We'll all float on okay
notes from the
March 21, 2005
On disappointment. Life is full of disappointment. Like, I'm still really ticked off that I'm not a superhero. I thought if I waited long enough
I'd develop superpowers and start going on adventures. I'm starting to suspect that it may never happen.
Where is my mutant healing factor? Where is my
web-slinging ability and my own private batcave? I am very very very disappointed. Now look at me,
some goofy webcartoonist doing funny drawings and shit. What the hell? How did my dreams go so terribly wrong?
Then again, maybe the superheroes of the world are pissed that they're not webcartoonists. Maybe they're like,
"How come I never developed any fantastic drawing skills? Where are my life drawing capabilities? Where is my
command of composition and color, my lyrical storytelling and deft comedic timing? Oh cruel world, why oh why
must I wear this gay costume and fight assholes in the streets day after day after day? Being a superhero sucks. Webcartoonists
got it good! Luckyyyy!"
It's like technology
As you may have already guessed, I am constantly under government surveillance. Like Cat Stevens, I am a seething
cauldron of hardcore revolutionary fight-the-power-ness. A thorn on the side of
The Establishment. A fly in The Man's ointment. Almost but not quite as incendiary as Kevin Bacon's dance stylings in
Footloose. I'm that hardcore. In fact I'm so hardcore the military industrial complex now dedicates a large chunk of
budget to combatting the liberating effects of Sinfest. Several agents, disguised as "critics," write negative reviews and
send me discouraging e-mails
as part of a broad psy-ops campaign to dampen my spirit and derail the revolution. They've even brainwashed
some civilians into thinking my strip is less than total complete genius. Do not be fooled by them. They are pawns of
the power structure programmed to spread
lies and misinformation. So remember: Read Sinfest. It is most brilliant and hilarious.
Otherwise, you're a filthy nazi whore. You
don't want to be a filthy nazi whore, do you? Of course you don't. Okay. All right, then. I'm outtie. Viva la Resistance!
Who do I have to sleep with
to get a decent orgasm
The latest rumors on Tatsuya's whereabouts:
· Checks into Shoplifters Anonymous; last seen stuffing his pants with shampoo bottles
at a local 98 cent store. "I am the male Winona Ryder," he announces at his hearing.
· Sucked into a space-time vortex and converted into pure energy like that albino guy in
· Auctions himself on E-bay. Bitterly retracts his posting when the bidding plateaus at $4.35.
· Wakes up from the Matrix. He is heralded as The One, saves the world, gets with Trinity,
settles down in a suburban section of Zion and raises mini-Ones.
· Decides to form the International Coaliton of Indecisive People. Then changes his mind.
· Meets with four other high powered beings and together they form Tat-Tron, the super robot soldier of
· Watches Before Sunrise and Before Sunset back to back. Unable to withstand this
brutal onslaught against his manhood, he jumps off a cliff, commits hara-kiri and
detonates a pack of C-4 strapped to his body.
You like me because
I'm a scoundrel
You know how when rock stars play the guitar they make all sorts of funny faces
cuz they're really into it? Well, when I draw I do
the same thing. When I sketch I got that easy breezy too cool for school look.
When I do inks I whip out my focus face, all intense and burning with
When I mess up I get the angry Shit-I-Fucked-Up-Now-I-Gotta-Use-White-Out Scowl.
Very sexy. Sometimes I get that
pained expression when I'm doing ultra fine detail work. As I gear up for the
big finish my strokes get quicker and quicker, my eyes bug out, my hair explodes
like Yahoo Serious, I'm totally insane. Energies reach their breaking point. I
can taste the final crescendo as it all comes together, all my skill and talent,
my genius, my love, my truth, laid out there on what was once a clean white
sheet of paper. Spent, I sit back, light a cigarette, wipe away the last
remaining bits of eraser dust
and purr, "Was it good for you too?"
