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There’s a new Urf entry… Meet the Armish at http://theurf.wordpress.com
Cheers!
Phil
PS. Thanks to those people who purchased shirts and mugs on Cafe Press. I love you all.
There were a couple of requests for T-shirts over the last day or so, which prompted me to check out my Cafe Press store for the first time in months. Now, my Cafe Press store kind of depressed me. I was convinced I’d had no sales, as I thought I’d receive an email from CP if there was any action at my virtual cash register - but I’d heard nothing. So you can imagine my surprise when I logged in today and saw that I had made… wait for it… SEVEN SALES! HOLY SHIT!
Yeah, sure, that was my total sales from the last five or six months… but it was enough to make me put a load of new things up in the store. A
Anyway here’s the link: http://www.cafepress.com/therut
Now, if anybody needs me, I’ll be shopping for yachts while I wait for the millions to flow in. 
Cheers
Phil
Dear all,
A mate of mine, Paul Murphy, has just finished an indie film he wrote and starred in - it’s called “Hobby Farm” and it’s a dark and gritty Aussie gangster film. Violence? Oh there’s violence. And blood. What about flared jeans? Yes, there are plenty of those. It’s set in the 70’s after all.
Anyway, not only was it Murphy’s brainchild, and not only did he star in it, he also did a lot of the running about to secure all the money from investors to make the film in the first place. He (and director Brad Diebert) got some pretty well-known Aussie actors to star in it, and even got the film scored by Andrew giddings of JETHRO TULL. All up, the whole thing has been a monumental task, I’m telling you. The poor boy. After all the effort, he looks like he has cancer or something.
Anyways, hopefully I can help spread the word a little bit, to support independent cinema and all that. If you have a minute, go check out the trailer at http://www.hobbyfarmthemovie.com.au/
Cheers!
Phil
http://theurf.wordpress.com/2008/07/10/the-suck-whistle/
Sorry The Rut has been so quiet of late… it’s just that populating Urf is proving to be kind of fun. 
No, I didn’t just cough something up. “Urf” is the name of a new blog myself, Mike from See Mike Draw and Adam from [SITE YET TO BE CREATED] have started to put together. It’s really just a sandbox for us to play in, so stop by and see the Planet Urf slowly start to take shape!
Cheers
Phil
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NOTE: Just a quick re-draw of an older cartoon… if you’ve seen it before, sorry… but in the meantime, check out URF at http://theurf.wordpress.com
PS. I dedicate this post to all those would-be guitar heroes out there… and wish them a speedy recovery from that nasty bout of carpal tunnel.
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Expired Food News Flash!
While not quite as impressive as my cheese sauce from the last millennium (see a few posts back), Claire recently found in the cupboard a jar of stir fry sauce that expired in 2002. Finally! Some fresh food in the pantry!
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PS. This is from Pencils at Dawn a couple of weeks back. BTW, the next round of PAD should be up some time in the next few days!
After a tiny several-month hiatus, PAD is back with round 14 and the key word “NOWHERE”.
http://pencilsatdawn.wordpress.com
Cheers!
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A BRIEF HISTORY OF FOOD
My girlfriend Claire was cleaning out the cupboard today and made a remarkable discovery: a packet of “Continental Chicken Alfredo” recipe mix. Not all that interesting in itself… until you learn that it is in fact one of the most exciting archaeological discoveries since Howard Carter dug up the crispy King Tut.
Looks normal to you? Well look closer…
Yes, that’s right, I’ve had a packet of processed cheese sauce in my cupboard for eight and a half years. I’ll just let that sink in for a moment. Holy crap! This is food from the last millennium! Strange though, I have only lived in my current house for three years… so I must have been lugging this packet around with me all this time like it was a grandparent’s ashes or something.
Anyway, if anyone’s in the neighbourhood, we’re having chicken Alfredo at my house and you’re all welcome to join me.
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PS. I really need to start doing a few more single-framers… This one is almost as long as the movie version with Charlton Heston in it.
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PS. Sorry about the extended absence of leave. It appears that once the spluttering little 2-cylinder engine that is my brain is switched off (and a week on a Thai beach drinking cheap Thai beer will do that to you), it’s an absolute bitch to get it started again.
No, I won’t make excuses. Simple fact is, Christmas - while being a holiday - is also a horrid, draining chore that sucks the very life from a person. Well, at least, that’s what I like to tell my three year old nephew.
