DrWorm (drworm) wrote,

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Gotta love Tats, yo...

This week I thought I'd share something personal with y'all. A glimpse into my life, a peek into my soul, an inside look into my...

SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN: We interrupt this column with the latest on the Anthrax scare. The band is currently touring the continental U.S., last seen in a nightclub outside Des Moines, terrorizing citizens with their savage brand of speed metal. Rumors of Anthrax visiting the White House are unsubstantiated, but one inside source said, "I'd sure like to see them tour with Bush." At which point several Secret Service men wrestled him to the ground, bitchslapped him, and detained him for "making threats to the President." We now return to the column already in progress.

...and that's the reason I am the way I am. True story.

On Security. I'm big on security. It's one of my top priorities. I never leave home without protection. When I go for my morning run I'm flanked by goons packing serious heat. I'm like Washington crossing the Delaware. Other joggers are profiled, questioned, and frisked with extreme prejudice. Just the other day there was this really suspicious looking hottie whom I personally patted down. Twice. Better safe than sorry, know what I mean? In addition, all houseguests are blindfolded on their ride over, incoming mail is inspected by a team of specialists, and my groceries are choppered in via helicopter. My Sunday drives are an all out motorcade--entire blocks are sealed off, the route meticulously scouted, the mayor alerted in advance. Someone said to me, "You shouldn't let terrorists change your way of life." And I'm like, "Terrorists? What are you talking about? I've been doing this since forever."

September 2, 2001
On genius: There's a variety of genius types. There's the mad scientist (Darwin, Einstein), the Renaissance man (Da Vinci, Goethe), the tortured soul (Van Gogh, Nietzsche), the hermit recluse (Thoreau, Salinger), the bohemian artiste (Shakespeare, Picasso), the rabble rouser (Socrates, Rand), the Wunderkind (Mozart, Lil' Bow Wow), and many other fine examples. Like superheroes, you can take your pick on what kind of legend you want to be. Me, I go for the Friendly Neighborhood Genius. The All American Clean Cut Genius Next Door. Yes. I'm very down to earth. All my handlers tell me so. One time, this guy in my entourage, I forget his name, he was like, "Tatsuya, sir, you are so down with the people." And I was all, "Shit yeah. I'm people who am people. Now go get me some nachos."

August 26, 2001
Another excerpt from the explosive best-seller T.I.: The Man, The Myth, The Mojo:
She left me. She said it was best for both of us, that we were still young and we should see other people, explore new worlds, experience life and grow as individuals. She said she loved me, that she'll always love me no matter what. And maybe, just maybe, if we were meant to be, we'll find our way back to each other again... I just stood there, bawling. Then it was time for recess, so I steeled myself and went out to play kickball. The guys needed me. Even though I'd just been dumped, I couldn't let them down. I was usually the last one picked, but still a vital contributor off the bench.
Ah, third grade... I remember it well.

August 5, 2001
Less is More.Writing concisely is a difficult thing. There's always the temptation to get all fancy and use flowery language, throw down some SAT words, maybe even drop some Latin. You know, like Hark! My ancient proclivity for the pootius tangus doth stiffen my resolve, or some such shit like that. It's sorta like padding your resume, or stretching out your term paper with footnotes and word spacing. I remember I once took a one page essay and somehow, through the magic of margin adjustments, font sizing, indentation, and quadruple spacing, transformed it into a five pager. One of my finest moments as a collegian. I think the professor was impressed too. It looked like one of those seeing eye charts at the optometrist's office. A work of art, truly.

July 29, 2001
Life imitates art? I've always thought of art as life lite. It's almost like the real thing, but it tastes better and it's less filling. It's sort of a starter kit, a primer, the gateway drug to a bigger and badder reality. Take superhero comics, for instance. Like Jerry Seinfeld said, superheroes weren't just stories. They were options. I used to flip through comic books like they were catalogues on lifestyles. Do I want to be the wise-cracking do-gooder a la Spider-Man? Or the dark and brooding Batman-ish type? Very tough choice. Of course, Aquaman could communicate with fishes, which would sure come in handy during a tsunami. Speaking of which, they really oughtta bring back the old school Aquaman with the cheesy orange outfit. That ruled.

