Honeymoonin'

Well, on July 1st, 2006, I was married to the girl of my dreams.
But...I'm not here to talk about that...I'm here to talk about the rockin' good time we had afterward.

Our destination: Sunny St. Petersburg, FL

Step 1: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Yeah, I hate flying, but my wife's only stipulation was that we go somewhere that required flying...and since I didn't think she'd be too happy about flying to Branson, I thought Florida would work.


Left: Here we are on the plane. Don't worry. I was smiling on the outside, but about ready to puke on the inside. Isn't she beautiful?

The plane ride was uneventful: no terrorists, no delays, no falling screaming from the sky.We made it safely to the wonderful state of Florida or as one of my friends call it, God's Waiting Room.

We were booked at the swankiest and pinkest hotel that St. Petersburg could afford, but the simple fact that it was twenty miles from the airport made renting a car a necessity.

I was kind of upset that I was going to have to pay about $150 extra just because I was under the 25 cutoff, but at the rent-a-car place, they never asked. Let's just say that it was Enterprise's way of giving me an unofficial wedding present.

Left: Rachel wanted to call it Honey. I just called it Sweet.

Much to our surprise, we didn't have to drive an '85 hatchback.

It was actually rather cool. I mean, it still looked like something my Grandma would buy in her end-of-life crisis, but, hey...

It was fun jetting around in this thing all week.



Step 2: Bayfront Room

Like I said, our hotel was pretty fancy (not to mention pink). It was so fancy, in fact, that we seemed to be the local riff-raff who somehow scrounged up enough money to stay there. It wasn't all bad.

It was right on St. Petersburg Bay.






Well, to make a long story short... just pretty much hung around the hotel room. They had a cool pool and a snobby downtown district where we ate overpriced food, but it was great. It's nice to live life richly for a while.

There was a Salivdor Dali museum down the road that I was really excited about...but it turned out to be pretty disappointing. There were a lot of his older paintings, but I more of fan of his older stuff. The ones we saw were HUGE though...they filled almost a whole wall. You don't realize that just looking at it. Anyway...no melting clocks...it kinda sucked.

Step 3: The Main Attraction

The stay, the sights, and the food were all great, but I have to saw this was my favorite part. Yes, I'm talking about a tree--but not just any tree. THIS was a FLATWOOD tree (officially called a Banyan Tree, but for me, Flatwood Tree).

See how cool it is? It seriously looked like something out of a fantasy. It had these roots that grew out of its branches and trailed down almost to the ground. It was weird.
























The body of it looked like it was made up of several different trees all twisted together. I must have took about seventy pictures of the thing. It's going in the comic...I just don't know where yet.

Here I am with my favorite attraction. I think this was the point that Rachel started to get a little scared. Haha.

It was like meeting a celebrity or something.










Step 4: The End of All Things

It was a great week. It didn't fly by...but it didn't drag either. We went to Clearwater Beach one day. That was fun--but hanging out with my best friend in a tropical paradise was great, too.

Now, we're back in good old Missouri, and we couldn't be happier. Time for me to get back into the old Flatwood grind. I'll have to think of some depressing things to keep me inspired. Just kidding.



Left: My Lovely Bride

So, once we get some wedding pictures back, I'll be sure to leave some of those here as well. Thanks for reading. And remember, it's not a Banyan tree, it's a Flatwood tree.

Goin' to the Chapel

Well, the Day's almost here: July 1st, 2006. I'm getting pretty excited.

I'm moving into our new house in four days. It's a busy time.

This is a picture I drew for our wedding program. I just wanted to share it with you all.

The Bagman Ballad

Here is a song that will be sung in the months to come by a new character called Asher.
He is a member of a group called Camp Gethsemane.
You might recognize the subject of this ballad.

The Bagman Ballad
As sung by Asher of Camp Gethsemane

A man, bag o’er his face
Bade me walk wit ‘im one day
Down the paths that few will stray
and keep ‘is lively pace

‘E showed me trees
‘E spoke the breeze
‘E broke the dew up’n ‘is knee

And through ‘is eyn
I were ab’l to see
Things to come
Things to be

Sat ‘e once
Upon a steed
Now, I see
‘E walks by me
Now, I see
‘E walks by me

And through ‘is eyn
I am ab’l to see
Things to come
Things to be

The Lay of the White Rider

Here is yet another entry in the Mythology of Flatwood. It may or may not shed some light on the identity and/or history of the White Rider. This is only one account and may or may not be true. Oral histories have a tendency to become overexaggeration or even diluted through the telling. But enjoy it for what it is worth.

Time, once is had began,
Progressed for Man and
So his need increased,
And he took of the Wood
And made his home elsewhere.

