Bunny Love 2012

-

I thought drawing comics would be easy.


This was going to be about two young rabbits in love, and they are on a picnic.


The girl's father is a retired colonel, and does not think much of Billy.


I knew a guy that acted just like this stuck up self absorbed rabbit.


All he could think about was his girl, when he wasn't on an ego trip.


Suddenly, nature makes an appearance!


Thunderstruck.


Fortunately not everyone is as dumb as Billy.


Billy's skin is so tight he cannot blink and he can barely move his fingers.
Must be the wine.


It seems that someone is more alert.


The lovers are attacked by a werewolf.  This is where I gave up on this.  The silver fork was going to play a role here, but Billy has been bitten.  Colonel Bunny will be in charge of tracking down the were, but his identity will be a shock for everyone.  Billy will have to run for it, he will change next full moon.  At this point I wrote myself into a corner.  As I said earlier-

In 2012 I tried to draw a comic about a pair of young rabbits out for a picnic who are attacked by a werewolf.  This was as far as I got before I came to my senses and gave it up.  In the story, the wolf would turn out to be a trusted friend, another rabbit.  After all, a werewolf changes into a wolf no matter where he starts from.  The story would have gone on to bring the rabbit and wolf peoples to the brink of war, again.
 
Never reinforce failure.
 

 Cover art, Bunny Love
 

Dream on, little bunny.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Father's Last Escape

-
Image
It happened in the late and forlorn period of complete disruption, at the time of the liquidation of our business. The signboard had been removed from over our shop, the shutters were halfway down, and inside the shop my mother was conducting and unauthorized trade in remnants. Adela had gone to America, and it was said that the boat on which she had sailed had sunk and that all the passengers had lost their lives. We were unable to verify this rumour, but all trace of the girl was lost and we never heard of her again.  A new age began - empty, sober and joyless, like a sheet of white paper. A new servant girl, Genya, anaemic, pale, and boneless, mooned about the rooms. When one patted her on the back, she wriggled, stretched like a snake, or purred like a cat. She had a dull white complexion, and even the insides of her eyelids were white. She was so absent-minded that she sometimes made a white sauce from old letters and invoices: it was sickly and inedible.  At that t
Read more

Two Bad Men, Said Their Murderers

-
Image
John Choate, 25 August 1818 - 3 August 1869 Crokett Choate, 1842 -3 August 1869 This tells of a grave by the dashing wave A fond friends lip that did quiver Of an eye that's hid by a leaden lid And a voice now stilled forever. John on the left.  They were originally buried where they were killed but October of that year the Refugio Masons moved the bodies to Rockport.  This was all part of the Sutton-Taylor feud, the Suttons were backed by the U. S. Government and of no particular righteousness, they were badge wearing murderers and bullies.  The two story house with the porch running around the second floor in the left background belongs to my sister.  A lovely house and the best behaved neighbors possible! Photos by Steve Davis. The man who killed them.  Sheriff.  Regulator. Murderer. https://books.google.com/books?id=PUvanZiwzdUC&pg=PA64&lpg=PA64&dq=john+and+crockett+choate+death+jack+helm+gunfight&source=bl&
Read more

Roller Ball Murder

-
Image
The game, the game: here we go again. All glory to it, all things I am and own because of Roller Ball Murder. Our team stands in a row, twenty of us in salute as the corporation hymn is played by the band. We view the hardwood oval track which offers us the bumps and rewards of mayhem: fifty yards long, thirty yards across the ends, high banked, and at the top of the walls the cannons which fire those frenzied twenty-pound balls-similar to bowling balls, made of ebonite-at velocities over three hundred miles an hour. The balls careen around the track, eventually slowing and falling with diminishing centrifugal force, and as they go to ground or strike a player another volley fires. Here we are, our team: ten roller skaters, five motorbike riders, five runners (or clubbers). As the hymn plays, we stand erect and tough; eighty thousand sit watching in the stands and another two billion viewers around the world inspect the set of our jaws on .multivision. The runners, those bastards
Read more