Monday, October 1, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 13

The Inn of the Red Lobster

Sounds delicious. Do they have the tank where you can pick out which one you want while it's still alive?

     Cat and Fox and Marionette walked and walked and walked. At last, toward evening, dead tired, they came to the Inn of the Red Lobster.

I bet they ordered the most expensive things on the menu, too.

    "Let us stop here a while," said the Fox, "to eat a bite and rest for a few hours. At midnight we'll start out again, for at dawn tomorrow we must be at the Field of Wonders."

    They went into the Inn and all three sat down at the same table. However, not one of them was very hungry.

So, just the scallops, then?

    The poor Cat felt very weak, and he was able to eat only thirty-five mullets with tomato sauce and four portions of tripe with cheese. Moreover, as he was so in need of strength, he had to have four more helpings of butter and cheese.

Mullets? He ate the eighties hairstyles of wannabe rockers?

    The Fox, after a great deal of coaxing, tried his best to eat a little. The doctor had put him on a diet, and he had to be satisfied with a small hare dressed with a dozen young and tender spring chickens. After the hare, he ordered some partridges, a few pheasants, a couple of rabbits, and a dozen frogs and lizards. That was all. He felt ill, he said, and could not eat another bite.

....What kind of inn serves frogs and lizards?!

    Pinocchio ate least of all. He asked for a bite of bread and a few nuts and then hardly touched them. The poor fellow, with his mind on the Field of Wonders, was suffering from a gold-piece indigestion.

    Supper over, the Fox said to the Innkeeper:

    "Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. Pinocchio and the other for me and my friend. Before starting out, we'll take a little nap. Remember to call us at midnight sharp, for we must continue on our journey."

    "Yes, sir," answered the Innkeeper, winking in a knowing way at the Fox and the Cat, as if to say, "I understand."

Oh dear, we've got us a conspiracy.

    As soon as Pinocchio was in bed, he fell fast asleep and began to dream. He dreamed he was in the middle of a field. The field was full of vines heavy with grapes. The grapes were no other than gold coins which tinkled merrily as they swayed in the wind. They seemed to say, "Let him who wants us take us!"

    Just as Pinocchio stretched out his hand to take a handful of them, he was awakened by three loud knocks at the door. It was the Innkeeper who had come to tell him that midnight had struck.

    "Are my friends ready?" the Marionette asked him.

    "Indeed, yes! They went two hours ago."

    "Why in such a hurry?"

    "Unfortunately the Cat received a telegram which said that his first-born was suffering from chilblains and was on the point of death. He could not even wait to say good-by to you."

    "Did they pay for the supper?"

    "How could they do such a thing? Being people of great refinement, they did not want to offend you so deeply as not to allow you the honor of paying the bill."

If you try this excuse on your friends, they will cut you

    "Too bad! That offense would have been more than pleasing to me," said Pinocchio, scratching his head.

    "Where did my good friends say they would wait for me?" he added.

    "At the Field of Wonders, at sunrise tomorrow morning."

    Pinocchio paid a gold piece for the three suppers and started on his way toward the field that was to make him a rich man.

    He walked on, not knowing where he was going, for it was dark, so dark that not a thing was visible. Round about him, not a leaf stirred. A few bats skimmed his nose now and again and scared him half to death. Once or twice he shouted, "Who goes there?" and the far-away hills echoed back to him, "Who goes there? Who goes there? Who goes. . . ?"

    As he walked, Pinocchio noticed a tiny insect glimmering on the trunk of a tree, a small being that glowed with a pale, soft light.

    "Who are you?" he asked.

    "I am the ghost of the Talking Cricket," answered the little being in a faint voice that sounded as if it came from a far-away world.

GHOOOOST BUGS!! God, those infestations are the hardest to get rid of. You have to call Pest Control AND ghostbusters, and they pad the bill! You can't tell me they don't!

    "What do you want?" asked the Marionette. "I want to give you a few words of good advice. Return home and give the four gold pieces you have left to your poor old father who is weeping because he has not seen you for many a day."

    "Tomorrow my father will be a rich man, for these four gold pieces will become two thousand."

    "Don't listen to those who promise you wealth overnight, my boy. As a rule they are either fools or swindlers! Listen to me and go home."

You are getting advice from beyond THE FREAKING GRAVE. Listen to it!!!

    "But I want to go on!"

You're stupid.

    "The hour is late!"

    "I want to go on."

You're an idiot.

    "The night is very dark."

    "I want to go on."

You're a freaking moron.

    "The road is dangerous."

    "I want to go on."

I hope you die in a fire.

    "Remember that boys who insist on having their own way, sooner or later come to grief."

    "The same nonsense. Good-by, Cricket."

    "Good night, Pinocchio, and may Heaven preserve you from the Assassins."

Wait, assassins? What's this about assassins? Why didn't you mention them earlier when trying to persuade him not to go to the field? If I was on my way to somewhere I really wanted to go, like Disneyland or something, and someone told me there were assassins there....well, I'd probably either laugh myself sick or guess that the assassins probably worked for Disney and were weeding out anyone who wasn't cheerful enough, but I'd at least pay attention!

    There was silence for a minute and the light of the Talking Cricket disappeared suddenly, just as if someone had snuffed it out. Once again the road was plunged in darkness.

No picture for this one again (Sorry!) Because right now I'm working on some halloween themed pony plushies to sell so I might be able to keep my bank account afloat, and because there's no one here I haven't drawn already, so...y'know, not that much interest. Also, I broke 1000 pageviews! You guys are awesome!

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 12

Fire Eater gives Pinocchio five gold pieces for his father, Geppetto; but the Marionette meets a Fox and a Cat and follows them

     The next day Fire Eater called Pinocchio aside and asked him:

    "What is your father's name?"


    "And what is his trade?"

    "He's a wood carver."

    "Does he earn much?"

    "He earns so much that he never has a penny in his pockets. Just think that, in order to buy me an A-B-C book for school, he had to sell the only coat he owned, a coat so full of darns and patches that it was a pity."

    "Poor fellow! I feel sorry for him. Here, take these five gold pieces. Go, give them to him with my kindest regards."

Wait, you're giving the demonically possessed hunk of wood that made you eat a half-cooked dinner after completely disrupting your show a significant amount of money? What is WITH you people?!

    Pinocchio, as may easily be imagined, thanked him a thousand times. He kissed each Marionette in turn, even the officers, and, beside himself with joy, set out on his homeward journey.

    He had gone barely half a mile when he met a lame Fox and a blind Cat, walking together like two good friends. The lame Fox leaned on the Cat, and the blind Cat let the Fox lead him along.

I'm guessing here that they're walking on their hind legs, as leaning on the cat while leading him along would be very difficult walking on all fours.

    "Good morning, Pinocchio," said the Fox, greeting him courteously.

    "How do you know my name?" asked the Marionette.

A valid question.

    "I know your father well."

    "Where have you seen him?"

    "I saw him yesterday standing at the door of his house."

    "And what was he doing?"

    "He was in his shirt sleeves trembling with cold."

    "Poor Father! But, after today, God willing, he will suffer no longer."


    "Because I have become a rich man."

Kiddo, a few coins does not a rich man make.

    "You, a rich man?" said the Fox, and he began to laugh out loud. The Cat was laughing also, but tried to hide it by stroking his long whiskers.

Well at least the cat shows some manners.

    "There is nothing to laugh at," cried Pinocchio angrily. "I am very sorry to make your mouth water, but these, as you know, are five new gold pieces."

    And he pulled out the gold pieces which Fire Eater had given him.

Aaaand here we have a big mistake. You never let strangers know how much money you have.

    At the cheerful tinkle of the gold, the Fox unconsciously held out his paw that was supposed to be lame, and the Cat opened wide his two eyes till they looked like live coals, but he closed them again so quickly that Pinocchio did not notice.

Of course he didn't notice, he's the most thickheaded idiot on the planet!

    "And may I ask," inquired the Fox, "what you are going to do with all that money?"

