Not from this planet

commissioner gordon: Harley and Ivy have hijacked an AM radio station and taken the employees hostage

batman: what are their demands?

commissioner gordon: they haven’t issued any. they, uh.

batman:

[commisioner gordon turns on the radio]

harley: —you gotta walk away, sweetie. His family sounds completely toxic, if not outright emotionally abusive, and he’s too enmeshed to see it.

caller: no, you’re right. you’re right. I gotta do it.

harley: you got this, honey. now, stay on the line a minute, I’m writing down some the names of some books for you and you can get those from Ivy after we’re done. okay! our next caller —

[commisioner gordon turns off the radio]

batman: what station is this?

commisioner gordon: WGTM.

batman: the one that rebroadcasts rush limbaugh?

commissioner gordon:

batman:

"My cat keeps attacking my feet."

"How often do you play with him?"

"Not as much as I should, but he has a basket of toys right there where he can reach it."

Cause the guy's whole deal is him lashing out at society for rejecting him because he has a skin condition (ignoring the cannibalism in certain adaptations), which means radio would be perfect for him. People can't see him, they can only hear him, and I imagine he has a sort of warm scratchy voice that sounds like he chainsmokes and it feels warm like an old wool blanket

Maybe he tells stories, maybe he does interviews, maybe he takes calls, whatever. But he becomes a fixture of late night Gotham, beloved by late shift workers and night owls, and Waylon Jones becomes a household name amongst a decent chunk of Gotham. That way, when he's eventually outed, people stop reacting like "AAH A CROCODILE MAN" and start being like "hey, it's our Waylon!"

The show is sponsored by Wayne Enterprises.

If you ask Bruce in his billionaire-playboy-philanthropist-idiot persona, he’ll tell you talk radio is the fastest-growing communications segment in the country and you’ll be left wondering how the fuck this man runs a successful business.

If you are one of the select few who knows him in his “also I am Batman” capacity, he’ll tell you overall crime has gone down since the villain-run station has hit the air, and also if Harley Quinn can talk someone out of the early stages of an abusive relationship before he—or worse, the Gotham City Morgue—has to get involved, so much the better.

Just imagining Hatter or someone starts trying to use their portion to mindwash themselves an army and all the other rouges barge in on their segment and pummel them mid-talk. Cause-

"You are not ruining this for us Jeffrey!"

While Penguin or someone has taken over the segment and is providing live singing. And all listening just hear between the lovely singing; yelling, screams from their previous presenter and intermittent punching sounds before the song ends and all the noises seem to have stopped not that the station has muted but because they are all holding their breath.

The most tired sigh is let out before "Hand him over."

Shuffling and pained groans are heard.

Before a muffled "Good singing."

'click'

Here’s HSTHETE, the 24 hour comic I drew this year!  Thanks to everybody who followed along on twitter this weekend as I posted these pages <3

The thing tried to look thoughtful as he puffed on his unlit pipe. “I dunno,” he said. “I think it’s kinda neat.”

A chickadee fluttered down from the trees and landed on the thing’s hat. He didn’t notice; after a moment it flew away again in a blur of wings.

The creature stared. “Neat,” he repeated.

“Sure! See, I’m an impermanent creature.” He waggled his head with pride. “I am by design. I’m only gonna be around for a tiny, tiny amount of time, but in that time I get to enjoy–” He gestured vaguely. “Music. Christmas lights. Dancin’.”

“Dancing.”

“Have you ever danced, Mister Frankenstein?”

The creature flinched. Well, yes, the thing had asked him for his name, and that was as close as one that he had these days, but after all these years…

“I can’t say I have,” he said.

“Oh, you gotta go dancin’! My point is, this world is so full of lovely things, and now that I’m me, I get to enjoy ‘em.”

He looked out over the valley below and beamed. The snow shone bright enough to blind in the midday sun. “It’s the nicest thing to happen to a guy like me.”

A breeze whistled through the frozen branches. A chickadee fluttered by in a blur.

“Frosty, the longer I speak with you, the more I’m filled with the irrational urge to kiss you fully on the mouth,” said the creature.

start with the dancin’ and see

where we go from there.”

They're smart fuckin birds, I believe in them

Pinhole cast on

This cast on allows you to knit in the round starting from the centre without leaving a hole!

Shown here: Square 43: The Lifted One, from my book Learn to Knit in 50 Squares, which introduces this cast on alongside lifted increases

They get paid a small stipend by the Heroes Council for this, and they live off that.

No crime fighting, no obvious heroics, and they only took a Super Identity because it's technically hero's council policy. Nobody's ever seen them in a cape.

Like, they regularly act like they're getting away with something. They joke about how they get to earn money in their sleep. They show up to their hospital visits in deliberately ridiculous disguises, on the excuse that they need to 'protect their identity'.

