Sent in to the FORCES HQ on the hottest day of the year.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
It has been a while. Hooooey! has it been a while! Here is a picture inked by the immutable Richard Tuggz and colored by the uncrustable Scott Rideout. A picture made to be a poster, but due to dumb un-luck the poster was not used for anything. Does a person make their own luck? Take the case of George Hersey, a gambler and a lover, lucky in both, but killed by a paper cut gone septic. Now take the case of Linda Loverhein, a hard-working, self-educated altruist living life under the lead net of poverty, also killed by a paper cut gone septic. Is it all the same in the end? In the split second before a stupid accident ends a life, does the victim think about luck? Does the spectator immediately dwell on the subject?
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Sunday, March 8, 2015
After a long night of wandering the subterranean byways Mickey B. Hughmen finds the source of the real goo. The good stuff. To view other pieces of the puzzle go here.
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Sunday, February 22, 2015
He was right and wrong. The calling of the trumpet was right around the corner, and when he rounded that corner it was there staring him right in the face. His body was left face down for three days before police happened upon the scene.
Roger turned to his partner, "Hey Riggs, remember that guy we found in the alleyway last week?"
Martin Riggs polished off the last of his Korean Nacho Calzone, "Yah, you could tell from the look on his face that he appreciated a good C major scale. What a mess."
"I had another dream about him."
Riggs slowly turned his attention away from the puddle in his lap, "Did you tell the chief?"
Roger Murtaugh couldn't believe it. This had been the best summer of his life. He reunited with his partner, he was making a psychic breakthrough that was sure to lead to a promotion, and his son had just made purple belt in his karate class.
Riggs raised his charming, funnyman eyebrows, "Can I drive?"
"No," replied Roger, and as he slid back in his seat, taking in the smell of his favorite calzone, he knew everything was going to be alright.
Monday, February 16, 2015
You are in a box. You turn around. You are flying through the air. You develop a fixation.
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Drawings from "The Trap."
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Drawings from "The Trap."
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
It has been over a year since our last post and that sort of thing can really leave a sour taste in the mouth of a blog consumer, but we've got good things cookin' over here in the FORCES laboratory. That's right, the FORCES artists decided to take a little unannounced break, (sorry, fans!!!) each for their own reasons. Millie Cindzer had a toe removed, then hiked along the entirety of Highway I-40 just to prove to her sister that she wouldn't be "walking all wonky for the rest of her life." Richard Tuggz spent the past year in Australia with his hand in an echidna puppet, acting as ersatz mother to a litter of baby echidnas (puggles). Alana Ponui was in the woods up in Maine. Every day she would row around the nearby lake, Lake Hole. Toward the end of the year she could boast to the few others that lived in the area that she could whip around Lake Hole in under forty-seven minutes, and not even break a sweat. Scott Rideout stood from a crouching position way too fast and slammed his head into a utility pipe and spent the year in a coma. "It was a good year," was all he had to say about it. But now they are all back, and all pistons are firing, and the juices of time are flowing toward a bright and productive future!
For all you people trapped inside a cage of ice right now, here is an eery number. It could be from any of the freezing corners of the world, and you'd better hope it's not near you. The first person to write in and guess which FORCES artist is responsible for this piece gets the honor of having their own portrait done by the FORCES artist of their choosing. What a gas, right?
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Here is an offering from one of our favorite FORCES artists, Alana Ponui. She said that this is going to be a dust jacket cover for a cyberpunk noir novel, but it is never clear whether she is speaking in truths or fictions.