    "First of all," answered the Marionette, "I want to buy a fine new coat for my father, a coat of gold and silver with diamond buttons; after that, I'll buy an A-B-C book for myself."

Five gold coins won't get you a coat of gold and silver with diamond buttons. Clearly he has no concept of what anything is actually worth.

    "For yourself?"

    "For myself. I want to go to school and study hard."

    "Look at me," said the Fox. "For the silly reason of wanting to study, I have lost a paw."

    "Look at me," said the Cat. "For the same foolish reason, I have lost the sight of both eyes."

    At that moment, a Blackbird, perched on the fence along the road, called out sharp and clear:

    "Pinocchio, do not listen to bad advice. If you do, you'll be sorry!"

    Poor little Blackbird! If he had only kept his words to himself! In the twinkling of an eyelid, the Cat leaped on him, and ate him, feathers and all.

That cat is going to have a very upset stomach later.

    After eating the bird, he cleaned his whiskers, closed his eyes, and became blind once more.

    "Poor Blackbird!" said Pinocchio to the Cat. "Why did you kill him?"

As if you have room to talk!

    "I killed him to teach him a lesson. He talks too much. Next time he will keep his words to himself."

Next time? He's dead, there never will be a next time!

    By this time the three companions had walked a long distance. Suddenly, the Fox stopped in his tracks and, turning to the Marionette, said to him:

    "Do you want to double your gold pieces?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Do you want one hundred, a thousand, two thousand gold pieces for your miserable five?"

    "Yes, but how?"

    "The way is very easy. Instead of returning home, come with us."

    "And where will you take me?"

    "To the City of Simple Simons."

    Pinocchio thought a while and then said firmly:

    "No, I don't want to go. Home is near, and I'm going where Father is waiting for me. How unhappy he must be that I have not yet returned! I have been a bad son, and the Talking Cricket was right when he said that a disobedient boy cannot be happy in this world. I have learned this at my own expense. Even last night in the theater, when Fire Eater. . . Brrrr!!!!! . . . The shivers run up and down my back at the mere thought of it."

FINALLY. Show a little intelligence!

    "Well, then," said the Fox, "if you really want to go home, go ahead, but you'll be sorry."

    "You'll be sorry," repeated the Cat.

    "Think well, Pinocchio, you are turning your back on Dame Fortune."

    "On Dame Fortune," repeated the Cat.

    "Tomorrow your five gold pieces will be two thousand!"

    "Two thousand!" repeated the Cat.

The cat is starting to get on my nerves.

    "But how can they possibly become so many?" asked Pinocchio wonderingly.

    "I'll explain," said the Fox. "You must know that, just outside the City of Simple Simons, there is a blessed field called the Field of Wonders. In this field you dig a hole and in the hole you bury a gold piece. After covering up the hole with earth you water it well, sprinkle a bit of salt on it, and go to bed. During the night, the gold piece sprouts, grows, blossoms, and next morning you find a beautiful tree, that is loaded with gold pieces."

    "So that if I were to bury my five gold pieces," cried Pinocchio with growing wonder, "next morning I should find--how many?"

    "It is very simple to figure out," answered the Fox. "Why, you can figure it on your fingers! Granted that each piece gives you five hundred, multiply five hundred by five. Next morning you will find twenty-five hundred new, sparkling gold pieces."

I highly doubt anyone can count to twenty-five hundred on their fingers, unless they've got an astonishing lot of them.

    "Fine! Fine!" cried Pinocchio, dancing about with joy. "And as soon as I have them, I shall keep two thousand for myself and the other five hundred I'll give to you two."

    "A gift for us?" cried the Fox, pretending to be insulted. "Why, of course not!"

    "Of course not!" repeated the Cat.

    "We do not work for gain," answered the Fox. "We work only to enrich others."

    "To enrich others!" repeated the Cat.

    "What good people," thought Pinocchio to himself. And forgetting his father, the new coat, the A-B-C book, and all his good resolutions, he said to the Fox and to the Cat:

    "Let us go. I am with you."

You. Are. An. Idiot!!!!

For some reason my mental image of the fox has him wearing a robe. No idea why.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 11

Fire Eater sneezes and forgives Pinocchio, who saves his friend, Harlequin, from death

A totally logical sequence of events.

     In the theater, great excitement reigned.

    Fire Eater (this was really his name) was very ugly, but he was far from being as bad as he looked. Proof of this is that, when he saw the poor Marionette being brought in to him, struggling with fear and crying, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" he felt sorry for him and began first to waver and then to weaken. Finally, he could control himself no longer and gave a loud sneeze.

    At that sneeze, Harlequin, who until then had been as sad as a weeping willow (Hey now, this is an unfair stereotype! Weeping willows can be just as happy as anyone else! IT'S A CONSPIRACY MAN!) , smiled happily and leaning toward the Marionette, whispered to him:

    "Good news, brother mine! Fire Eater has sneezed and this is a sign that he feels sorry for you. You are saved!"


    For be it known, that, while other people, when sad and sorrowful, weep and wipe their eyes, Fire Eater, on the other hand, had the strange habit of sneezing each time he felt unhappy. The way was just as good as any other to show the kindness of his heart.

Other than making no sense.

    After sneezing, Fire Eater, ugly as ever, cried to Pinocchio:

    "Stop crying! Your wails give me a funny feeling down here in my stomach and--E--tchee!--E--tchee!" Two loud sneezes finished his speech.

His nose is on his stomach?

    "God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

    "Thanks! Are your father and mother still living?" demanded Fire Eater.

    "My father, yes. My mother I have never known."

    "Your poor father would suffer terribly if I were to use you as firewood. Poor old man! I feel sorry for him! E--tchee! E--tchee! E--tchee!" Three more sneezes sounded, louder than ever.

    "God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

    "Thanks! However, I ought to be sorry for myself, too, just now. My good dinner is spoiled. I have no more wood for the fire, and the lamb is only half cooked. Never mind! In your place I'll burn some other Marionette. Hey there! Officers!"

    At the call, two wooden officers appeared, long and thin as a yard of rope, with queer hats on their heads and swords in their hands.

    Fire Eater yelled at them in a hoarse voice:

    "Take Harlequin, tie him, and throw him on the fire. I want my lamb well done!"

    Think how poor Harlequin felt! He was so scared that his legs doubled up under him and he fell to the floor.

    Pinocchio, at that heartbreaking sight, threw himself at the feet of Fire Eater and, weeping bitterly, asked in a pitiful voice which could scarcely be heard:

    "Have pity, I beg of you, signore!"

    "There are no signori here!"

    "Have pity, kind sir!"

    "There are no sirs here!"

    "Have pity, your Excellency!"

    On hearing himself addressed as your Excellency, the Director of the Marionette Theater sat up very straight in his chair, stroked his long beard, and becoming suddenly kind and compassionate, smiled proudly as he said to Pinocchio:

    "Well, what do you want from me now, Marionette?"

Seriously? You're falling for that?
    "I beg for mercy for my poor friend, Harlequin, who has never done the least harm in his life."

    "There is no mercy here, Pinocchio. I have spared you. Harlequin must burn in your place. I am hungry and my dinner must be cooked."

    "In that case," said Pinocchio proudly, as he stood up and flung away his cap of dough, "in that case, my duty is clear. Come, officers! Tie me up and throw me on those flames. No, it is not fair for poor Harlequin, the best friend that I have in the world, to die in my place!"


    These brave words, said in a piercing voice, made all the other Marionettes cry. Even the officers, who were made of wood also, cried like two babies.

    Fire Eater at first remained hard and cold as a piece of ice; but then, little by little, he softened and began to sneeze. And after four or five sneezes, he opened wide his arms and said to Pinocchio:

    "You are a brave boy! Come to my arms and kiss me!"


    Pinocchio ran to him and scurrying like a squirrel up the long black beard, he gave Fire Eater a loving kiss on the tip of his nose.

    "Has pardon been granted to me?" asked poor Harlequin with a voice that was hardly a breath.

    "Pardon is yours!" answered Fire Eater; and sighing and wagging his head, he added: "Well, tonight I shall have to eat my lamb only half cooked, but beware the next time, Marionettes."