Vimes was beginning to wish he had looked more closely at the most recent additions before Igor came lurching up the stairs to inform him:

"They have ethcaped, thir."

"Escaped. What has escaped, Igor."

"Thome of my.. appendageth, thir."

"Appendages."

"Yeth, thir. Of the... intimate variety."

"Of the intimate..." Vimes trailed off as the dawning horror overwhelmed his vocal cords.

He rallied. "Igor. HOW have they escaped? They are not known for their... perambulatory abilities."

"Really, thir? I've alwayth found them to have a mind of their own at timeth."

Vimes was staying calm. Yes. That was it. He was staying very calm. Definitely NOT thinking AT ALL about how Vetinari and... Good lord, The Times, would react to marauding pack of penises. Would it be a pack? Or would they go off on their own?

"I wath exthperimenting with cuthtom grown oneth, you know. For thothe who cannot grow their own."

[1] where an ordinary working class child CAN form a magical bond with a horse, in the form of a pie, labeled as beef.

“Mom has been texting me for the last twenty minutes. She wants me to come home. It’s a four hour drive, when the roads are clear, and from what I hear everybody is trying to get somewhere right now. There’s no telling if I’d even-”

“Everybody else has left. All the other kids were picked up, the other staff left. They gave me all the keys. I promised to stay and wait for as long as- well. Even if some of the parents show up, I guess some of them won’t, so I’m just waiting. Until.”

[Clears throat.]

“A couple of people came after everybody left. Peter, one of Aidan’s fathers, gave me three hundred dollars for staying. What am I going to do with money? It’s- anyway. I kind of get it. He wanted to give me something.”

[Audio ends]

[Audio starts]

“They’re all between 2 and 4.” Sniff. “They’re so little. Too little to really- maybe if they were older, I’d have to tell them something. But um. I’m just- trying to stay calm and keep them happy and occupied. I think that’s the best thing, right now.”

[Heaving breaths.]

“I normally use this recorder to help me remember stuff. It’s just, uh, habit to talk to it. I don’t know. They’re napping, right now. I’ve got the baby monitor, they know that if they talk into it, I’ll come, so-”

[Sobbing.]

[Audio ends]

[Audio starts]

“Mom keeps texting, so I blocked her. I sent her a text telling her goodbye, first, but. I do. But these kids need me.”

[Sniff.]

“I tried calling their parents again, but I can’t get anybody. It’s just busy signals. I called the firefighter station, 911. I can’t get through to anybody.”

[Shaky breath.]

“I went out into the yard. Um, I think they can play. It’s nice out, and you can’t really see it yet. Little bit of a glimmer, if they ask I’ll just tell them it’s a plane, but it’s nice out and we’ve got hours before-”

[Murmuring child’s voice, indistinguishable.]

[Audio ends]

Except during a tour of his he met who described as a young, nerdy Mexican kid who brought him a copy of the Phantom of the Paradise for him to sign. The kid wouldn't stop talking about how much he loved the soundtrack, and how much it inspired him. This kid was literally one of the few people in the world that loved the movie

It wasn't until Paul Williams ran into the kid all grown up did he realize it was Guillermo del Toro.

And it happened again, too! He also met a pair of young French men who wouldn't stop raving about how much they loved Phantom of the Paradise and how much it inspired them and their own band, Daft Punk. The three of them ended up doing an album together. An album that I would listen to on repeat while writing the early drafts of my book.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes the creative process seems cruel, unforgiving, and thankless. You can pour your heart and soul into something only to make zero waves. But even a so-called-failure can inspire and lift up someone that needs it. So you gotta keep creating, if only to be the next link in the chain of creativity and art.

Melt the ICE Hat Pattern

In the 1940’s, Norwegians made and wore red pointed hats with a tassel as a form of visual protest against Nazi occupation of their country. Within two years, the Nazis made these protest hats illegal and punishable by law to wear, make, or distribute. As purveyors of traditional craft, we felt it appropriate to revisit this design.

All proceeds from the sale of this pattern go to local immigrant aid organizations who will distribute the funds to those impacted by the actions of ICE.

Approximately 200 yards of RED yarn of your choice in fingering, DK, or Worsted weight.

The sample shown was knit in Blue Sky Fibers Skyland for the DK version

Suggested Needles

Fingering weight yarn: US #4 / 3.5mm

DK weight yarn: US #6 / 4mm

Worsted weight yarn: US #8 / 5mm

An otherwise rational man, my father describes the train encounter as love at first sight. Upon arrival, he began courting my mother with such subtlety that it took her two years to realize she was being courted. One spring morning, having finally begun to feel like a couple, they were walking across the lawn between the two dorms and decided it was time for them to have a whistle-call. At the time, Bulgarian couples customarily had whistle-calls distinctive tunes they came up with, usually borrowed from the melody of a favorite song, by which they could find each other in a crowd or summon one another from across the street.