The test of a vocation is the love of the drudgery it involves.
Artist Meets Muse. Artist Loses Muse. Artist Wins Muse Back. The creative process is often characterized as a romance, and in my case it's a torrid affair, a dangerous liaison, pure 100% unadulterated passion. Me and my Muse, we're the stuff of cheap romance novels. We're like a Red Shoe Diaries movie. Or, dare I say it, an episode of Baywatch. It's that good. Sure, sometimes it's like a French movie where I don't know what the hell's goin' on. Or a student film that makes no sense. Other times it's like a slasher flick, and I think the bitch is out to get me. But that's inspiration for ya. It ain't always smooth, but it's worth the ride.

The Way of The Hero Artist. As a force for good, I battle all sorts of villains and wrong-doers, like the Legion of Critics, Biter-Man, and Bizarro Tat. You know, clowns who talk trash, rip me off, even impersonate me. It's just one thing after another in this business. Life as a cartoonist, as you can see, is certainly fraught with peril. Hell, I may soon be dodging assassination attempts. Find my rabbit boiled and my thoroughbred decapitated. I could end up like Tupac: "Cartoonist slain in Las Vegas shooting. Jealous rivals seen fleeing the crime scene. News at 11." But these are the hazards of my profession, so it's--Woop! The Tat Signal! I'm needed in Gotham. Probably Imbecile Boy or StalkerChick is acting up again. To the Tatmobile!

Not to brag or anything (y'all know I don't like to brag) but I know how to treat the ladies. I'll show you what I mean: A typical date with the Tatman ain't your average dinner-and-movie deal. Oh no. I go all out, baby. First I drive up in my tricked out '82 Datsun hatchback with my ABBA eight track blasting. I honk twice. When she comes out I immediately shower her with compliments: "Girl you smell nice. What is it, Lady Speedstick?" Then we hit a drive thru where I super-size our extra value meals without even asking her. This always impresses the honeys. It says, "Hey, for you I'm going first class." Then, after she pays the tab, we're headed for my favorite sports bar to catch the NBA finals. Woo hoo! Pass the beer nuts, wench!

June 3, 2001
Sinfest-related headlines to look out for in the new millennium:
· Tatsuya launches new clothing line: "T. Diddy." Says he is no longer bitter about breaking up with J.Lo.
· Slick hairdo becomes hot fashion craze.
· Grand opening of Comic Strip Cafe. Celebrity cartoonists team up to start global franchise. Among items on display: Matt Groening's hair piece.
· Blaxploitation Funk Bible goes into eighth print run.
· Sinfest Theme Park opens. Lawsuits filed after the giant Hand of God malfunctions and flattens several patrons. Reached for comment, park officials say it was "ironic."
· Pooch and Percival dolls outsell all that Disney crap.
· Jerry Bruckheimer announces plans for live action Sinfest movie starring the Rock, Missy Elliot, and the guy who played Mini-Me.

May 27, '01
The meaning of life, the reason for being, the purpose of all the cosmos is...

We interrupt this column with a message from the emergency broadcast system.
(Run test pattern)
Had this been a real emergency, storm troopers would have busted into your house, declared Martial Law on your ass, and confiscated your hard drive. Then you would have been shuttled off to a secret underground base at Area 51 for immediate deprogramming, then get hooked up to the Matrix to serve as a power source until we solve the energy crisis. Thank you for your cooperation. We now return you to the column already in progress.

...and that, my friends, is the key to happiness.