Wouldn't it be bad for his business to use the puppets who are used in his show as firewood instead of actually getting, y'know, real firewood or even old chairs or something? Those things are what provide his income, burning them for his every meal seems rather financially unsound. I'm quite sure it's more expensive to have a carefully carved and constructed marionette made than it is to find some old junk wood or firewood somewhere.

    At the news that pardon had been given, the Marionettes ran to the stage and, turning on all the lights, they danced and sang till dawn.

And no one was brave enough to point out that the theater was stuffed to the brim with clearly possessed bits of timber, which should be burned immediately.

Once again, no pic for this one because the only characters here to be drawn are all puppets and THEY CREEP ME OUT.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 10

The Marionettes recognize their brother Pinocchio, and greet him with loud cheers; but the Director, Fire Eater, happens along and poor Pinocchio almost loses his life

Poor nothing, I'm rooting for the fire on this one.

     Quick as a flash, Pinocchio disappeared into the Marionette Theater. And then something happened which almost caused a riot.

Everyone realized there was a clearly possessed talking pile of scrap wood standing there and promptly went crazy, spontaneously producing pitchforks and torches as they moved to destroy the heathen lumber.

    The curtain was up and the performance had started.

    Harlequin and Pulcinella were reciting on the stage and, as usual, they were threatening each other with sticks and blows.

    The theater was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till they cried at the antics of the two Marionettes.

People were easily amused back then. It happens when you've got nothing better to do than pick fleas off your sheep.
    The play continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly, without any warning, Harlequin stopped talking. Turning toward the audience, he pointed to the rear of the orchestra, yelling wildly at the same time:

    "Look, look! Am I asleep or awake? Or do I really see Pinocchio there?"

    "Yes, yes! It is Pinocchio!" screamed Pulcinella.

    "It is! It is!" shrieked Signora Rosaura, peeking in from the side of the stage.

    "It is Pinocchio! It is Pinocchio!" yelled all the Marionettes, pouring out of the wings. "It is Pinocchio. It is our brother Pinocchio! Hurrah for Pinocchio!"

    "Pinocchio, come up to me!" shouted Harlequin. "Come to the arms of your wooden brothers!"

They know him? More importantly-they are all talking flipping puppets. Why has the crowd not set them all aflame for being heathen monsters? Back then people flipped out if you had an odd wart, and no one's batting an eyelash at the talking lumps of wood?

    At such a loving invitation, Pinocchio, with one leap from the back of the orchestra, found himself in the front rows. With another leap, he was on the orchestra leader's head. With a third, he landed on the stage.

    It is impossible to describe the shrieks of joy, the warm embraces, the knocks, and the friendly greetings with which that strange company of dramatic actors and actresses received Pinocchio.

    It was a heart-rending spectacle, but the audience, seeing that the play had stopped, became angry and began to yell:

    "The play, the play, we want the play!"

Because all audiences are composed purely of irrational, heartless man-children.

    The yelling was of no use, for the Marionettes, instead of going on with their act, made twice as much racket as before, and, lifting up Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him around the stage in triumph.

Triumph? It's not as though they've accomplished anything! Pinocchio certainly hasn't accomplished a thing, and we just met the other puppets so we don't know anything about them! What have they got to be triumphant about?
    At that very moment, the Director came out of his room. He had such a fearful appearance that one look at him would fill you with horror. His beard was as black as pitch, and so long that it reached from his chin down to his feet. His mouth was as wide as an oven, his teeth like yellow fangs, and his eyes, two glowing red coals. In his huge, hairy hands, a long whip, made of green snakes and black cats' tails twisted together, swished through the air in a dangerous way.

Totally the kind of person you have running a performance with children as the target audience. I'm surprised he doesn't run a day-care center.

    At the unexpected apparition, no one dared even to breathe. One could almost hear a fly go by. Those poor Marionettes, one and all, trembled like leaves in a storm.

    "Why have you brought such excitement into my theater;" the huge fellow asked Pinocchio with the voice of an ogre suffering with a cold.

    "Believe me, your Honor, the fault was not mine."

    "Enough! Be quiet! I'll take care of you later."

    As soon as the play was over, the Director went to the kitchen, where a fine big lamb was slowly turning on the spit. More wood was needed to finish cooking it. He called Harlequin and Pulcinella and said to them:

    "Bring that Marionette to me! He looks as if he were made of well-seasoned wood. He'll make a fine fire for this spit."


    Harlequin and Pulcinella hesitated a bit. Then, frightened by a look from their master, they left the kitchen to obey him. A few minutes later they returned, carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling and squirming like an eel and crying pitifully:

    "Father, save me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Well, maybe you should have considered that before being a complete prat and running off like you did.

No picture for this one because it's full of puppets and puppets only, and they creep me the heck out.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 9

Pinocchio sells his A-B-C book to pay his way into the Marionette Theater

Why am I not surprised?

     See Pinocchio hurrying off to school with his new A-B-C book under his arm! As he walked along, his brain was busy planning hundreds of wonderful things, building hundreds of castles in the air. Talking to himself, he said:

    "In school today, I'll learn to read, tomorrow to write, and the day after tomorrow I'll do arithmetic. Then, clever as I am, I can earn a lot of money. With the very first pennies I make, I'll buy Father a new cloth coat. Cloth, did I say? No, it shall be of gold and silver with diamond buttons.

That sounds incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention very poor at keeping out the cold.

 That poor man certainly deserves it; for, after all, isn't he in his shirt sleeves because he was good enough to buy a book for me? On this cold day, too! Fathers are indeed good to their children!"

    As he talked to himself, he thought he heard sounds of pipes and drums coming from a distance: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi. . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

What exactly kind of drum goes zum-zum?

    He stopped to listen. Those sounds came from a little street that led to a small village along the shore.

    "What can that noise be? What a nuisance that I have to go to school! Otherwise. . ."

    There he stopped, very much puzzled. He felt he had to make up his mind for either one thing or another. Should he go to school, or should he follow the pipes?

    "Today I'll follow the pipes, and tomorrow I'll go to school. There's always plenty of time to go to school," decided the little rascal at last, shrugging his shoulders.

To the surprise of absolutely no one.

    No sooner said than done. He started down the street, going like the wind. On he ran, and louder grew the sounds of pipe and drum: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi . . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

Seriously, what kind of drum is that?

    Suddenly, he found himself in a large square, full of people standing in front of a little wooden building painted in brilliant colors.

    "What is that house?" Pinocchio asked a little boy near him.

    "Read the sign and you'll know."

    "I'd like to read, but somehow I can't today."

Because you haven't, y'know, been to school?!

    "Oh, really? Then I'll read it to you. Know, then, that written in letters of fire I see the words: GREAT MARIONETTE THEATER.

    "When did the show start?"

    "It is starting now."

    "And how much does one pay to get in?"

    "Four pennies."

    Pinocchio, who was wild with curiosity to know what was going on inside, lost all his pride (what pride?) and said to the boy shamelessly:

    "Will you give me four pennies until tomorrow?"

    "I'd give them to you gladly," answered the other, poking fun at him, "but just now I can't give them to you."

    "For the price of four pennies, I'll sell you my coat."

    "If it rains, what shall I do with a coat of flowered paper? I could not take it off again."

    "Do you want to buy my shoes?"

    "They are only good enough to light a fire with."

    "What about my hat?"

    "Fine bargain, indeed! A cap of dough! The mice might come and eat it from my head!"

See, at least one kid recognizes the impracticality of a hat made of dough. Really, who does that?

    Pinocchio was almost in tears. He was just about to make one last offer, but he lacked the courage to do so. He hesitated, he wondered, he could not make up his mind. At last he said:

    "Will you give me four pennies for the book?"

    "I am a boy and I buy nothing from boys," said the little fellow with far more common sense than the Marionette.

    "I'll give you four pennies for your A-B-C book," said a rag picker who stood by.

Where did the rag picker get four pennies if he's poor enough to be a rag picker, and what would he want with the book?

