So for the last three or four weeks, I’ve come to the growing suspicion that my latent mutant ability (did you know that being left-handed is a mutation? Because being left-handed is totally a mutation) has finally begun to surface. The mutant power? The ability to break every single zipper I touch.
Seriously. Wait, where are you going? Sit back down.
In the last three weeks I’ve broken no less than four zippers. I broke the main zipper on my Bag of Holding (R.I.P., Bag of Holding; you held all my stuff,) I broke two zippers on my wife’s duffel bags, and finally I broke the zipper on my lunchbox, all without even doing anything out of the ordinary. One second, working zipper, next second, zipper hopelessly broken.
I imagine that somewhere, in the dim distant future, there will be a roving band of survivors led by Mel Gibson who are trying desperately to escape from a one-eyed warlord’s stronghold, only to come across the final barrier: a chain-link fence made entirely of zippers. The plucky young kids will look to Mel Gibson and he’ll run his hand (and his other chainsaw hand) through his graying hair in desperation. Just as all seems lost, the grizzled old man that has tagged along with them and improbably not been killed during the entire adventure will shuffle his way forward, his beard foaming over his sunken chest like dirty dishwater.
“Wait,” he’ll croak in an ancient, trembling voice, “I think I can help.”
As everyone watches, wide-eyed, the old man lifts a palsied hand and touches the fence, which immediately is reduced to its constituent atoms and falls to radioactive dust, blowing away in the wind. Mel Gibson’s eyes widen even farther, like they did in Mad Max when he saw his busted-up buddy (but seriously, that bug-eyed thing was creepy, am I right?) and he’ll look at me and say, “You’re the Gormally, aren’t you?”
But my powers, having burned themselves out in that brilliant flare, have drained me, too, and I smile once before turning to ash and drifting away.
Mel Gibson and the children escape while the one-eyed warlord’s pants fall around his ankles, preventing him from continuing his chase of the heroes. “What the hell?” he yells in fury, “What just happened to my zipper?!”
So earlier today I announced the end of The White Skull comic series and I’ve since removed the entire archive from the Site. While that bums me out and is going to continue to bum me out for some time, I’m already committed to moving forward. I think it’s the silliest thing in the world to let a setback, no matter how major or minor, break you.
To that end, I’m formally announcing an original series based (loosely) off of the concepts from The White Skull. Here’s the problem with the original comic: it was based around real-life people, and when those real-life people started taking potshots at each other, suddenly I was in the delicate spot of “Um, please don’t try to make me write things into the comic; this isn’t a political platform for your arguments.”
When that didn’t work and people continually sent me private messages about how I should do this or do that or exclude this person or include that person, blah blah blah blahblahblahBLAH, the fun factor of writing and drawing a comic went the heck away. Quickly.
The White Skull DOES belong to me. I don’t want to use him anymore because I have a sour taste in my mouth over the whole thing, but I DID create some original characters that I’ve quickly fallen in love with. Namely, The Pirate, The Alien, and The Robot. I haven’t figured out their names yet. Yeah, yeah, I know, shoddy writing. I wasn’t expecting them to survive past the current issue, originally.
I’m re-launching, casting out into the wide ocean of weird that is TEH INTERNETS, and announcing a new ongoing series starring these three miscreants, who I may even decide to name at some point.
Think less villain and more Doctor Who. Zany adventures in space and time.
Geronimo and whatnot.
There will be no more White Skull comics; while I love the character and I’ve spent the last three years developing him, the community his character is based around is full of people that are impossible to get along with… and so I’ve decided to make a clean break of it and pursue material that is in no way tied to it.
To all my faithful readers: I’m sorry that it had to come to this, none of you deserve to have your content taken from you, and I agree, this is a screwed-up and unfair situation.
This is what happens when you gather 50 a-type personalities into one tiny room and tell them to be creative: you have to clean that room out later with a squeegee and wonder if you’ll ever get your deposit back from all the blood you’ll never get out of the carpet.