So anyway, I need a break, and so I’m taking one over Christmas, and am even going on a holiday to Thailand with my gal Claire (I will bring each of you back an actual, genuine 100% real Rolex). The long and the short of it is: no more cartoons ’til about mid-January on The Rut and Pencils at Dawn. I’ve got plenty of ideas knocking about the place, but it will only be after the holidays that I’ll actually get a chance to draw them up.
In the meantime, have a happy holiday and may you all come through last-minute Christmas shopping with all your limbs intact.
Cheers!
NOTE: This one’s going out to the Artist Currently Suing His Fans.
PS. I’m experimenting here by giving this post a boring yet functional name. Seems the ones with boring names get a steady stream of hits from google… or am I just imagining this??
NOTE: This one looks much better bigger. Click it! Click it now!
PS. As per usual, click for a larger image! (It looks better at the original resolution!)
PPS. I’ve a new one for The Rut in the works… by which I mean, I scribbled something on my pad last night, and I’ll eventually get around to drawing it up.
NOTE: Gosh, the first “Rut Only” cartoon in a while… now on to the next Pencils at Dawn cartoon!
Deja vu, you say? Yes, that would make sense. You see, this was an alternative to the Freud cartoon I put up yesterday on Pencils at Dawn. I didn’t want to post it… but my unconscious made me.
Guys,
If you have a bit of extra time to waste, go take a look at the new blog myself and Barn Dog have started. Not only will you get to see a friendship degenerate into a bitter feud, you also get to look at some neat-o cartoons! I hope you enjoy. http://pencilsatdawn.wordpress.com
Ps. To all my redheaded friends, I swear this is the only ginger hair gag I’ll ever do.
NOTE: Sorry about that little period of inactivity… Though technically it was a period of enormous activity, as I have been busy writing script after script for a freelance job I’ve taken on. It has been an all-encompassing task. I have spent days hunched over the laptop, living on microwave dinners and toast. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I have now got the flu. It’s manifested itself in the form of a rather nasty cough. Read this paragraph aloud and cough loudly after every third word for a simulation of my plight.
Anyways, bear with me through the coming weeks, as this freelance job ain’t done with me yet. However, I will be updating as often as is super-humanly possible, but there will be quiet periods. If one of these periods extends beyond a few weeks, please send help, as I may have collapsed on my laptop from microwave dinner- induced malnutrition.
Cheers!
Phil
NOTE: As usual, click for a bigger version.
Cheers!
NOTE: Click to see the cartoon in its entirety.
NOTE: Sorry all, but my boss is off on holidays so I’ve a mountain of work and only one brain, which, by the end of the day, has become a small, timid thing hiding in the back of my skull, whimpering and trembling from the ten hour flogging it has just received. But don’t worry, I will flog it some more ’til it coughs up some more ‘toons.
Tomorrow, that is. I’m rat-arse tired today.
Cheers
NOTE: Once again, another giant cartoon. So rather than squinting at the screen, just click on the image for a big, fat, easy-to-read version.
PS. This cartoon is for Lisa, who, for some reason, loves snails.
They don’t all sing and dance, you know.
I drew this because I was feeling particularly disillusioned with the corporate world. It’s all bollocks, really. We should be skipping happily through flower-filled meadows, not mouldering in an office with air-conditioning slowly drying our skin. We should be chasing butterflies, not hunting heads. And forget the fucking brandscape… the landscape is much prettier.
This photo is tres funny.
A couple of years ago, myself and three of my best mates went backpacking around Europe for a few months. One of the many, many drunken nights took place in Paris, and as we staggered back to the hostel, one of my mates, Barn Dog, thought it might be funny to run into a posh restaurant, take a photo, and run back out. So he did. It was all over in ten seconds, and this is the resulting photo.
You can see poor mademoiselle is utterly confused, and perhaps a bit taken aback by what she sees. But if you could see the drunken, unshaven, overly-tanned backpacker - and if you could also smell him after three months of living out of a backpack - you’d probably look a bit stunned too.
There was a companion video that went with this… I shot Barn Dog as he ran across the road and disappeared into the restaurant. We see a large flash illuminate the interior of the restaurant, and Barn Dog emerges giggling like a schoolgirl. Classic viewing, especially alongside this photo. Unfortunately, that video seems to have been lost to the ages… I think I deleted it accidentally the following night. Yes, I was drunk. 
…despite the holes in his feet.
