Mike's in the comicbooks!

Hey guys,

You should all totally pick up TALES FROM THE CRYPT comicbook #13 "Diary of a Stinky Dead Kid" today, not just because I'm the assistant to the editor, but because my artist friend Rick Parker paid homage to me in the art. Check it, check it, out!





Yup. That be me name on them arcade machines. Cool, eh? I just got back from San Diego Comic Con and will have photos to upload later. I was interviewed for an online TV show about Tales from the Crypt and I'll share that once it's broadcast. Later!

-Mike

literally

I know it's been around for a while, but I just was introduced to this for the first time last night. It works so well because this is such a tough song to rework, but the singing is pretty impeccable.

mmm pie

It is nearly the weekend. I am not ashamed to say it. I need pie.



Sadly, that is not going to happen. But what will happen soon is fortification for the weekend.


Have a great weekend, gentle readers.

smooches,
MoB

p.s. is it just me, or would "Mmm Pie" make a great band name?

ch-ch-check it out

Our lovely emcees and friends (the exceptionally talented Anna and Nathan) from our Evening with "Bruce Campbell" are in a wicked new adaptation of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. We at Made of Babies will be in attendance. You all should come too. Details are below, or you can contact MoB for more information.

Dollar beers. In addition to seeing theater. And supporting two stellar individuals.

DOLLAR BEERS. Jump on it.

Goodburger At Rest

This is from before he had gastric bypass.

meow

Here is an old joke to help cleanse the palate.

A sadist, a masochist, a murderer, a necrophile, a zoophile and a pyromaniac
are all sitting on a bench in a mental institution.

"Let's have sex with a cat?" asked the zoophile.
"Let's have sex with the cat and then torture it," says the sadist.
"Let's have sex with the cat, torture it and then kill it,"
shouted the murderer.

"Let's have sex with the cat, torture it, kill it and then have
sex with it again," said the necrophile.
"Let's have sex with the cat, torture it, kill it, have sex with
it again and then burn it," said the pyromaniac.


There was silence. . . . . . . . . . . .and then the masochist said: "Meow."

New photo from Saturday.  Us with the Sparkle Ham:



Enjoy you jackals.

train denizens

There is this gentleman that rides my train most mornings and I saw him again today. He makes his entrance on the F train at West 4th Street, in one of the last three cars at about 8:12 a.m. He then takes the train all the way up to my stop, West 57th Street, where we both depart. I have been determined to follow the fellow to see where he goes at about 8:23 in the morning on the west side of midtown, but have yet to do so for various factors (i.e. running late, pop in to the bank, stop at the Duane). The reason why my roommate and I have become besotted by him is his attire. He wears spiked-to-maim motorcycle boots; torn, acid-wash, well worn jeans; a black, voluminous cape; a submissive collar with an elephantine, fist-sized leash ring in the front and is always sans shirt. He has long, dark hair that he wears either tied back in a low ponytail or just simply lets it hang. When he exits the train, he removes his cape and prepares to light a cigarette. He also wears bookish glasses, similar to those of John List. He looks like all of the furniture in his apartment would be outfitted in Nacho Carbonell's Skin line:




Bangarang. I still cannot fathom where he is going on the west side of midtown that early in the a.m., dressed to submit. Mayhap an early morning stroll in the park.

It's martini night. Hunker down.