Sometimes I dream
That he is me
You've got to see that's how I dream to be
I dream I think
I dream I ink
Like Tat
If I could Be Like Tat
Like Tat
Oh, if I could Be Like Tat
Inspire awe
With what I draw
For just one day if I could
Be The Man
I dream I rock
I dream I rule
Like Tat
If I could be like Tat
I wanna be
Like Tat
Oh, if I could Be Like Tat.
(guitar solo, dancing girls grind in rhythm, pour Gatorade on each other)

Things that make you go Hmmm: While rocking out to 80s flashback radio it occurred to me that maybe some bona fide celebrities are among my readership. Imagine that. Like maybe the Thompson Twins are at their computer, you know, surfing the net, checking out webcomics. One of them would be like, "Hey, Thompson, this comic sucks." And the other guy would go, "Like totally. It sucks to the max." Or how about Arnold Schwarzennegger? Maybe after a round of protein drinks he fires up a stogie and goes online: "Ah hah hah hah. This is most amusing cah-tooon! I laugh very hard I do. If they make movie, I play Zlick! Hah hah."

Got Muse? The muse you choose shapes your art. A forest nymph, for example, would yield furry, fairy stuff. A drama queen lends herself to noir and histrionics. The damsel in distress elicits grand heroics. Then there's the princess, the vamp, the siren, the riot grrl, the madonna, the virgin, the waif, the free spirit, and many others besides, each affecting their own unique style. Me, I got a full-on superfreaky bad-to-the-bone muse to end all muses. Which is a mixed blessing, to be sure. The other day while she was inspiring me in the spirit world, she's all, "Oh yes! Yes! Ride me, Sparky!" Naturally I had to throw her ass out. How dare she call another cartoonist's name on my time.


Mama said
knock you out
March Eighteenth Two Thousand One
On self-expression: Finding one's voice is a life's work. So say what you mean and mean what you say. Many squander their voice by aping others and putting on airs, pretending to be someone they're not. Not me. Whether I'm ordering my storm troopers to ready my ship or meeting with city officials about the power crisis, I'm always myself. It doesn't matter if I'm at one of my U.N. hearings, attending my weekly desert rave, or vacationing on MIR space station, I am always the same person. And I'll tell you why--Cuz I take the task of being a role model very seriously. And what the youth of America needs is for someone to take a stand and say, Hey, I gotta be me!

Two Eleven Zero One
In the spirit of Black History Month and for the cause of ethnic diversity, we here at Sinfest have a few suggestions:
1) Jesse. New NBC sitcom starring the Reverend Jesse Jackson and his wild and crazy escapades as a swinging bachelor! Keep hope alive, baby!
2) Shakespeare on Telemundo. Sample monologue: "To be or not to be, holmes. That eez the ques-chun, comprende? Word."
3) Harry Potter and the Pips. Latest from the best-selling series. This time Harry is joined by a group of soulful backup singers and together they do battle with the evil Kenny G.
4) Magic Eye Hentai Posters. Hang them at work and watch the merriment ensue!

February 4, 2001
Like Steven Seagal, I'm a spiritual leader renowned the world over, beloved by the masses far and wide. Accordingly, seekers of truth come to me and ask the Big Questions. "What is the meaning of life?" "How should one live?" "Briefs or boxers?" And my answer is always the same. {insert Indian sitar music} "You must follow your own path, young Padawan, like in one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. Remember those? Them's good readin'. One book, multiple plot options. Pure genius. I used to read ahead and then select the best storyline. Hee hee. So anyway, that's the meaning of life. Now go and be as one." {gong sounds, birds chirping}

Jan. 15, 2001
I have a dream that this nation will lay down that boogie and play that funky music till we die. So let freedom ring from the Hollywood sign in Tinseltown. Let freedom ring from the Sears Tower in the Windy City. Let freedom ring from Lady Liberty, that fine piece of ass up in Gotham. Let freedom ring from the neon desert of Sin City. Let freedom ring from the French Quarter in the Big Easy. When we let freedom ring from every ghetto and every slum, every 'burb and every 'hood, we will be able to speed up that day when all children of the atom, mutants and non-mutants, the old school and the new wave, SuperFriends and the Power Puff Girls, will join hands and sing in the words of that James Brown classic: "He ain't no drag--Papa's got a brand new bag! Ungh! Good God!"

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