Mister Scribbles

Radithor was a patent nostrum made from distilled water, radium, and mesthorium (an isotope of radium).  Radithor was manufactured from 1918 to 1928 by the Bailey Radium Laboratories, Inc.  The owner of the lab was William Bailey, a Harvard dropout.  Radithor was advertised as a Cure For The Living Dead, Perpetual Sunshine, and a cure for impotence.  It is best remembered today for what it did to Eben Byers, businessman and amateur golf champion. Eben was president of the Girard Iron Company and was at the prime of life when he twisted his shoulder, and, on the advice of a doctor started taking Radithor, some 1400 doses.  Bailey paid doctors to recommend his tonic, he wasn't a doctor but said that he was.  The damage done to Byers is beyond belief-    The result of three years of drinking Radithor.  Byers died not from radiation poisoning but multiple cancers.  I would have made the psychopath Bailey drink 4 bottles a day of his poison....

I've been reading this beyond infuriating comic series all the way through.  This is one of the best ideas a publisher ever came up with, and boy howdy is it messed up.  Inconsistent, dense, left wing, self righteous, British, inconsistently drawn, Hellblazer is about the adventures of a hopelessly alcoholic, sexually degenerate, damned, chain smoking jerk of a magician who has one foot in both worlds. In one of the stori es John Constantine fucks a dog, or it fucks him, on camera, th e typical sort of trick these no talent writers use.   Alan Moore has his bejeweled fingers all over this concept.   I swear to God on a stack of bibles the the Keanu Reeves movie was much better than the comic series.  But- When it's good it's really good.  This cover is from a limited issue storyline that, for once, is outstanding.   Got the Swamp thing in it and all that good stuff.  My next artwork post will be a riff on John Constantine, rabbit....

Two days ago we put a small, sweet-tempered duck into the cage that holds Jerry and Sassy, our house goose and duck.  The cage is very large, and has a pond with a pool and filter pump installed.  Jerry is an affable guy who loves the ladies, he will only honk at women and wants to be petted by them.  Uh...that's human ladies.  The next morning the little duck was dead of a broken neck, and of course Jerry is the killer.  She had been roughed up by a pack of males and we were getting her ready to be released.  The last duck we put in with Jerry would sleep next to him. I'm very fond of Jerry but will never see him quite the same way again.  As a furry artist I commonly assign human traits to hybrid animals.  As a refuge worker I will not make that mistake again.  I'm angry with Jerry for hurting the little duck but that's how it goes in nature.  She thought she had a friend, and that friend killed her.  Justice is a co...

Kola Kwariani, Stanley Kubrick, Sterling Hayden on the set of The Killing.  I think this scene would be dear to the heart of any Irishman.   https://youtu.be/DliqKK9ic-U    That no one other than the bartender is Irish doesn't matter, it may not be much of a riot but i t's all they had. Photo from Chess Review, March 1956.  Kola was the only chess player in pro wrestling at the time, he died after a brawl with 5 teenagers in 1980.  He was 77.  

 The Man Who Threw A Snowball At St. Biarritz. Henry Mayo Bateman, 1926.  The Tatler.

 I slept fitfully last night, and when I finally fell asleep I woke up in Satan's office.  (I've been there before).  He was signing papers and then he saw me. 'Paul'!  He flipped through a Rolodex.   'I see you're, er, ...ah,... just visiting.  Oh, well...' and his smile was as an arc-light.  'Soon enough'!  He slapped me on the back.  'Nothing new, I'm afraid, but...an imp appeared and whispered into his master's ear.  'Really'? said his majesty, and he turned and looked at me.  'I forgot about this.  A truly - hideous - punishment, we're just trying to figure out what sin to apply it to'. His smile was now as bright as the sun. Did...my God...did he just... wink at me?  Photo of Laird Cregar as Satan in Heaven Can Wait, 1943.   Laird Cregar was a tremendously talented actor who had a very brief career.  His first film role was in 1940, uncredited.  At that time he was sleeping in a friend's car....

 The coupe with the fishhooks welded to the fender shouldered up over the curb like the nose of a nightmare. The girl in its path stood frozen, her face probably stiff with fright under her mask. For once my reflexes weren't shy. I took a fast step toward her, grabbed her elbow, yanked her back. Her black skirt swirled out. The big coupe shot by, its turbine humming. I glimpsed three faces. Something ripped. I felt the hot exhaust on my ankles as the big coupe swerved back into the street. A thick cloud like a black flower blossomed from its jouncing rear end, while from the fishhooks flew a black shimmering rag. "Did they get you?" I asked the girl. She had twisted around to look where the side of her skirt was torn away. She was wearing nylon tights. "The hooks didn't touch me," she said shakily. "I guess I'm lucky." I heard voices around us: "Those kids! What'll they think up next?" "They're a menace. They o...

Based in material in Ch. 7--"First Clashes of the Wheeled and Footed Sects"--of Vol. 3 of Burger's monumental History of Traffic , published by the Foundation for Twenty-Second Century Studies. The raggedy little old lady with the big shopping bag was in the exact center of the crosswalk when she became aware of the big black car bearing down on her. Behind the thick bullet-proof glass its seven occupants had a misty look, like men in a diving bell. She saw there was no longer time to beat the car to either curb. Veering remorselessly, it would catch her in the gutter. Useless to attempt a feint and double-back, such as any venturesome child executed a dozen times a day. Her reflexes were too slow. Polite vacuous laughter came from the car's loudspeaker over the engine's mounting roar. From her fellow pedestrians lining the curbs came a sigh of horror. The little old lady dipped into her shopping bag and came up with a big blue-black automatic. She held it ...

A Child was standing on a street-corner. He leaned with one shoulder against a high board-fence and swayed the other to and fro, the while kicking carelessly at the gravel. Sunshine beat upon the cobbles, and a lazy summer wind raised yellow dust which trailed in clouds down the avenue. Clattering trucks moved with indistinctness through it. The child stood dreamily gazing. After a time, a little dark-brown dog came trotting with an intent air down the sidewalk. A short rope was dragging from his neck. Occasionally he trod upon the end of it and stumbled. He stopped opposite the child, and the two regarded each other. The dog hesitated for a moment, but presently he made some little advances with his tail. The child put out his hand and called him. In an apologetic manner the dog came close, and the two had an interchange of friendly pattings and waggles. The dog became more enthusiastic with each moment of the interview, until with his gleeful caperings he threatened to overturn the c...

  Artwork by João Ruas.  Utopia.  Oh, and I recommend the original version of Utopia.  The American version, while interesting but no more, tinkered with the story, is hard to understand, and the only great thing about it is Mr. Ruas' art, far superior to that of the original version.  Other than that don't waste your time. https://youtu.be/01VGtX9xfh0   So, comics aren't important? Why, hello there , pretty girl!

 "Repent, Harlequin!" Said The Ticktockman There are always those who ask, what is it all about? For those who need to ask, for those who need points sharply made, who need to know "where it's at," this: The mass of men serve the state thus, not as men mainly, but as machines, with their bodies. They are the standing army, and the militia, jailors, constables, possee comitatus, etc. In most cases there is no free exercise whatever of the judgment or of the moral sense; but they put themselves on a level with wood and earth and stones; and wooden men can perhaps be manufactured that will serve the purpose as well. Such command no more respect than men of straw or a lump of dirt. They have the same sort of worth only as horses and dogs. Yet such as these even are commonly esteemed good citizens. Others--as most legislators, politicians, lawyers, ministers, and officeholders--serve the state chiefly with their heads; and, as they rarely make any moral di...