    Then and there, the book changed hands. And to think that poor old Geppetto sat at home in his shirt sleeves, shivering with cold, having sold his coat to buy that little book for his son!

He could have been comfortable, fed and warm if he'd just made a fire out of the little monstrosity to begin with, rather than trying to raise such a horrid little beast.

No picture for this one out of a combination of not wanting to draw the puppet and having been busy making the first real post for my new blog, Faetouched in the head! Go check it out here:

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 8

Geppetto makes Pinocchio a new pair of feet, and sells his coat to buy him an A-B-C book

Why aren't you burning the thing yet?!

     The Marionette, as soon as his hunger was appeased, started to grumble and cry that he wanted a new pair of feet.

GAWD, this kid is a whiner!

    But Master Geppetto, in order to punish him for his mischief, let him alone the whole morning.

Not nearly punishment enough if you ask me!

 After dinner he said to him:

    "Why should I make your feet over again? To see you run away from home once more?"

    "I promise you," answered the Marionette, sobbing, "that from now on I'll be good--"

    "Boys always promise that when they want something," said Geppetto.

Huh, showing a bit of brains now. Anyone who's ever had kids will probably be nodding in agreement with the guy here.

    "I promise to go to school every day, to study, and to succeed--"

    "Boys always sing that song when they want their own will."

    "But I am not like other boys! I am better than all of them and I always tell the truth. I promise you, Father, that I'll learn a trade, and I'll be the comfort and staff of your old age."

Heh, heheh. Better than all of them and always telling the truth. Yeah.

Why isn't this kid firewood yet?

    Geppetto, though trying to look very stern, felt his eyes fill with tears and his heart soften when he saw Pinocchio so unhappy. He said no more, but taking his tools and two pieces of wood, he set to work diligently.

And the people in the town earlier were accusing him of being a rough and mean old man who would terrorize the 'poor puppet boy'.

    In less than an hour the feet were finished, two slender, nimble little feet, strong and quick, modeled as if by an artist's hands.

    "Close your eyes and sleep!" Geppetto then said to the Marionette.

    Pinocchio closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, while Geppetto stuck on the two feet with a bit of glue melted in an eggshell, doing his work so well that the joint could hardly be seen.

    As soon as the Marionette felt his new feet, he gave one leap from the table and started to skip and jump around, as if he had lost his head from very joy.

    "To show you how grateful I am to you, Father, I'll go to school now. But to go to school I need a suit of clothes."

You're a puppet. Unless your father made you anatomically correct (and if he, well then...) I don't think you have anything to worry about.

    Geppetto did not have a penny in his pocket, so he made his son a little suit of flowered paper, a pair of shoes from the bark of a tree, and a tiny cap from a bit of dough.

    Pinocchio ran to look at himself in a bowl of water, and he felt so happy that he said proudly:

    "Now I look like a gentleman."

Gentleman of that time were well known for running about with wads of bread dough on their heads.

    "Truly," answered Geppetto. "But remember that fine clothes do not make the man unless they be neat and clean."

    "Very true," answered Pinocchio, "but, in order to go to school, I still need something very important."

    "What is it?"

    "An A-B-C book."

    "To be sure! But how shall we get it?"

    "That's easy. We'll go to a bookstore and buy it."

    "And the money?"

    "I have none."

    "Neither have I," said the old man sadly.

    Pinocchio, although a happy boy always, became sad and downcast at these words. When poverty shows itself, even mischievous boys understand what it means.

    "What does it matter, after all?" cried Geppetto all at once, as he jumped up from his chair. Putting on his old coat, full of darns and patches, he ran out of the house without another word.

And he never returned.

    After a while he returned. (LIES!) In his hands he had the A-B-C book for his son, but the old coat was gone. The poor fellow was in his shirt sleeves and the day was cold.

    "Where's your coat, Father?"

    "I have sold it."

    "Why did you sell your coat?"

    "It was too warm."

    Pinocchio understood the answer in a twinkling, and, unable to restrain his tears, he jumped on his father's neck and kissed him over and over.

And the old man suffered a terrible infection from all the facial splinters he recieved.

No picture for this one because, again, it's just the puppet and the old man...I'm not very good at drawing old people and I really, REALLY don't like puppets.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Busy at the moment...

Sorry the posts are so far between right now, and with very little if any artwork for them-I'm really busy right now, working on a few different things with more stuff lined up, and there's a lot going I really don't care for Pinocchio, particularly not the original version of it which just makes me want to strangle the little wooden jerk, so I don't have a lot of motivation there other than the fact that I've already started it, so it'd be rather inconsistent if I just said 'screw it' and went to a different story. So, please bear with me until things get a bit more settled!

In the meantime, here's a look at one of the projects eating up a lot of my time:

This is the pony plush I'm making for my boyfriend's nephew...and yes, my laptop is purple, and yes that is a DND book back there on the shelf, I'm a geek. I'm hand embroidering the eyes on a piece of felt, to be sewn onto the plush, since the fuzzy cloth I've used to make the body and head is too thin to do embroidering on and would fall apart if I attempted it. The eyes look a smidge wonky right now because they were kind of scrunched over the desk edge. Embroidery isn't hard, but it is tedious. And yes I am filling in the white parts too, to keep it looking consistent. Faetouched is one of my Deviantart accounts, in case you were wondering about the watermark.

So, that's part of what I've been up to, I'll do my best to get onto a reasonable schedule soon!

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 7

Geppetto returns home and gives his own breakfast to the Marionette

....Dude. He's been a little prick. Why would you do that?

     The poor Marionette, who was still half asleep, had not yet found out that his two feet were burned and gone. As soon as he heard his Father's voice, he jumped up from his seat to open the door, but, as he did so, he staggered and fell headlong to the floor.

    In falling, he made as much noise as a sack of wood falling from the fifth story of a house.

....did the author try this out to figure out what exact volume would be appropriate? "CARLO, what are you doing?! It's three in the morning!" "Sorry, Mom, I just need to drop this sack of firewood from the next two stories up to figure out which one sounds the most like a living puppet falling down from trying to walk with it's feet gone!" "......honey, did you forget your medication?"

    "Open the door for me!" Geppetto shouted from the street.

    "Father, dear Father, I can't," answered the Marionette in despair, crying and rolling on the floor.

    "Why can't you?"

    "Because someone has eaten my feet."

    "And who has eaten them?"

Geppetto seems to be taking the whole 'someone ate his kid's feet' thing fairly calmly.

    "The cat," answered Pinocchio, seeing that little animal busily playing with some shavings in the corner of the room.

    "Open! I say," repeated Geppetto, "or I'll give you a sound whipping when I get in."

Regardless of whether or not he opens the door he still deserves a good beating for the crap he put you through!

    "Father, believe me, I can't stand up. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall have to walk on my knees all my life."

    Geppetto, thinking that all these tears and cries were only other pranks of the Marionette, climbed up the side of the house and went in through the window.

    At first he was very angry, but on seeing Pinocchio stretched out on the floor and really without feet, he felt very sad and sorrowful. Picking him up from the floor, he fondled and caressed him, talking to him while the tears ran down his cheeks:

    "My little Pinocchio, my dear little Pinocchio! How did you burn your feet?"

Dear little nothing! Did you forget he got your butt thrown in JAIL for nothing?!

    "I don't know, Father, but believe me, the night has been a terrible one and I shall remember it as long as I live. The thunder was so noisy and the lightning so bright-- and I was hungry. And then the Talking Cricket said to me, `You deserve it; you were bad;' and I said to him, `Careful, Cricket;' and he said to me, `You are a Marionette and you have a wooden head;' and I threw the hammer at him and killed him. It was his own fault, for I didn't want to kill him.


And I put the pan on the coals, but the Chick flew away and said, `I'll see you again! Remember me to the family.' And my hunger grew, and I went out, and the old man with a nightcap looked out of the window and threw water on me, and I came home and put my feet on the stove to dry them because I was still hungry, and I fell asleep and now my feet are gone but my hunger isn't! Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" And poor Pinocchio began to scream and cry so loudly that he could be heard for miles around.