He had many children,
And they took of the Wood,
Making their own homes elsewhere.
Ever and anon townships sprang forth,
Great gatherings of Men,
And the Wood was forgotten
For none lived there
Beneath the boughs.

In this time,
No one sang to Those Who Watched,
No one prayed to the White One,
No one mourned the Great White Stump
Or what it had once been.

Only the old goatherds would wander the Wood
For now it was deemed evil and wild—
The grip of the past was too strong there—
And Man was no longer its ruler.

And it came to pass
That an old goatherd,
One who had little of his wits about him,
Upon a day,
Found his way unto the Great White Stump.
And there a noise that did not sound unlike
The cry of a kid
Fell upon his ears.

He walked closer
thinking perhaps he had lost one of his fold,
But the sound did not come from the base,
But from the height of the Great Stump.

“What could make such a noise?” he wondered,
And he took it upon himself to climb and see.
After much toil, he reached the height,
And there on the top of the stump was a baby boy.

The child had hair of white and skin as milk.
His eyen were the palest the old goatherd had ever seen.
He looked for some in his midst.
“Who had left this child?” he wondered.
But he saw no one.
Even his simple mind knew that this babe
Had been left in the Wood to die.
Being a kind man, he resolved
To take the child as his own.
“I shall take this child as my own.
For he hath none in the world to care for him,”
He said, and it was done.

The old goatherd raised the white-haired child,
Teaching him the ways of the goatherd.
He was taught how to heal the broken hoof,
How to follow the call of a lost buck or doe,
How to tend the herd and make sure none strayed from the rest.

He was the kindest child that ere had been.
He found simple joy in the tending and care of the goats.
The old goatherd watched this with much happiness.
“Thou art one with the goat, my son,” he told the boy.
“Thou art as white as the milk that comes forth from their body.”
Although the old goatherd observed all this and was pleased,
He saw that the boy never spake
Nor learned the art of speech.

It came to pass that the Wood grew darker and darker with every year.
Evil things lived there now—vile things whose
Bellies drag the ground
And whose eyes carry nothing but malice.

The road that bore travellers through the Wood
Was no longer safe to traverse
Beasts fell upon wayfarers—
Black beasts whom all feared.

And as blackness spread throughout the Wood,
The boy grew into manhood,
Though he remained simple and dumb.

Anon the people of the township began to
Murmur and utter strange omens.
Those who lived nigh to the Wood
Were rumored to be in accoradance with its darkness.

The old goatherd and his mute son
Were blamed for the evils that surrounded them there.
“Those are queer folk,” the hard-hearted villagers would say.
“No good comes from them. They have bewitched the Wood.”

For fear of their safety,
The old goatherd drew him and his son
Deeper into the darkening Wood.

Anon it became that only fools and robbers would dare
Travel the road betwixt the townships.
Only the gravest or most selfish mission
Drove them beneath the black boughs.
And this caused much sorrow.

In the township there was an holy man
Who could see beyond the veil of this world and to the next,
And it was to him that the people ran crying.
“Tell us how we may heal the road.
Without it, we shall die—cut off from the world.”

“The White One hath not forgotten us,” the old man said.
“He hath sent his champion to clear the way.”
At this, the people praised him in their foolishness—
Forgetting he from whom the message was sent—
And took heart.

Anon news of a strange knight seen in the Wood
reached the township.
Parties had been waylaid along the road,
But a White Rider had saved him, they said.
No one had known his face—
For it was shrouded in a white cloak.
He rode on a white horse, they said.
And his sword and armor shone like the sun.

“He is the servant of the White One, sent to
Save us,” the people cried, and they were glad.
Time and time again the Black Beasts
Were driven back and the paths made clear.
But ever so often the Knight came,
He would be vanished ere any could know his name.

And it came to pass that the people
Began to murmur.
“Wherefore should we not know his face?
Who is the person of this strange man?
It was for us that he was sent.”

And it was decided that they should leave
Snares for the White Knight.
Deceits and ways of cunning that they
Might know his true self.
But he eluded them all.
And the people were wroth.

Upon a day, the old goatherd and his son
Were tending their flocks in the fringe of the Wood.
From afar, they heard a great noise rise up,
And weening it to be trouble, they went
To see what noise it was.

A crowd from the township had
Chased a man into the Wood.
The voice they had heard was that
Of an holy man—the same who had
Predicted the coming of the Knight.

“Tell us the name of the Knight most blank, old fool!”
They cried at him, ever coming at him with upraised arms.

“Miscreants!” cried the holy man.
“Do ye know what ye ask?”
“Tell us or we shall pluck out thy eyen!”
Cried the cruel and foolish people.

