Relocating

Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes...

Yes. And sorry. Aberrantly Errant is closed, semi-indefinitely.

It may return someday, but for the moment, there is no new content in the works. Well, there is one new content in the works, but who knows when I'll get around to it.

IN THE MEANTIME, though, check out my new blog, which is not drawing-related, but rather, cooking-related.

dontmesswithachef.blogspot.com

Go there. It's delicious.

The One Animal I Can't Draw

When I seriously apply myself to it, I'm actually a passable drawer doodler. Why, thanks to high school and college, I've had much and more experience doodling, predominately in the margins of notebooks (which always made it look like I was taking very furious notes). Over the years, I've come to find that I can sketch out most things quite competently, especially animals.

My 4th-grade teacher hated this about me, especially when I would add illustrated menageries to my assignments. I mean, I'd do the work, but I'd also put some animals on the top of the page. You know, for flair. This resulted in getting points marked off of pretty much everything I turned in, but always with comments like, "Beautiful drawings, but stop doing this!", which my 4th-grade (and 23-year old) mind found (and still finds) ridiculously unfair.

So, due to years of honing these mad skills of mine, I can doodle most animals with the utmost cartoonish acuity, such as...

See? Passable doodles, if I do say so myself.

HOWEVER ---

One animal in particular, to this day, thwarts my every attempt at successfully manifesting it upon paper. If I had to draw it to prevent myself from being stabbed in the body a copious amount of times, my body would be copious amount of timesly stabbed. It is... the horse. The motherfucking horse.

I don't know what it is. Every time I try to draw a horse, my hand reaches Miss Utah levels of stupidity. It took me years just to be able to draw a horse's body, which I can actually do pretty well. The head, though... it's just impossible for me. So, I try as much as possible to avoid drawing horses, leaving all of my fantasy-inspired sketches with knights riding hippos instead.

What? They're quadrupedal and fast as shit. Why not hippos?

But every once in a while, I get the insatiable urge to draw a horse, mostly to prove to myself that I can do it. And it always ends... terribly.

Looking good...

Looking kind of good...

Looking... like it has four legs.

Fuck.

In case you can't see it up there, here's a close up of my horse AKA how not to draw a horse:

I reverted to my tried-and-true 4th-grade tactic of adding the sound the animal makes to let you know what animal it's supposed to be.

It's like an equine Cthulhu. So, you're welcome for the idea, Lovecraft fans. Feel free to take it. I certainly do not want it. To everyone else, now you know what form your nightmares will take tonight. Ha! Get it? NightMARE? ... Okay bye.

The Enemy

My friends. It has been a long time. For this, I am somewhat sorry and mostly to blame. Mostly. As you will soon see, through a series of posts I have planned and ready to go (for real), I have been plagued by my greatest enemy. A fiend SO POWERFUL that I have needed to consolidate all of my efforts to thwart him. 

That's right, friends. Evil is afoot, and evil bears the dreaded name of...

P.R.O.C.R.A.S.T.I.N.A.T.O.R.!!!

BEWARE!!!

For the malicious P.R.O.C.R.A.S.T.I.N.A.T.O.R. can (and will) strike at any time! He fears neither the bright of the day nor the shade of the night! No locked door can stop him, and no precautionary word can keep him at bay! P.R.O.C.R.A.S.T.I.N.A.T.O.R. assaults the masses indiscriminately, and does such as he sees fit! NONE ARE SAFE!

But...

There is a small glimmer of hope for us, the weakened, huddled souls, lost against the torrents of delayed work that P.R.O.C.R.A.S.T.I.N.A.T.O.R. doth slam upon us.

To be continued...

Happy Holidays!

Happy holidays, everyone. Watch out for cacophonous carolers.

The Cats

WOW this post is overdue. My bad. But I was motivated to post today since the world is supposedly ending and I wanted to say that I had at least 1 post a month since I started this blog.

Also, for some reason, Blogger believes that this post should be double-spaced. I wasn't included in that decision-making process, nor do I agree with it, but there's nothing I can do about it. 

Anyway, on with it. 

My friends, I have a problem I need to share with you all. It's not all that serious, but it is most certainly impeding. I just need to know if anyone else suffers from this affliction, which I have taken the courtesy of aptly naming "Sicofokencatsitis". 

For those of you with normal brains, that means I see cats fucking everywhere and I can't take it anymore.

Except not usually that cute or well-defined.

I can't explain why it's cats that I see. What I have deduced is that usually, it's just that my brain mistakes everyday objects and uncharacterizable piles of rubbish for cats. And when you think about it, it kinda makes sense. I mean because cats (and other small animals) do bear a great resemblance to lumpy piles.

Anyway, this is especially detrimental when I'm driving, since the roads of Chicago are littered with lumpy piles of stuff and also hobos. But mostly the former. To me, though? All of those lumpy piles are cats. Or absolutely nothing at all. Maybe just the sun reflecting strangely off of a manhole. 

My car looks nothing like that. This is why I stick to stick-figures.

And around the house, it's even worse. I spend most of the day trying to figure out if things are cats or normal objects. It's terribly debilitating. 

All I want for Christmas is a scanner.

And, because yours truly believes dirty clothes belong on the floor, scattered in various locales, along with having issues with short-term memory, mere seconds after strewing my clothes about rooms like a talentless stripper, I see cats. And then second guess if they are cats or clothes.

The pile of clothes cat gets me every time.

 Please, dear readers, tell me if any of you suffer from this calamitous disease, Sicofokencatsitis. I need a support group. We can call ourselves (I for real typed "ourselfs" first. Damn.) "Sicos Anonymous"... Wait. No, not that. "Cat-seers Anon"... No... Not that either. I'll figure it out and let you know.