My dad and I argue a lot. But never over anything serious. There some sort of unspoken rule in my family that we can only get into a shouting match over things that don’t matter at all.

Like the time my dad tried to unlock my car and then threw the keys at me and yelled for a full ten minutes about how I need to better take care of my things. (BTW, he was trying to unlock my car with HIS car keys. And then he yelled at me for not telling him that he was trying to unlock my car with his keys.)

We never seem to argue — or even discuss — anything that really matters. But the more inconsequential a topic, the louder we’ll shout and the longer we’ll stay mad at each other.

Anyway.

So this evening, after watching the “Angels Take Manhattan” episode of DOCTOR WHO, my dad and I almost came to blows in an argument over Weeping Angels. Tonight’s argument went a little something like this (SPOILERS, Sweeties.):

DAD: What I don’t get is why doesn’t the Doctor just pick up a baseball bat and hit the Weeping Angels with it?

ME: Because they’re in a hotel. There isn’t a baseball bat around.

DAD: There could be.

ME: But there’s not. And even if there was, he’d have to quickly look around for it, taking his eyes off the Angel, and then they’d get him and send him back in time.

DAD: You mean to tell me he couldn’t keep his eye on the Angel and just back up until he found a baseball bat or a crowbar?

ME: In the middle of an empty hotel hallway? He’s just gonna find a random baseball bat laying around?

DAD: Fine! They’re not in a hotel! They’re in a warehouse and there’s a two-by-four right in front of him. You’re telling me he couldn’t just knock off the statue’s head?

*my dad picks up a bottle of Vitamin Water that was left on the coffee table and mimes hitting me over the head with it*

ME: With a two-by-four?

DAD: FINE! A sledgehammer, then! What if he had a sledgehammer?

ME: *under my breath* JFC.

ME: What if he had a NUKE?!

ME: It doesn’t matter, because they’re not in a warehouse! They’re in an empty hotel hallway and they don’t have a baseball bat or a crowbar or a sledgehammer or a &$^@ing two-by-four or any other weapon that can hurt a Weeping Angel!!!

DAD: Well, why not?!

ME: Well, for one thing, they are inside of a hotel that’s practically run by the Weeping Angels. This is their farm to feed from. This is their house. WHY would they keep weapons that could hurt them in their own house?!

DAD: Maybe they just forgot that they had them.

ME: Forgot what? That the had a SLEDGEHAMMER — OR ANY OTHER WEAPON THAT CAN HURT THEM — just laying around? In the hotel where they harvest their food?

ME: First of all, that would be like Superman storing Kryptonite in the Fortress of Solitude and then just FORGETTING ABOUT IT!

ME: Second, would YOU forget that you had a gun in the house, but still just leave it laying around on the coffee table, for the hostages you have trapped in the kitchen to find?

DAD: I don’t know why he just doesn’t run ’em over with a truck.

ME: You realize that you are basically a crazy person, right?

ME: THEY’RE ON THE SEVENTH FLOOR OF A HOTEL!! WHERE’S HE GETTING A TRUCK FROM?

DAD: I’m just saying, all he did was run away. Running away is stupid. I don’t know why he just didn’t grab something and knock their heads off.

ME: Because that’s NOT the story that’s being told!

ME: The story that’s being told is that they are trapped — SURROUNDED — by Weeping Angels and they are DEFENSELESS against them. Y’know, for the sake of PLOT and DRAMA?

DAD: Whatever. Y’know, I could have been watching the ball game instead of this…

So glad it’s finally Free Comic Book Day! Lettering Jamal Igle’s MOLLY DANGER has been a blast and I’m so grateful that I can finally hold a physical copy of this book in my hands! Hope you guys dig it!

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Not to be outdone by FCBD, I also received Kyle Starks’s amazing THE LEGEND OF RICKY THUNDER collection, a couple of fantastic mini comics, and some pretty rad Ricky Thunder stickers and trading cards in the mail today!

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And, even though I technically received this a week ago, thanks to my best friends, Kev and Jody, I finally got my hands on a copy of THE LEGEND OF ZELDA: HYRULE HISTORIA.

