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Clinton Robert Labombard 
 
[2006 July 24]
Sorry about the tiny text there, folks, but Mel isn't able to fix that. It looks like it's time for me to reload Win2k so her files don't continue to be corrupted... Windows is to the OS industry as Ford is to the automotive industry. It does what you want, when you want it to, but eventually something's gonna break and unless you're pockets are loaded with cash it'll probably be easier to throw the old one away and get a new one. Fortunately I have Godlike powers allowing me to sit there for several hours while I babysit the entire operation, which mostly consists of pressing a button and occasionally choosing an option I could wait until later to choose, but for some reason I absolutely have to choose it then or the operating system can't take care of it and... *sigh*.. yes, Windows does suck, but the usability of Unix/BSD and Linux suck worse. And I haven't tried BeOS, Mac OS, OS X, or an Amiga. I'm gonna go scratch myself for a while and contemplate my fat rolls.
 
 
 
M.A. Labombard 
 
[2006 July 24]
Long story short, I lost the vector file of this whole page because windows corrupted it. All that's left is the large print PNG, the small web png, what you see, but I'm not able to edit it anymore because my LAYERED file is dead. I've pieces of the puzzle that I can reconstruct from scratch, which will likely happen before I get the latter graphic novel compiled, but for now, I didn't want to wait another week to upload this page due to my usual last minute changes that involve completely re-arranging the whole page. I also lost page 52 earlier, and I'm almost done redrawing it to resemble the original. That's why I'm so intent on minimising the number of graphic editors that I'm using. Vectors in TurboCAD paper space only, and what tweaking up they need in Paint Shop pro. Hey, if I get TurboCAD 12 I won't likely have to use external graphic editors. I got outbid earlier today on EBAY, but I'm still looking.
 
 
[Transcript] - "I had a feelin dat de storm oud in d'gulf was headin right for us, evn' though it was supposed d'make landfall in Louisiana dis mornin..."

Rudy is still crouched and holding the little tree imp when the wolf says, "You cast a shadow like the wind."

Rudy takes a bit of a pause and replies, "Good da know... very useful. Danke.

The wolf asks, "What kind are you?"

"You'b seen peeble before... whad kind am I supposed d'be?"

"You're different.. you're not one of them."

"Riddle me.. whaddaya see in my hand?"

"Wrinkled skin."

"Thad'all?"

"Yes."

"Jus wonder'n. Whaddaya mean by 'wind'?"

"You see the wind but you don't know what it is?"

"Wind isn't somedin we see, only d'effects of it."

"If you didn't see the wind, you couldn't speak. You would just make noises like the rest of your kind."

"You mean somethin differen than whad I know."

"You probably don't know because the rest of your kind is blind to the wind. You were never taught things.."

"So whaddoes id mean d'you?"

"It means.. it's not about what it means. It just is."

Rudy narrates again, "I god into a debate combersashon wid d'coyote. Whad d'hell. I was bored anyway, an I wudn't sure ib I wanned to even go back home dunite. I also didn't mention id. Tried to hide thad'eye knew, but d'coyote was to dogs whadeye am d'humans. He saw the thing in my hands.. but pretended not to. Animals can't see d'imps, but they sense when somedn's dere thad idn't supposed to be. He didn't flinch or panic when coming up."
 
 
       
 
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I cast a wind like a shadow. I wound one up and forgot how stupid the English language was. Heard of cows? A herd of what? Wind, you heard of it? No, did you wind the glock? Bang. You're dead.

• This crap was brought to you by the letter: never ever mix a bunch of bleach with a bunch of urine and then inhale the fragrance.
• The number: you'll be missing four things for several days afterwards: your lungs, your eyeballs, your sense of smell, and many brain cells.
• And the many empty apologies of those shitheads who ruined everything Jim Hensen started.
I gotta hand it to him. He had more brains than I thought I did and they were all over the place. That's how I knew. It was early in the evening. My job done, I took his wallet out for a drink in an obscure pub on the other side of town. There was something about the cold night air.. the smell of wet pavement.. the bright lights, the loneliness, and the blank stares that just.. mesmerized me. I love the city.
Translation, "I don't know, but here's some trendy pseudo-intellectualism that'll pretend to close this gaping wound of an idea up nicely." That's assuming there's such a thing as a non-trendy pseudo-intellectualism. If it's pseudo-intellectual it's either trendy or 'sleeping' until the next retro-wave.