Unpleasant Twisted Cynic's-ville


Look who/what jumped the gun…

The “Space Dykes…” piece got such a swell reception on my facebook account that I decided to go ahead and make it into a T-Shirt. They’ll be going for $15 a pop at some local skateshops here in Panama; hope it does as well on the physical market as it did in loserville-I mean facebook.
Here are a coupla’ pics of it. Oh, and just in case… to anyone interested, I accept paypal and I’m willing to ship internationally (contact me here jfrochaux@gmail.com).

Ok,
J.

me

Remember folks: If you are interested in using any of the illustrations that appear on this blog, and/or have any questions regarding John Frochaux’s (me) work and services please contact me at frojax@frojax.com.


All content and images displayed on this blog are the sole property of John Frochaux. Unauthorized use may result in legal action against the respective parties. All rights reserved 2010. So be kind, rewind.

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Smokin’ Hot Space Dykes from Planet Twat

I can already smell the burning torches and the rallied mobs. That’s the title of the post and I suppose I’ll be sticking with it. I know its pretty offensive, so I’m gonna ask you to cut me a little slack. Female friends of mine and feminists I’m looking in your direction. C’mon, its not like I’m drawing Nazis or nothing-oh, wait… scratch that.

These two lovely ladies are part of a character design project I’ve decided to take on for an upcoming comic strip. Un PC and misogynistic as it undoubtedly is, I’m pretty sure that’s also going to be the title of said strip, “Smokin’ Hot Space Dykes from Planet Twat”. Entertainingly presented in all its amateurishly drawn flare, I can promise you that it’ll be funny in an offbeat and tasteless sort of way.

The story line is as campy and Ed Wood-a-fied as humanly possible; two smokin’ straight girls (at least I think they’re smokin’) are lost in space, forced to depend exclusively on each other. Because of the circumstantial co-depencecy they’ve developed a slightly homosexual relationship over time. I’d say that this premise is absolute Pulp gold, Fredric Brown eat your heart out. I plan on making this strip more dialogue oriented than anything, but I won’t skimp on the occasional zapping of aliens and other ne’er do wells. Oh, and don’t think they’re dressed to the nines in dominatrix gear for nothing, no sir, that stuff all has its purpose. You’ll find out soon enough.

Space Dykes

Remember folks: If you are interested in using any of the illustrations that appear on this blog, and/or have any questions regarding John Frochaux’s (me) work and services please contact me at frojax@frojax.com.


All content and images displayed on this blog are the sole property of John Frochaux. Unauthorized use may result in legal action against the respective parties. All rights reserved 2010. So be kind, rewind.



ARCADE UPDATE #1: Mail order madness

Finally, after some anticipation, the parts needed to build the arcade’s control panel arrived today; so far I’ve only been able to create a not so very detailed mockup of the controls. Hopefully by the end of next week I’ll have this part of the project chopped, cased, and hooked up to the working computer (which I’ve yet to put together). I’d say that I’m hardly off to a “start” of any kind; the buttons and joysticks are still in their plastic packaging along with the PS/2 chip.
On the other hand, its good to already have the greater part of the components needed to start the project on my side of the court. Now if I can only find some time for a Ground Breaking Ceremony.