The idiot son of the goatherd heard their cries
And was sore distressed.
“Do nothing, my son,” said the old goatherd.
“These are wicked people, and they shall have their will.”

But the son did not list—
The gathering was nigh the Great White Stump—
And he tore forward and climbed to its height
And spake the first words he had ever spake.

Crying out,
“Wherefore doth ye persecute yon holy man?
I am he whom ye seek—
I am the Rider in White!”

The gathering of people was struck dumb for a time.
They could not ween the idiot boy of the goatherd had spake.
Then they became wroth.

Crying, “Fool boy! How dare thee speak falsely about such a matter!”
“I have spake the Truth,” said the idiot boy.
Then they laughed. “How it is that the idiot son
Of a goatherd is a mighty knight? He who cannot speak.
And tendeth the goats?
Where is thy mighty trappings?
Where is thy armor?
Where is thy horse?
We shall cut out thy tongue for such lies!”

“Such secrets are between me and my master.
But know that I speak the Truth.
I am He,” said the goatherd’s son.

Then the people became wroth out of measure.
“Blasphemer! Traitor! Mothered by the goats ye tend!
Thou hast been sent by the monsters of the Wood!
To blind us! To keep us from the truth!
Silence thy mouth, or we shall silence it for you!”

“Come away, boy!” cried the old goatherd.
“They shall tear thee to pieces! They are not in their minds!”

But the boy did not list.
“I have been gifted speech to speak the Truth.
If I do not, I shall be stricken dumb,” said the boy.

“We shall strike thee dumb! For your falsehoods!”
Cried the people, and they dragged the young boy from the Stump.
And having done so, they gathered up the rocks that they could find.

“No! No! Ye cannot kill this boy! He hath done nothing in error!”
Cried the old goatherd. But his pleading fell upon deaf ears.

They threw the boy against the base of the Stump
They threw the hard stones against him without mercy.
They crushed his bones with their heel.
They raged until they could rage no longer.
The boy was dead.
He had not made a sound.
His time for speech hath ended.
The old goatherd fell to his knees and wept.

The holy man knelt beside the boy’s crushed body.
His blood hath stained his blank face crimson.
“What have ye done?” cried the holy man.
“He spake the Truth. It was he who rode the white horse.
It was he who saved ye from the terrors of the night.
How have ye been so blind?”

Then the people stared dumbfounded.
Some began to lament.
Others let forth no sorrow.

The White One, seeing his champion so asundered,
Make the Earth to quake and the trees to rumble.
And the people fled before his face
Crying for mercy.

But mercy had they had, and mercy had they cast aside.

The Great White Stump—touched by the boy’s blood—
Grew dark with it.
And the holy man blessed the place
Where he fell.

The old goatherd took the crumpled body of the boy
Upon his shoulder
And made his way through the Wood—
Weeping all the while.

He passed many townships—
Carrying the broken body of the boy.
They all marveled at his sorrow,
And wondered what manner of man
Deserving of such a dole of sadness.

At last the old goadherd reached a great lake—
And there in a barge upon its midst,
Were three beautiful damosels, shining like the sun.

They were singing and their voices were like the honey of the vine
For they were Those Who Watch.
And they took the body of the boy
From the old goatherd
And placed it upon their barge saying,

“Do not weep, noble man.
Count yourself blessed,
For among all the world of men,
He hath chosen you to bear him.
We take him now
To the White Wood of his master,
But He shall return
When the Wood of Man hath once again grown dark
And in all the world there is no light.”


And so their presence left the old goatherd.
The barge disappeared upon the misty lake,
Bearing the body of the boy to the far shore of Malkata,
And he took great comfort from their words.

He lived out the rest of his days
In the heart of the Wood.
No black beast once again appeared on the road.
No great evil plagued the travelers.
But the White Rider appeared never again.
And the people perceived this.
And many saw the Truth of their actions and wept.

And when the old goatherd died,
They took his body and buried it right well
Saying, “Wise was the one we called fool.
Great was his counsel, though we heeded it not.
He hath made us all recreant unto him.”

And so shall the White Rider sleep
In that distant Wood
Until the day when he is needed most
When he shall return to bring
Light into this Wood once more.

Birthday Present #3

Check out this awesome addition to my birthday presents. It was sent in by the same person that sent in #1. Great Job! This is a great scenario: Malebolge vs. AEnemo.

Birthday Present #2

Check this out! It's from SlipDiscDon, the creator of the hilarious Camp Alaska. Isn't it great?

Click the picture to enlarge it.

Birthday Present #1

All right!
My first birthday present!
Isn't it cool?
This is from Whizzbang Productions! (Click on the picture to see the full magnitude of this piece)

Title: "The Hobo Currently Known as Prince"

(Witty! Haha!)