Although my time as a Disney Imagineer was short, those were a formative few months for me. It’s a pity I had to sign that NDA— the stories I could tell. Let me just say, being “Ratatouilled” was a real thing. But hey, I’m smart enough to know not to fuck with the mouse.
This is a sketch of one of my prize-winning hens, Cluck Norris, the very first time he felt his innards rumble as a batch of his eggs started to form. Damn, you could savor the humiliation in an omelette made from the jumbo beauties that popped out of that gooney bird.
Oh boy, this is so exciting— a podcast where I got the rare opportunity to talk about my favorite subject— male humiliation. Nowadays, I think you'll agree, the world needs certain kinds of men being taken down a notch or two, or three, or four.
The king and his arrogant sons paid the price of disrespecting the Blue Fairy by being turned into frogs and spending the rest of their lives hiding in the pond behind their former castle. It's said that at night, one can still hear croaking that sounds like foolish men pleading for mercy.
Even after taking a quick wank break, Ralph couldn’t stop thinking about how, despite his new gig as a Pleasure Island mascot, he still wouldn’t be able to make his monthly child support payments. He desperately hoped Ralph Jr. never saw how far his old man had fallen.
From the moment he put on his donkey head at his new job as a Pleasure Island mascot, Tyler could hear the snap, crackle, and pop of his brain cells shorting out one by one. The sensation was strange but not completely unpleasant; in fact, it kind of tickled and gave him a boner.
Sometimes the simplest solution is the most effective
Most dudes have a change of heart when they see the salt mines.
I have such fun making these little videos, especially using audio. It adds another dimension of donkeydom to the project. It’s a pity that they are too avant-garde for most platforms.
Here's a promo animation I've created for a side hustle I have going on with a clinic that specializes in cosmetic de-donkification. My Mexican business partners tell me that business is a-boomin’, especially after Spring Break.
Happy Tax Day. Although there's a long history of gay illustrators fetishizing authority figures like cops and soldiers, I suspect I am unique in getting aroused by the dedicated bean counters of the IRS.
Did you know that I have a Discord channel where you can see all my animations and talk about Prince and Scoot and a whole bunch of other stuff?
discord.gg/twW65TKT5A
Someone asked if Scoot and Prince live in the same world. They don't, but I own a copy Prince's book and Scoot loves it when I read it aloud and show him the pictures.
“Please, Señor, I don’t want to be a donkey!” How many times has Dr. Sanchez heard that from a Pleasure Island escapee? Begging for mercy while pleading poverty isn’t going to sway the vet—to him, they’re just a bunch of stinking animals.
If only this cartoon of my puppy, Prince, had been picked up by some streaming service. Besides all the adventures he could have had, he would have been a positive role model for today’s youth, showing that they can have two balls between their legs and not be angry baddies.
I never told my sweet puppy, Prince, that the little picture book that told the story of a day in his life was banned from all public libraries because it would have made him cry. I guess folks were afraid of putting ideas in young men’s heads.
What? You’re telling me that you don’t have a Cronenbergian Transporter Pod of your own? Friend, you simply have to get one. I use mine for my transmogrification experiments, and, except for a few early whoopsidaisies, have been delighted with the results.
Some folks tell me that I should get my sweet Prince, fixed. They say he’ll be more well-behaved and therefore happier. I say that he is already the best little doggy a Master could have, and I would never dream of taking away his favorite playthings. Besides, he’s royalty.
My sweet puppy, Prince, loved making new friends at the dog park. Initially, I worried about him associating with the big alpha dogs, but somehow he’d always win them over. Sometimes their Masters would even ask to arrange special playdates for our boys.
My Prince got such joy from giving the world a quick spritz. I guess it was just a way for a little creature to leave his mark in this vast, cold universe. Although he’s long gone, his stains on my Persian carpets, baseboards, mid-century modern furniture, and pant legs remain.
If I named my puppy prince John-John, I would probably have to make him a brunette. I guess I shouldn’t have watched that last Ryan Murphy show.
Oh Rex, is an excellent royal name. I will remember that.
Pants are for people.
Coming up with a name for my royal pup was a real noodle-scratcher. At first, I thought of going classic Disney - Prince Phillip, Eric, Adam, etc. And then I thought about real-life scions - Prince Harry or John-John. Finally, in exasperation I just ended up calling him Prince.
Yes, and I have the papers to prove his lineage.