I’ve got this big folder full of hundreds of cartoons, and the only ones reading them at the moment are silverfish. And they keep complaining that they’re not subtle enough for sophisticated silverfish sensibilities, so I might as well start putting ‘em up here.
Fact: Did you know silverfish can live for around 15 years? At least, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Hmmm. Better verify that with wikipedia. Hang on a sec.
Ok, just checked wikipedia, they say silverfish live for a thousand years, can burrow through concrete, and come from the third moon of Jupiter. Sounds like bullshit to me - I’m pretty sure it’s the second moon.
Found this cartoon in the front of my work pad.
I sure hope the guy gets lucky with the bag of coal. Though he could wind up looking like some kind of paedophile, you know, coz if he’s covered in coal dust it might look like he’s been sleeping with a minor. arf arf.
After several drinks at the pub the other night - and then several more drinks - my flatmate Barn Dog and I wandered the short distance home from the pub to discover that the house across the road was throwing a party. Quite a big party, too. There was loud music, there was drunken shouting and squealing, and staggering shapes were spilling out onto the front lawn, standing in groups, falling into bushes, and snogging each other. Thing is, we weren’t surprised at all. Didn’t even raise an eyebrow.
Because, you see, the house in question has been a bit of a pain in the arse, if truth be told. It’s hot here in Canberra, Australia this time of year. You have just gotta sleep with the window open or you will expire. Thing is, it’s hard to sleep with the window in my bedroom open because most nights some fucking ruckus is rolling forth from the little tits living across the road from us. Yes, I sound like an old man (I am 32, you know) but everyone’s allowed to have a bit of a whinge every now and then, aren’t they?
I had no idea what the people who lived in this house were like… all I knew is they were in a band, and I was guessing it was a shite band, too, because the bloke singing at the top of his lungs and playing the guitar most evenings only ever seems to play covers of Green Day songs. So as Barn Dog and I stood back and surveyed the Party House, we knew what we had to do.
It was time to meet the neighbours.
The first people we encountered as we approached the house looked about ten years old. Ok, I’m exaggerating… everyone looks young to me since I turned thirty a couple of years back. But jeez, these blokes couldn;t have been much beyond 18. I greeted one of them.
“Hey, how’s it going dude?” he replied. He then shook my hand using the old two-stage handshake (first the normal handshake, then the arm-wrestling position handshake) but it had been a while since I’d done it, so I was a bit awkward. I think he could sense my lack of cool from those opening seconds.
“So who’re you guys?” he asked.
“We live over there.” I point over yonder.
He suddenly becomes defensive… but then I realise why and explain to him, no, we’re not here to complain about the noise - we just came to crash the party. I decide to butter this guy up a bit, break down some barriers. “So there’s a band living here or something, right? I’m always hearing some bloke playing guitar and singing. He’s pretty good.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah dude, that’s [INSERT NAME I HAVE SINCE FORGOTTEN HERE. NO, ACTUALLY, LET'S JUST CALL HIM TONY]. He’s about to make it big! Their band [FORGOT THE BAND NAME TOO. LET'S JUST CALL THEM "THE BOGSHITES"] is about to get a break on Triple J!”
So after an awkward farewell handshake with this dude, Barn Dog and I enter the Party House, wander through the throngs of sozzled teens, and out into the backyard where we can smoke and look cool.
It was about this time I started to feel like a dirty old man mincing around outside a pre-school. They were all so YOUNG. Would the older guy thing seem cool? Or would we be treated like teachers on playground duty?
We spoke to a few different people, and no shit, they all harped on about Tony and the Bogshites like they were the next Beatles or something. There was some serious hero worship going on… It had me wishing I’d kept up the guitar, because I had no doubts that Tony - and probably most of the Bogshites - were going to get some lovin’ before the night was through.
Funnily enough, this whole Emo thing had passed me by until this night, but in this one night I saw a lifetime’s supply of the curious little critters. They were everywhere. Most of them would stare at you with a single, solitary eye, the other being hidden by a long fringe that disected their face. A young Emo with braces on his teeth was sitting on the ground strumming a guitar and singing “Under the Bridge”. Some Goths stood in a dark corner, barely perceptible.
I’m sorry to say we didn’t last more than ten minutes in there. Started sobering up, and then BAM! Suddenly I realised I wasn’t Frank the Tank from “Old School”; I was just the oldest guy at this party, and I was sobering up by the second. So we left. Never even got to meet Tony, either.
So I guess that’s the end of my days of partying. And also my first blog entry. G’night.