    Geppetto, who had understood nothing of all that jumbled talk, except that the Marionette was hungry, felt sorry for him, and pulling three pears out of his pocket, offered them to him, saying:

    "These three pears were for my breakfast, but I give them to you gladly. Eat them and stop weeping."

    "If you want me to eat them, please peel them for me."

Smack. Him.

    "Peel them?" asked Geppetto, very much surprised. "I should never have thought, dear boy of mine, that you were so dainty and fussy about your food. Bad, very bad! In this world, even as children, we must accustom ourselves to eat of everything, for we never know what life may hold in store for us!"

    "You may be right," answered Pinocchio, "but I will not eat the pears if they are not peeled. I don't like them."


    And good old Geppetto took out a knife, peeled the three pears, and put the skins in a row on the table.

Pft, the people were saying he'd be cruel to him, but really if anything he's spoiling him!

    Pinocchio ate one pear in a twinkling and started to throw the core away, but Geppetto held his arm.

    "Oh, no, don't throw it away! Everything in this world may be of some use!"

    "But the core I will not eat!" cried Pinocchio in an angry tone.

    "Who knows?" repeated Geppetto calmly.

    And later the three cores were placed on the table next to the skins.

    Pinocchio had eaten the three pears, or rather devoured them. Then he yawned deeply, and wailed:

    "I'm still hungry."

Wailing AGAIN? Does he every speak normally?!

    "But I have no more to give you."

    "Really, nothing--nothing?"

    "I have only these three cores and these skins."

    "Very well, then," said Pinocchio, "if there is nothing else I'll eat them."

    At first he made a wry face, but, one after another, the skins and the cores disappeared.

    "Ah! Now I feel fine!" he said after eating the last one.

    "You see," observed Geppetto, "that I was right when I told you that one must not be too fussy and too dainty about food. My dear, we never know what life may have in store for us!"

This kid. Needs. To. Be. Smacked.

No picture for this one again since there's really nothing to draw but the puppet and old man, and as aforementioned, puppets creep me out. Sorry for that! In an upside, I'm going to get my slice of life comic/blog Typecast as Myself (here on blogspot) going soon, so if this sort of stuff really isn't your thing and you prefer funnier, more modern stuff, and like my artwork, I'll get that set up ASAP (this week may be a bit too busy with my boyfriend's brother and nephew being here, one of his brothers having a birthday and a lot of other stuff going on for me to get it up within the week, but once things calm down I'll try to get everything up and running!)

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 6

Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer, and awakens the next day with his feet all burned off.

....See, I wouldn't provide these summaries. If you know what's going to happen, why read the whole thing? Just skip to the next part.

This author clearly never understood the concept of 'Spoilers'.

     Pinocchio hated the dark street, but he was so hungry that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning now and again shot across the sky, turning it into a sea of fire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense clouds of dust, while the trees shook and moaned in a weird way.

    Pinocchio was greatly afraid of thunder and lightning, but the hunger he felt was far greater than his fear. In a dozen leaps and bounds, he came to the village, tired out, puffing like a whale, and with tongue hanging.

....clearly this author never encountered a whale either.

    The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, the doors, the windows. In the streets, not even a dog could be seen. It seemed the Village of the Dead.

    Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: "Someone will surely answer that!"

    He was right. An old man in a nightcap opened the window and looked out. He called down angrily:

    "What do you want at this hour of night?"

    "Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I am hungry."

    "Wait a minute and I'll come right back," answered the old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those boys who love to roam around at night ringing people's bells while they are peacefully asleep.

    After a minute or two, the same voice cried:

    "Get under the window and hold out your hat!"


    Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, and over his whole body.

Well, you did bother the guy at an ungodly hour. I can't say I blame him, I've wanted to pitch a boot at some particularly belligerent birds occasionally.

    He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from weariness and hunger.

    As he no longer had any strength left with which to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet on the stove to dry them.

    There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ashes.

Wouldn't he feel it?

    Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were not his own. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door.

    "Who is it?" he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

    "It is I," answered a voice.

    It was the voice of Geppetto.

Finally having returned to shove the little snot into the stove and burn him to ashes! ....wishful thinking on my part.

No picture for this one because not only am I dead tired from working on a plush, making apricot jam, and cleaning house like mad, but there really wasn't anything I could draw for this one except for the puppet himself, and puppets creep me out so I really don't want to draw that, sorry!

Friday, July 13, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 5

Pinocchio is hungry and looks for an egg to cook himself an omelet; but, to his surprise, the omelet flies out of the window

....yeah, I think that'd surprise anyone.

     If the Cricket's death scared Pinocchio at all, it was only for a very few moments. For, as night came on, a queer, empty feeling at the pit of his stomach reminded the Marionette that he had eaten nothing as yet.

See, how would he have known about eating earlier if he'd never eaten before?

    A boy's appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments the queer, empty feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until soon he was as ravenous as a bear.

    Poor Pinocchio ran to the fireplace where the pot was boiling and stretched out his hand to take the cover off, but to his amazement the pot was only painted! Think how he felt! His long nose became at least two inches longer.

So it's frustration, not lies, that make his nose grow in this version?

    He ran about the room, dug in all the boxes and drawers, and even looked under the bed in search of a piece of bread, hard though it might be, or a cookie, or perhaps a bit of fish. A bone left by a dog would have tasted good to him! But he found nothing.

    And meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. The only relief poor Pinocchio had was to yawn; and he certainly did yawn, such a big yawn that his mouth stretched out to the tips of his ears. Soon he became dizzy and faint. He wept and wailed to himself: "The Talking Cricket was right. It was wrong of me to disobey Father and to run away from home. If he were here now, I wouldn't be so hungry! Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!" does yawning relieve hunger? Unless he yawned so big that he managed to swallow a bug or something.

    Suddenly, he saw, among the sweepings in a corner, something round and white that looked very much like a hen's egg. In a jiffy he pounced upon it. It was an egg.

    The Marionette's joy knew no bounds. It is impossible to describe it, you must picture it to yourself. Certain that he was dreaming, he turned the egg over and over in his hands, fondled it, kissed it, and talked to it:

    "And now, how shall I cook you? Shall I make an omelet? No, it is better to fry you in a pan! Or shall I drink you? No, the best way is to fry you in the pan. You will taste better."

    No sooner said than done. He placed a little pan over a foot warmer full of hot coals. In the pan, instead of oil or butter, he poured a little water. As soon as the water started to boil--tac!--he broke the eggshell. But in place of the white and the yolk of the egg, a little yellow Chick, fluffy and gay and smiling, escaped from it. Bowing politely to Pinocchio, he said to him:

    "Many, many thanks, indeed, Mr. Pinocchio, for having saved me the trouble of breaking my shell! Good-by and good luck to you and remember me to the family!"

....where did the egg come from if the old man had no chickens? And furthermore, how did it gestate to hatching point without a source of warmth?

    With these words he spread out his wings and, darting to the open window, he flew away into space till he was out of sight.

    The poor Marionette stood as if turned to stone, with wide eyes, open mouth, and the empty halves of the egg- shell in his hands. When he came to himself, he began to cry and shriek at the top of his lungs, stamping his feet on the ground and wailing all the while:

    "The Talking Cricket was right! If I had not run away from home and if Father were here now, I should not be dying of hunger. Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!"

    And as his stomach kept grumbling more than ever and he had nothing to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the near-by village, in the hope of finding some charitable person who might give him a bit of bread.

After the trouble he'd caused, and the fact that he's a clearly posessed puppet walking around and screeching at all hours of the night, I'd be more expectant of someone using him as kindling than feeding him.

Sorry about the lack of artwork for this one, there wasn't really anything to draw and my wrist is kind of hurting from some commissions I was working on, and I still have more to do!

Friday, July 6, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 4

The story of Pinocchio and the Talking Cricket, in which one sees that bad children do not like to be corrected by those who know more than they do.

*Snrk* Okay, yeah, I like that bit. No one likes being corrected, but I think everyone's encountered that one person who just will not listen, even when speaking to someone who's way more knowledgeable about the subject than they are.