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Zelda is probably my all-time FAVORITE video game series and I have been wanting a Zelda art book for the looongest time. So you can imagine how absolutely THRILLED I was when the HISTORIA was announced last year.

(I don’t know if you can tell, but I am cackling maniacally behind the book.)

So, yeah, Ice Cube, I guess today was a good day…

Hey kids,

I’ve got a pretty exciting announcement to make.

As most of you know, in addition to writing comics, I also letter comics and have been lucky enough to have worked on a number of fantastic books. About a month back, I was hired to letter what is easily one of the biggest titles of my career thus far: Jamal Igle’s MOLLY DANGER!

Molly Danger

Most of you will recognize Jamal Igle from his fantastic runs drawing books like SUPERGIRL and NIGHTWING.

MOLLY is his first all-ages creator-owned graphic album series. “She’s smart, and she’s incredibly brave. She’s the protector of Coopersville, the Princess of Finesse, the petite powerhouse known only as Molly Danger! But what secrets threaten everything she holds dear?” You can read more about both Jamal and Molly here.

And, as if that’s not cool enough, on May 4th, you can pick up the first eleven pages of the world’s most powerful 10-year-old girl’s story — with my letters : ) — for FREE in the MOLLY DANGER/PRINCELESS Free Comic Book Day book from Action Lab Entertainment!

Molly Danger FCBD

You can read a preview of the MOLLY DANGER FCBD story here (although, I CAN NOT stress enough the fact that these are not final letters.).

Check back here for more MOLLY and non-MOLLY related comic book announcements in the near future. Like, say, next week-ish. ; )

Three individual little old men, each wearing little old men driving hats, complimented me on my little old man driving hat this afternoon while I was out running errands.

After several months — years? — of disguising myself in their garb, learning their language, and earning their trust, I have finally been accepted by the local tribe — or matlock — of little old men.

Tune in next time, as I further investigate the time-honored customs of: offering small hard candies to one another; loudly complaining about the length of hair, piercings, and tribal markings of area young; and uncover the mystery of the “early bird” dinner.

Hey kids,

Just came across this mini documentary about creative individuals in Toronto, called CREATIVE DIFFERENCES, that largely features my good friend and longtime comic book collaborator, The Amazing David Brame!

(Keep an eye out just before the five minute mark and you catch just a quick glimpse of SKOTTIE ROCKET, GAY SPACE PIRATE, a comic we created together!)

Give it a watch!

Trying to have a conversation with my aunt anymore is like trying to talk with a possessed Sigourney Weaver in GHOSTBUSTERS. “There is no JoAnn, only cancer.” Here’s a few fun things we talked about at hospice today!

ME: *not saying anything, just minding my own business and working*
HER: FRANKIE WILL JUST YOU SHUT THE HELL UP?

HER: *incoherent rambling*
ME: Can you repeat that? I didn’t hear you.
HER: FRANKIE IS GOING TO BLOW UP.

ME: What’s the matter?
HER: Frankie did something.
ME: What did Frankie do?
HER: *incoherent rambling*
ME: Did Frankie do something good? Or did Frankie do something bad?
HER: BAD.
ME: What did Frankie do bad?
HER: EVERYTHING.

ME: OK. I’m going to go home now. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.
HER: *incoherent rambling*
ME: What was that?
HER: GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.
ME: …
ME: I– OK. I’m going. I love you.
HER: …
ME: I love you.
HER: …
ME: I love you. Do you love me?
HER: NO.

(Hey! This was my 300th post on this blog! Woo! I’m going to go drink to forget now.)

I had this dream where I lost my pup, Chloe Godzilla Cvetkovic, in large pack of other, almost identical-looking beagles. I searched and I searched by, try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to spot my pup.*

So, instead of trying to search through them all, dog by dog, I decided to think smarter not harder and have the entire pack perform a series of very specific tricks. First, sit. Then, lay down. Roll over. Sit up. Give paw. Speak.

And while all the dogs were sitting and rolling over and giving paw, I quickly spotted the one pup who was instead completely ignoring me and busy sticking her entire head into one of my slippers, with a great big stupid moron puppy grin on her face.