joy.jpg

kid.jpg



Tools: a pale new dawn

Just last week my toilet attempted to take a midnight wiz all over my apartment and I was brought down to my knees (literally) to tightly hold a metal tube that had been punctured by fluctuating water pressure for the greater part of an hour. Fifty minutes and a nightmarish leg cramp after, the plumber showed up and fixed my disobedient plumbing with the daintiest twist of a wrench. Our minuit affair ended in a $100 plumbing bill. After an otherwise restful night, I decided that some changes had to be made.
There comes a time in every man’s life when some things need to be decided upon; things such as a insurance providers, appropriate coverage, weight loss, dieting, 70’s Ramones vs 80’s Ramones, arcade cabinet building, and marriage. But before any of the aforementioned queries can be tackled, a man must have the correct tools to successfully run life’s four-minute mile; in other words what is a man without tools? I’m hardly speaking metaphorically here folks, I don’t mean tools as in knowledge and/or intellectual well roundedness when standing on one of life’s proverbial cross roads. I’m talking about the galvanized and iron foundered tools you buy at the hardware store. Tools that, when used skillfully, posses the power to turn you into the handiest of men.
Today I crossed one of life’s portals, thus leading me into another facet of pseudo-adulthood. Today I maximized an aspect of my life… today I purchased my first complete toolbox, and I’ll point out that this wasn’t a pre-assembled set, no sir! My toolbox was strategically hand picked tool by tool by yours truly. Carefully tailored and designed to cater to any household situations and/or malfunction that may need the attention of variant degrees of brawn, craftiness, and of course tools.
While shopping for said toolbox, I took some things into consideration like; durability, usability, and stainless steel vs. other metals (i.e. When threatening someone with a hand-tool, a stainless steel wrench has more of an effective visual effect than a metal one because of the former’s polished finish. If faced with having to actually carrying out said threat you run the risk losing your tool; a metal wrench has a lower opportunity cost than one made of stainless steel. Conclusion: stainless steel is best for threats and impressing other kin folk, and in comparison metal is more expendable as far as cost go).
Once I had chosen all of my pliers, socket wrenches, and general tool-ery I made my way to the front checkout a paid. As I walked to the car toolbox in-hand, my innards rewarded with the feeling you get when you know you’ve acted efficiently. My gut echoed “John, this was a wise purchase”.
Upon my arrival at the apartment I praised myself for having done well, and proceeded to call family members and friends alike to indirectly inform them of my current status of Toolbox Owner/Craftyman.

Craftyman



Groundings, “Santa’s”, and e-mail

While my parents boxed the trinkets and furniture from their Florida home in preparation for their end of the month move to Central America, my father found this:

Deal with the kids

A contract made by my brother and myself dating back to December of ’93 that reads exactly as follows:
“December 4 1993
if you take us to Santa’s we promise we will behaive if we dont you mai ground us for a month
expires January 1
sign
Christophe Frochaux
John Frochaux”

You can tell that contrary to my earmark, my brother had already established a working signature long before he penned up this here agreement, though I will say that it’s pretty endearing to see my infantile attempt at creating a signature just for the occasion. If you examine my signature (the one on the bottom) you’ll find that many of the elements found on Chris’ J. Hancock can be found in mine; it almost appears as if I’m using Chris’ as a template for signature making. Cue the “endeared public” sigh.
By “Santa’s” we were referring to a somewhat popular Miami theme park (fittingly named “Santa’s Enchanted Forest”) that opens every year during the x-mas holidays.
In hindsight, this really paints my parents as severe and overly strict reactionary-types (something they aren’t in the least). Seems like the only way we could manage to obtain a trip to the theme park was through documented bargaining; I mean, a month of unspecified punishment in exchange for a trip to the amusement park? Talk about all the eggs in a single basket, you’d think “Santa’s” was made of candy that made you grow wings and video games.
I’m sure I objected to offering this sort of collateral, but my brother has always been known to drive a pretty solid bargain so I’m sure I caved after one of his often-persuasive speeches, I’m pretty sure that in a passed life Chris was a Snake Oil salesman in the old west.

In the end I do remember going to “Santa’s” that year and really getting a kick out of it. Over the years I grew, and like many things when you grow, “Santa’s” progressively lost a good amount of its luster; I began to notice the carnies, the people, the allowance factor, and before I knew it the desire to attend “Santa’s” had just faded, only leaving behind entertainingly written contracts for my father to e-mail other folks in the future.

Thanks dad.



Ramones, Murder, and Youtube.

During my daily news-read, I came across this very disturbing article about Linda Stein’s (Ramones’ manager at one point) murder, something I hadn’t the slightest knowledge of.
Linda Stein worked with the Ramones for many years before going into real estate, and was responsible for booking the band’s infamous appearance in London’s Roundhouse in 1976, which turned out to be one of the most pivotal moments in the band’s career, if not the most; an event that defined the future of punk rock. I
won’t go into a long-winded diatribe about the origins of punk rock, but I will say this: The Ramones created and defined punk rock, Malcolm Mclaren just found a way to massively cash in on it.