    Very little time did it take to get poor old Geppetto to prison. In the meantime that rascal, Pinocchio, free now from the clutches of the Carabineer, was running wildly across fields and meadows, taking one short cut after another toward home. In his wild flight, he leaped over brambles and bushes, and across brooks and ponds, as if he were a goat or a hare chased by hounds.

What goats are you people talking about? I raised goats, and if any dog got near them, that dog would be the one running, not the goats! Goats bite!

    On reaching home, he found the house door half open. He slipped into the room, locked the door, and threw himself on the floor, happy at his escape.

    But his happiness lasted only a short time, for just then he heard someone saying:


    "Who is calling me?" asked Pinocchio, greatly frightened.

I understand someone who was, y'know, just born not knowing what a cricket sounds like, but how does 'cri cri cri' translate into; "Yo, puppet boy! I'm calling you!"

    "I am!"

    Pinocchio turned and saw a large cricket crawling slowly up the wall.

    "Tell me, Cricket, who are you?"

    "I am the Talking Cricket and I have been living in this room for more than one hundred years." So that house must be at least a hundred years old, and the Cricket as well. Didn't know they had that kind of life expectancy!

    "Today, however, this room is mine," said the Marionette, "and if you wish to do me a favor, get out now, and don't turn around even once."

    "I refuse to leave this spot," answered the Cricket, "until I have told you a great truth."

    "Tell it, then, and hurry."

    "Woe to boys who refuse to obey their parents and run away from home! They will never be happy in this world, and when they are older they will be very sorry for it."

    "Sing on, Cricket mine, as you please. What I know is, that tomorrow, at dawn, I leave this place forever. If I stay here the same thing will happen to me which happens to all other boys and girls. They are sent to school, and whether they want to or not, they must study. As for me, let me tell you, I hate to study! It's much more fun, I think, to chase after butterflies, climb trees, and steal birds' nests."

....How does he know of any of this? No one has mentioned school up to this point. How does he know anything about school if he knew nothing of crickets? For that matter, how does he know about bird nests and butterflies then either?

    "Poor little silly! Don't you know that if you go on like that, you will grow into a perfect donkey and that you'll be the laughingstock of everyone?"

    "Keep still, you ugly Cricket!" cried Pinocchio.

    But the Cricket, who was a wise old philosopher, instead of being offended at Pinocchio's impudence, continued in the same tone:

    "If you do not like going to school, why don't you at least learn a trade, so that you can earn an honest living?"

    "Shall I tell you something?" asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to lose patience. "Of all the trades in the world, there is only one that really suits me."

    "And what can that be?"

    "That of eating, drinking, sleeping, playing, and wandering around from morning till night."

None of which he has done up to this point, so how does he know anything about it?

    "Let me tell you, for your own good, Pinocchio," said the Talking Cricket in his calm voice, "that those who follow that trade always end up in the hospital or in prison."

    "Careful, ugly Cricket! If you make me angry, you'll be sorry!"

    "Poor Pinocchio, I am sorry for you."


    "Because you are a Marionette and, what is much worse, you have a wooden head."


    At these last words, Pinocchio jumped up in a fury, took a hammer from the bench, and threw it with all his strength at the Talking Cricket.

Did everyone in that time have anger issues except the insects?

    Perhaps he did not think he would strike it. But, sad to relate, my dear children, he did hit the Cricket, straight on its head.

    With a last weak "cri-cri-cri" the poor Cricket fell from the wall, dead!

....DUDE. He was a hundred freakin' years old and some petulant child kills him? Not cool, man. Not cool.

Sunday, July 1, 2012


Dude, I need to consume obscene amounts of sugar before bed more often! (an ice cream bar and a lot of soda if you're wondering)

Basically, this dream started not so cool-I was with the Family Guy family, and the girl with the hat had gotten lipo-suction or something so she was all skinny (I don't really recall their names, it was a long dang time ago that I saw a few episodes) so they decided to go to the store to get her new clothes to show off with. Blargh. I don't know why I went with them, I guess I was another family member or something-anyway, I ended up wandering away from the clothes section into another aisle, and I saw those 'learn to draw' things, several of them being the specific styles of certain Disney animators or of different characters. I lost my head over one by Glen Keane. Then the dream changed, and someone (I think it was my boyfriend) was introducing me to THE ACTUAL GLEN KEANE. For those of you who don't know, Glen Keane is the animator who was the driving force behind the Disney Revolution. He and another animator are responsible for the princesses everyone knows and loves, him in particular for Ariel (he insisted on animating her, said there was something that just drove him to do so) and is one of the best things ever to happen to the Disney company, though sadly he recently left them as they really don't need hand-drawn animators anymore since they're going with computers. Anyway, Mr. Keane and I started discussing art and animation, and I timidly mentioned I had a movie idea, which he insisted on hearing. From there we were in his studio, and he was showing me how to do hand drawn animation, we were talking story ideas, hammering out details, storyboarding, animating together and eventually presenting the rough draft animations and storyboards to the Disney exects.

I can even remember some of the characters and music from the movie, which I'd never seen or heard before-basically the movie was about a dystopian future where war had broken out, which escalated into biological warfare and nukes being dropped. The combination of the biological elements and the radiation wiped out the majority of life on earth, those that were not wiped out (human and animal alike) mutated in some form or another, with very few escaping the mutations. The mutations in humans were usually fairly subtle or at least harmless-pointed ears, oddly colored eyes or skin or hair, an extra set of limbs, tail, or other unusual feature or any combination therof. The animals got some similar mutations-unusual colors and patterns in their fur or feathers, extra limbs, and such, but one of the most notable things that happened was that due to the biological components, animals that were previously genetically incompatible were suddenly able to be bred with one another. Taking advantage of this in order to ensure their survival, humans started creating new species that they could use for meat, transportation, and what have you-service animals. Gryphons being one of the primary species created (their looks and sizes vary a great deal by what species were used to make them). One thing the humans didn't count on, though, was the mutations eventually allowing the hybrids they created to gain sentience, and even learn to speak with intelligence comparable to or, in some cases, exceeding humanity's. Some consider this a blessing, as they can work better together with the friendly ones, some consider it a curse as the belligerent ones are more crafty and can sway others to their points of view.

As for the society, unmutated humans form the 'nobility' of the future, and consider themselves above everyone else due to their purity. They quickly seized political power, and have been struggling to rebuild since the collapse of society. For the most part everyone has been reduced to dark ages technology-relying heavily on the hybrids to help them with their everyday lives-and to possess any technology of 'the old world' is a great mark of status. This is primarily how the nobility keeps hold of it's power-having the largest stockpile of 'old world' weaponry and technology, they could easily wipe out anyone who opposed their rule. No one but the nobility, and those who directly serve them, have electricity-or running water usually. There were some 'grungepunk' or steampunk elements to the whole thing-like the slapped-together guns and other weapons made of junk some of the characters carried, the clothes and such, and there were some golems and such made of scrap metal that was lying around. This was another affect-there were some elements showing up in different places, pockets of energy that had been previously undiscovered (or previously didn't exist, no one's sure) that were released, and certain individuals (dubbed mages or witches or any other name associated with magic) can wield this energy, including hybrids. It's actually much more common for hybrids to be able to use it than for humans, which has lead to the belief that the more mutated you are (since hybrids are technically far more mutated than anything else, having been brought into existence BECAUSE of their mutations) the better able to wield the energies you are. The pockets of energy are all interconnected by underground lines referred to as Ley Lines, which allow even those who don't live near a large deposit of the energy to use small bits of it. Normally the power can only be used for small things, like helping to make tools or levitating light objects or to help heal small scratches or wounds, but some can safely wield larger amounts of it, creating golems (usually these don't last very long, and crumble within a few hours or even minutes, depending on the strength and skill of the maker-a truly gifted mage can create one that can last for years. To create one that can last indefinitely is unheard of. The intelligence of the golem also depends on the mage's skill, and most can only perform very simple commands somewhat clumsily. To create one with human intelligence or sentience is also unheard of) or using it to heal more serious injuries or lift heavier objects, whatever they choose to do with it.

