing.  All mammals were affected to some degree.  Civilization came to a halt, as the shivering, skinless victims entered the last stages of the sickness, unconsciousness punctuated by bursts of extreme terror.  Some communities were able to implement the Masada solution, but most were incapacitated by the scourge before any org...

 John Constantine could have been the greatest character in comics if the writing hadn't of sucked so much.  Here is one of the better panels. Hellblazer #176, High On Life.  Art by Steve Dillon, 2002.

It had been raining, and the water soon turned to ice.  I was a long way from my destination, and the trees and moonless night kept me from seeing anything in the way of a guidepost.  As I reached a crossroads, there on a hill above the forest I spied what looked like firelight through a window.  Maybe someone will give shelter to a hapless traveler, I thought, and made my way up an old stone pathway that apparently led to the building above.  It did, and when I stepped out of the trees I saw the place was a crumbling ruin of an old manor, but there was a fire seen through the one ground floor window that was intact.  I walked up some steps to a door and lifted the heavy, skull shaped knocker and hit the door with it three times.  Nothing.  I tried again, pulling my old coat around my shoulders and adjusting my tail to keep some of the rain off it.  Still no answer.  Well, shoot.  I pushed against the door in a gesture of futility and it...

I'm leaving this bird rescue center I live in by the beginning of February.   For most of my time here I have enjoyed the work, the responsibility, and the feeling of accomplishment when I do anything that helps a fellow creature.  But I am no longer needed, and have become redundant.  With an expert mechanic, carpenter, and painter here, all I do now is mow the yard and feed birds.  A new person will be in charge, and we are not compatible.  One factor is that I do not identify with birds the way all the others here do, I am strictly Order Mammalia as far as animal empathy goes.  Of course that does not mean living things, any living thing, does not matter but I don't get worked up with a sense of mission and purpose re. avians.  If it was up to me we would not take in seagulls, horrible creatures although beautiful.  All birds are the remnants of the dinosaurs and most of them have the disposition of the same.  I like Jerry the Goose, he's ...

 Oh, dear.  Billy and Randy have run dry, no way they will be most intoxicated drunks in the contest.  But...wait!  Paulie Panda has bough a Silver Parachute for the two enthusiastic although parched contestants.  Now we got a horse race!

  https://youtu.be/nFxjnUPRwx4 I needed to make a last minute run to the store, so I asked my rabbit Billy to greet our guests for the New Year's party.  What was I thinking?  What?