I wanted to do something easy for tonight and it doesn’t get more easy than jumping on the Admiral Akbar bandwagon years too late and making a dumb joke. Yes!

Here’s a poem I wrote the other day, now complete with handy illustrations. Yes, I’m overusing the cross-stitch font I love so dearly. No, I’m not going to stop ’til I get enough. (Credit Rilla for the genesis of the “lacy” pun.)

Oh those racist babies, when will they ever learn? That’s right: never. This was spurred by half-read/heard reports about babies and race like this one. An opportunity for me to bust out my mad collage skills.

Bit of a one liner about the drama and romance of opera singers and just how much passion bursts forth in a high C, and how hard it might then to be impress an opera singin’ lady.

A blunt little poem with an awkward end, the kind I like. As I whined about on my blog, this was an attempt restart my making mojo. I think it works out alright. Well, it doesn’t work out for him, but you know.

This one’s been on my mind for a week or so and I finally drew it. I suspect I thieved aspects of the style from Tom Gauld, but he’s amazing anyway, so that’s alright. It has problems, but I like the tone of it overall.

Staving off the desolation of being composed of particles that repel creativity, I went with this idea from the notebook. I’ve a mind to do a series of these ominous proclamations by household items. We shall see.

Just a quick one from the notebook pages drawn in Paris, where I turned out to be far less inspired by the city than I had expected to be. This doesn’t come from anywhere, just my stupid head. And many others’s.