The story we were doing was centering around a group of children and a young male gryphon named Rags or Ragamuffin or something like that-something that started with an R that basically brought to mind grunge or something dirty or whatnot. I don't remember the kid's names. I also remember writing notes on a storyboard where the kids and Rags were burying someone-the little girl's brother-and that the note I was writing down specifically said that their expressions were empty and listless, as if they'd done this many times before.

I can't remember what their goal was or what they were supposed to be doing, but I remember presenting the rough film (mostly pencil animations with the voices added) to the exects with Mr. Keane. I don't remember whether or not they decided to approve it. But it was SUCH A COOL DREAM. I may have to actually do something with that story idea though, I've never had such a thorough, detailed one from a dream before.

Friday, June 29, 2012

Pinocchio Chapter Three

As soon as he gets home, Geppetto fashions the Marionette and calls it Pinocchio. The first pranks of the Marionette

     Little as Geppetto's house was, it was neat and comfortable. It was a small room on the ground floor, with a tiny window under the stairway.

Wait, the whole house was a small room on the ground floor? Or he only owned a small room on the ground floor of the building? If the house is only a one-floor room, why is there a stairway? Clarity, people!

 The furniture could not have been much simpler: a very old chair, a rickety old bed, and a tumble-down table. A fireplace full of burning logs was painted on the wall opposite the door. Over the fire, there was painted a pot full of something which kept boiling happily away and sending up clouds of what looked like real steam. actual fire, then?

    As soon as he reached home, Geppetto took his tools and began to cut and shape the wood into a Marionette.
    "What shall I call him?" he said to himself. "I think I'll call him PINOCCHIO. This name will make his fortune. I knew a whole family of Pinocchi once--Pinocchio the father, Pinocchia the mother, and Pinocchi the children-- and they were all lucky. The richest of them begged for his living."

 Begging typically is not the employ that comes to mind when thinking of riches...

    After choosing the name for his Marionette, Geppetto set seriously to work to make the hair, the forehead, the eyes. Fancy his surprise when he noticed that these eyes moved and then stared fixedly at him. Geppetto, seeing this, felt insulted and said in a grieved tone:

    "Ugly wooden eyes, why do you stare so?"

    There was no answer.

These people seem to get offended at the slightest thing. Even being looked at is an insult! Heaven forbid someone DARED to sneeze in their general direction!

    After the eyes, Geppetto made the nose, which began to stretch as soon as finished. It stretched and stretched and stretched till it became so long, it seemed endless.

Well that seems inconvenient.

    Poor Geppetto kept cutting it and cutting it, but the more he cut, the longer grew that impertinent nose. In despair he let it alone.
    Next he made the mouth.

Here I am sensing a mistake.

    No sooner was it finished than it began to laugh and poke fun at him.


    "Stop laughing!" said Geppetto angrily; but he might as well have spoken to the wall.
    "Stop laughing, I say!" he roared in a voice of thunder.
    The mouth stopped laughing, but it stuck out a long tongue.

    Not wishing to start an argument, Geppetto made believe he saw nothing and went on with his work. After the mouth, he made the chin, then the neck, the shoulders, the stomach, the arms, and the hands.

So, he wants to avoid arguing with a hunk of wood that's being a pain, and yet was willing to jump into fisticuffs with his 'sworn' friend who gave him the wood? Inconsistent.

    As he was about to put the last touches on the finger tips, Geppetto felt his wig being pulled off. He glanced up and what did he see? His yellow wig was in the Marionette's hand. "Pinocchio, give me my wig!"
     But instead of giving it back, Pinocchio put it on his own head, which was half swallowed up in it.
    At that unexpected trick, Geppetto became very sad and downcast, more so than he had ever been before.
    "Pinocchio, you wicked boy!" he cried out. "You are not yet finished, and you start out by being impudent to your poor old father. Very bad, my son, very bad!"
    And he wiped away a tear.

 Whaaa....he cries?! He gets into a physical fight with another adult over barely a word, and yet instead of taking a switch to an impertinent, insulting and rude child, he cries?!

    The legs and feet still had to be made. As soon as they were done, Geppetto felt a sharp kick on the tip of his nose.
    "I deserve it!" he said to himself. "I should have thought of this before I made him. Now it's too late!"

 Too late? Just find someone who has an operation fireplace and toss him in. That'll end the whole matter.

    He took hold of the Marionette under the arms and put him on the floor to teach him to walk.
    Pinocchio's legs were so stiff that he could not move them, and Geppetto held his hand and showed him how to put out one foot after the other.
     When his legs were limbered up, Pinocchio started walking by himself and ran all around the room. He came to the open door, and with one leap he was out into the street. Away he flew!

 Let him go, dude, let him go.

    Poor Geppetto ran after him but was unable to catch him, for Pinocchio ran in leaps and bounds, his two wooden feet, as they beat on the stones of the street, making as much noise as twenty peasants in wooden shoes.
    "Catch him! Catch him!" Geppetto kept shouting. But the people in the street, seeing a wooden Marionette running like the wind, stood still to stare and to laugh until they cried.

Now, see, I'd be very surprised if people in that time laughed at such an unearthly sight. More likely they'd brand the puppet and it's maker witches and burn them, or at least destroy the marionette.

 At last, by sheer luck, a Carabineer happened along, who, hearing all that noise, thought that it might be a runaway colt, and stood bravely in the middle of the street, with legs wide apart, firmly resolved to stop it and prevent any trouble.
     A military policeman

 Well, thank you for clarifying what a Carabineer is, at least. Decent of him to want to prevent any trouble from starting up, too.

     Pinocchio saw the Carabineer from afar and tried his best to escape between the legs of the big fellow, but without success.
    The Carabineer grabbed him by the nose (it was an extremely long one and seemed made on purpose for that very thing) and returned him to Master Geppetto.

 He uses logic and actually does his job well! Bravo!

    The little old man wanted to pull Pinocchio's ears. Think how he felt when, upon searching for them, he discovered that he had forgotten to make them!

 Then how could the puppet hear him at all when he told it to be quiet?

    All he could do was to seize Pinocchio by the back of the neck and take him home. As he was doing so, he shook him two or three times and said to him angrily:
    "We're going home now. When we get home, then we'll settle this matter!"
    Pinocchio, on hearing this, threw himself on the ground and refused to take another step. One person after another gathered around the two.
    Some said one thing, some another.
    "Poor Marionette," called out a man. "I am not surprised he doesn't want to go home. Geppetto, no doubt, will beat him unmercifully, he is so mean and cruel!"
    "Geppetto looks like a good man," added another, "but with boys he's a real tyrant. If we leave that poor Marionette in his hands he may tear him to pieces!"
    They said so much that, finally, the Carabineer ended matters by setting Pinocchio at liberty and dragging Geppetto to prison.

Wait, what? No, really, what? The policeman who caught the obviously troublesome puppet is now freeing it again, so it can cause more trouble, and dragging an old man off to prison just because some bystanding gossippers wouldn't shut up?

 The poor old fellow did not know how to defend himself, but wept and wailed like a child and said between his sobs:
    "Ungrateful boy! To think I tried so hard to make you a well-behaved Marionette! I deserve it, however! I should have given the matter more thought."

 Yes, you should have, like NOT MAKING IT after you notice the first few signs of the wood containing such a mischievous spirit!

    What happened after this is an almost unbelievable story, but you may read it, dear children, in the chapters that follow.