And that’s how I found my Chloe again. : )

*The beginning part of this dream is almost identical to a reoccurring nightmare I used to have when I was a child, where I lost my Pop Pop in a large group of men who all looked just like my Pop Pop, but I couldn’t seem to find the Pop Pop that was mine. I would wake up crying and make my parents call my Pop Pop, just to make sure that he was still there.

Hey kids,

So I bought and read the latest issue of AMELIA COLE AND THE UNKNOWN WORLD today, a comic I have recommended before, and found an awesome little Easter Egg at the bottom of page 16.

Yep, Officer Freeman is pickin’ up cold, refreshing six-pack of Patrick’s Punch-Up Brew! LOL!

Issue number four  of AMELIA COLE is out now and is written by Eisner and Harvey award winners Adam P. Knave & D.J. Kirkbride, drawn by Nick Brokenshire, and lettered by Rachel Deering. And, as if you needed another reason to be reading this book, all November proceeds of AMELIA COLE — and other MonkeyBrain titles — are being donated to the Hero Initiative! So read some awesome comics and help out a worthy cause!

My friend Scott posts a daily writing prompt for his creative friends on Facebook. Today’s subject was “The oddest item left in a lost-and-found box.” I usually only respond with a haiku or a quick paragraph, just to participate or to get the creative juices flowing before I start writing comics or working on freelance stuff. Today, I wrote this:

The Bottle

I told the security guard at the _______ that I lost my umbrella and could I please see if someone turned it in at the lost and found.

He looked up from his newspaper, half-shrugged, and pointed down the adjacent hall. “Box’s in the closet. Second door on the left.”

I walked down the hall, looking behind me to check if the guy could still see me from the security desk. Not from back behind the sports section, he couldn’t.

I opened the door, spotted the box on the floor, and started digging.

There were a few dogeared paperbacks, a workout DVD, a busted disc man, some janky-ass knotted up headphones, two country and one gospel music CDs, three action figures, a raggedy doll, a baseball, an old shoe, a cell phone, car keys, a camera, an umbrella – That’s why you always tell the guard you lost your umbrella. Every lost and found box has at least one. – one envelope containing photographs taken at a party and another holding twelve dollars and sixty-three cents.

All labeled with the date they went into the box.

Tip Number 1: If you’re just out for the thrill of the hunt, look for the labels with the oldest date. Nobody’s coming back for those. Tip Number 2: You have to be careful if you take more recent deposits, especially electronics and things of value. Sometimes the guards do actually do they’re jobs make you sign in or, at the very least, will remember a face. Tip Number 3: Don’t hit the same place twice in one week and, if you do, at least wait until a different guard is on post.

I pick up the cell phone, the camera, both envelopes and stuff them in my pants pocket – I can maybe get some money for the gadgets and the party pics might be worth a laugh. – and take the umbrella, so the guard doesn’t notice how long I was back there and start to suspect what else I may have taken.

I shift the leftover items a bit, so it doesn’t look too obvious, and, just before I stand up and close the closet door, I spot it.

Down at the bottom of the box, hidden underneath a couple of books and loose sheets of what look like someone’s chemistry notes, is a small roundish greenish bottle. It looks almost like a snow globe, except there isn’t a miniature city scene proving you visited Niagara Falls or Disneyland or wherever inside and the glitter doesn’t settle at the bottom. It just keeps swirling. And GLOWING.

Written in small letters on a bronze plate are the words THE GHOST OF JEBEDIAH HOLLINGSWORTH.

I pick it up by the red ribbon wrapped around the neck and, for a second, consider removing the cork to see what’s inside.

I stifle the urge and stuff the bottle in pocket of my hoodie. It will make for a cool conversation piece on my coffee table or mantle. The ghost I stole.

“Found it!” I sang, gleefully waving the umbrella as I marched past the security desk and out the door. The guard acknowledged with a grunt, although, I’m not entirely sure if he even looked up from his paper.

Now there’s something you should probably know about me. I’m not exactly the superstitious type. I don’t believe in ghosts or the boogeyman, magic, witchcraft, voodoo, hoodoo, or Yoo-Hoo.

But none of my problems started until I took that damned bottle…