The Penguin

This last Sunday, the 14th, I began my third year working at Camp Munhacke Cub Scout Resident Camp in Gregory, MI. This first week is "director's week", which means all the directors come to camp early, before the general staff, and work their asses off. We were setting up tents, setting up the dock at the waterfront, even setting up some battleships (more on that later). I have never set up tents so fast in my life. I spent all of Wednesday tottering around like an old man, burnt to a crisp from the shoulders down, and covered in massive horsefly welts. I have to go back this evening. Should be fun. I have to admit, I kind of enjoyed the work, all except putting in the dock. You have to understand this monstrosity before you can appreciate how difficult it is to set up. Firstly, the thing is about twenty years old. The metal frames are rusting apart, full of convenient jagged corners and finger-biting hinges, the kind of tetanus nightmare that makes you wish you had boxe

Author's note: this blog has been reprinted, per Jay Jacot's request, from Sunday, June 7th. All the events recorded here are to the best of my knowledge. I've also made some corrections (again, as per request), so it's a little different, if you've read it before. Whew! A lot can happen while you're out drinking. I went to a quiet after-party following my church's open house (St. Mary Magdalene's Orthodox Church in Fenton), and missed my weekly meeting with Comics Obscura. And guess what happened? They're no longer Comics Obscura! Yes, friends, the Comics Obscura group and the Comics Obscura publication are now, officially, no longer affiliated. I don't have all the details; but from what I've gathered, the Comics Obscura group no longer exists, and those members formerly of Comics Obscura have now formed their own group, Dark Corner Productions. Comics Obscura, the publication, is still in operation, but the main editor/publisher/shareholde

The above title, plus a few expletives, formed the content of my primal shriek of triumph and exhaustion as I put the last godforsaken line in the last godforsaken panel on the last godforsaken page of that 126-page, one-ton albatross that's been hanging around my neck for three years like a millstone, dragging me down into that stinking, fetid mire called, "I'll-Finish-It-Tomorrow", where I would be sucked dry by the Leeches of Procrastination and then cored out by the filthy maggots of Despair-Of-Ever-Finishing. I flipped through each page, giggling maniacally, my worn-to-the-bone fingers unfeeling against the plastic, reliving the agony over every line in ink, marker, and ballpoint pen, feeling the blinding sting of every glaring mistake and oversight, mind shot through with every newly-discovered plot-hole. As "O Fortuna" reached its earthshaking choral crescendo, I found myself staring at a certain point in the story, where there seemed to be - dared I

Disclaimer: I went ahead and deleted that last post...things weren't as "sorted-out" as I thought they were. In fact, one of the parties involved weren't even aware of the events that transpired. If you commented on that post, my sincerest apologies for deleting your words along with it; if you didn't, and are now saying, "What the hell is he talking about?!", don't worry about it. Situation Normal - All F***ed Up. Rick Out.