And so ends chapter three. As to the picture....It is far, FAR from my best, I know it and I apologize for it, but it was both rushed and a bit forced because I've been working on other projects, making convention badges for my friends, and...well....I don't like puppets and really, REALLY didn't want to draw one. Puppets creep me the heck out, and I don't like seeing them, much less drawing them, so I basically threw this one together as quickly as I could just to get it over and done with. The upcoming chapters won't have the puppet in the images if I can at all avoid it. I'm such a wuss...Cardboard cutouts, lightning, puppets and a lot of other everyday things just freak me out. Blargle.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012


I want to apologize for taking so long to get the next chapters up, I've been working my backside off making con badges for my friends, trying to get commissions and trying to find a job. I have been unable to find one so far, and the situation isn't looking very good at the moment as far as that goes, so I've been trying to get commissions to even it out but no one else seems to have money right now either. So, I'll get the chapters and artwork up as soon as I can, but right now my priorities tend to be somewhere in the 'get-money-so-I-don't-turn-into-an-unwashed-dead-hobo' range.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Pinocchio Chapter Two

The second chapter in our tale, the Original Pinocchio. I don't have a picture for this one either-nothing in it really sprang to my mind as something worth drawing, and my wrist has been hurting from working on other projects-but I will be including pictures with the majority of these chapters!

Master Cherry gives the piece of wood to his friend Geppetto, who takes it to make himself a Marionette that will dance, fence, and turn somersaults.

I find it interesting that the author thought it necessary to include a summarization of the chapter at the very beginning of each one.

       In that very instant, a loud knock sounded on the door. "Come in," said the carpenter, not having an atom of strength left with which to stand up.

    At the words, the door opened and a dapper little old man came in. His name was Geppetto, but to the boys of the neighborhood he was Polendina, on account of the wig he always wore which was just the color of yellow corn.

     Cornmeal mush. felt the need to elaborate on that?

     Geppetto had a very bad temper. Woe to the one who called him Polendina! He became as wild as a beast and no one could soothe him.

Clearly father of the year material right there.

    "Good day, Master Antonio," said Geppetto. "What are you doing on the floor?"

    "I am teaching the ants their A B C's."

....I think I like this guy.

    "Good luck to you!" he serious?

    "What brought you here, friend Geppetto?"

    "My legs. And it may flatter you to know, Master Antonio, that I have come to you to beg for a favor."

Did they speak exclusively in quips and sarcasm at that time?

    "Here I am, at your service," answered the carpenter, raising himself on to his knees.

    "This morning a fine idea came to me."

    "Let's hear it."

    "I thought of making myself a beautiful wooden Marionette. It must be wonderful, one that will be able to dance, fence, and turn somersaults. With it I intend to go around the world, to earn my crust of bread and cup of wine. What do you think of it?"

    "Bravo, Polendina!" cried the same tiny voice which came from no one knew where.

How would the block of wood know people called him that?

    On hearing himself called Polendina, Master Geppetto turned the color of a red pepper and, facing the carpenter, said to him angrily:

    "Why do you insult me?"

    "Who is insulting you?"

    "You called me Polendina."

    "I did not."

    "I suppose you think I did! Yet I KNOW it was you."





And thus the grown men descend into the behavior of five year olds.

    And growing angrier each moment, they went from words to blows, and finally began to scratch and bite and slap each other.

....very violent five year olds.

    When the fight was over, Master Antonio had Geppetto's yellow wig in his hands and Geppetto found the carpenter's curly wig in his mouth.

............I don't even want to know.

    "Give me back my wig!" shouted Master Antonio in a surly voice.

    "You return mine and we'll be friends."

    The two little old men, each with his own wig back on his own head, shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives.

    "Well then, Master Geppetto," said the carpenter, to show he bore him no ill will, "what is it you want?"

    "I want a piece of wood to make a Marionette. Will you give it to me?"

    Master Antonio, very glad indeed, went immediately to his bench to get the piece of wood which had frightened him so much. But as he was about to give it to his friend, with a violent jerk it slipped out of his hands and hit against poor Geppetto's thin legs.

    "Ah! Is this the gentle way, Master Antonio, in which you make your gifts? You have made me almost lame!"

    "I swear to you I did not do it!"

    "It was I, of course!"

    "It's the fault of this piece of wood."

    "You're right; but remember you were the one to throw it at my legs."

    "I did not throw it!"


    "Geppetto, do not insult me or I shall call you Polendina."





    "Ugly monkey!"


Well, Geppetto has slightly more creativity when it comes to insults. Didn't they swear to be friends for the rest of their lives a few moments ago?

    On hearing himself called Polendina for the third time, Geppetto lost his head with rage and threw himself upon the carpenter. Then and there they gave each other a sound thrashing.

    After this fight, Master Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, and Geppetto had two buttons missing from his coat. Thus having settled their accounts, they shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives.

For all of two seconds. Within moments they were quite literally at one another's throats again, and the cycle repeated itself until the end of time.

    Then Geppetto took the fine piece of wood, thanked Master Antonio, and limped away toward home.

......Well then. Not much you can say to that!

Monday, June 18, 2012

Pinocchio Ch. 1

This is the original version of Pinocchio, written by one Carlo Collodi. Everyone knows of the Disney version, and there have been many others-but this is the original, unedited (to the best of my knowledge) version. I'll be posting it chapter by chapter, and I will TRY to have a picture for each chapter, but some of them really have nothing that would make an interesting picture, so a few of them won't have ones to go with it.

So, without further ado, Pinocchio!


How it happened that Master Cherry, carpenter, found a piece of wood that wept and laughed like a child.

 Centuries ago there lived

"A king!" my little readers will say immediately.

    No, children, you are mistaken.

 One of the earliest examples of speaking to the audience-in literary form, no less!

Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it. Just a common block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm.

Because we want our kids to think that every time they toss a piece of wood into the fire to keep from freezing to death, they're ending the life of a potential little boy or girl playmate in a horrible way.
    I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old carpenter. His real name was Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him Mastro Cherry, for the tip of his nose was so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry.

I take it he was a heavy drinker.

    As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry was filled with joy. Rubbing his hands together happily, he mumbled half to himself:

    "This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it to make the leg of a table."

    He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark and shape the wood. But as he was about to give it the first blow, he stood still with arm uplifted, for he had heard a wee, little voice say in a beseeching tone: "Please be careful! Do not hit me so hard!"

    What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry's face! His funny face became still funnier.

Being kind of insulting to this guy, aren't you?

    He turned frightened eyes about the room to find out where that wee, little voice had come from and he saw no one! He looked under the bench--no one! He peeped inside the closet--no one! He searched among the shavings-- no one! He opened the door to look up and down the street--and still no one!

    "Oh, I see!" he then said, laughing and scratching his Wig. "It can easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words! Well, well--to work once more."

....I find it odd that they felt it necessary to capitalize the word 'wig', as if to put emphasis on the fact that this guy had a toupee`. It's like they're purposely trying to make him look as stupid or ugly as possible. Did they have a personal issue with this guy or something?

    He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood. "Oh, oh! You hurt!" cried the same far-away little voice.

    Mastro Cherry grew dumb, his eyes popped out of his head, his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.


    As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said, trembling and stuttering from fright:

    "Where did that voice come from, when there is no one around? Might it be that this piece of wood has learned to weep and cry like a child? I can hardly believe it. Here it is--a piece of common firewood, good only to burn in the stove, the same as any other. Yet-- might someone be hidden in it? If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!"

    With these words, he grabbed the log with both hands and started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls of the room, and even up to the ceiling.

So your first reaction to someone possibly being trapped inside a piece of wood is to throw it around and abuse it horribly in an effort to hurt whoever is stuck within? I...I think you need help, man.

    He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry. He waited two minutes--nothing; five minutes-- nothing; ten minutes--nothing.

    "Oh, I see," he said, trying bravely to laugh and ruffling up his wig with his hand. "It can easily be seen I only imagined I heard the tiny voice! Well, well--to work once more!"

And he dismisses it as his own brain creating figments for him to hear as if he's used to odd voices and such popping out at him. I really think this guy needs to see someone about this.

    The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he tried to sing a gay song in order to gain courage.

    He set aside the hatchet and picked up the plane to make the wood smooth and even, but as he drew it to and fro, he heard the same tiny voice. This time it giggled as it spoke:

    "Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach."

    This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.

    His face had changed; fright had turned even the tip of his nose from red to deepest purple.

....Well then. Clearly the man has issues, and it seems rather alarming to me that he kept the piece of wood that was talking to him, rather than pitching it into a fireplace.

Next chapter coming soon!