I drove all night
to be with you
As you may have already guessed, I was away on my annual spiritual retreat to
Celebrity Centre for my Purification Rundown and upper level OT IV training. My
auditor took my electropsychometer reading and I was relieved to learn my
reactive mind and its influence on my Thetan soul essence were waning. Making
such strides on the bridge to total freedom is a heady experience, and I
momentarily felt my astral self break free from the bonds of MEST. This, I
mused, is much better than getting hooked on crack by my psychiatrist. It was
during this fine reverie that
the wicked overlord Xenu attacked the compound. Bullets and laserbeams ripped
through the glass windows, as an army of Potential Trouble Sources poured into
the once placid palatial retreat. Alarms blaring and ammunition spraying, the
invaders looked poised to take over. Then, on a cylindrical hydraulic platform
near the north wall emerged alterna-rock sensation Beck clad in a shimmering
polyester leisure suit. He belted out several obscure tunes from his eclectic
oeuvre, and his invocations to "Sing along!" seemed to confuse and paralyze
the alien army into submission. Needless to say, the bad guys are now safely
detained in the Phantom Zone and justice prevails.
Oh, and Book 3 is out. Available through
Her hair reminds me
of a warm safe place
Confessions of a Teenage Messiah. Today I healed a bunch of lepers and ministered to sinners
and whores. At Sunday school that Mary Magdalene sure was looking fine. If I were normal I would
so hit it. But I'm not. So I won't. Life is so unfair. Why can't my dad be like other dads?
Mine's perfect. And all powerful. You know what a pain in the ass that is? I'm scared shitless here!
He says I have to go to camp. In
the desert. For 40 days and 40 nights. And the camp counselor is THE FUCKING DEVIL.
And he's gonna offer me cool things like
money and power and fame and I have to turn them all down. WTF? I heard this Eastern dude,
Bubba or something, did the same thing under a tree. What a weirdo. Gawd, my life is so lame. I have to
save the world cuz daddy told me to. I hate you Dad! I hate you! JC <3 MM 4eva. Megadeth rulz
It started out with a kiss
How did it end up like this?
Learning to Draw Comics: The Tatsuya Ishida Tutorial. Many of you have asked me to provide a step by step
guide to creating comics, so here it is. First, get a writing utensil you feel comfortable with, and a piece of blank
paper. Now, think of someone who made you feel like utter shit. Someone who shattered your world into a million
pieces and you can't bear to even be in the same zip code as them cuz they tore you apart so thoroughly. Now the only
way to put your world back together is to get revenge. That's right. You must become famous. You must become
adored by strangers and make obscene amounts of cash and drive cars you can't pronounce and light fat cigars with
rolled up hundred dollar bills, and that'll show her, the bitch. And when you have your own toy line and three film studios
competing for the movie rights and Leo on your cell inviting you to join the Pussy Posse, maybe then those feelings of worthlessness
and despair will forever disappear. Or maybe not. I don't know. But it's your best bet. Now pick up your pen and start drawing.
I just want your extra
time and your kiss
On legacy. There comes a time when a man seriously contemplates his place in the cosmos,
his life, his work, his legacy.
Did I do anything at all worth remembering? Did I live up to
my potential? Did I wrestle alligators and kill the six-fingered man who murdered my father?
One might think that
being a webcartoonist, charged with the awesome responsibility of bringing shits and
giggles to dozens of people worldwide, would erase such anxieties. Not so. Doubts and
worries abound. Why do I do what I do?
Do I make a difference at all?
Maybe there's a kid out there at the end of his rope, on the verge of
doing something terrible, whose tragic path could be averted with a
well-timed pimp joke. Like Schindler, I wonder: How many lives could I have saved with one more punchline about bitches and hoes? How many lost
souls, how many broken
hearts, desperate for a laugh, could I reach with a shake of Monique's ass?
What more could I have done? And for the love of Zeus where in the
world is the six-fingered man???
contents © copyright 2006 by Tatsuya Ishida/Museworks. No
duplication, reproduction, or reprinting of Sinfest strips and/or
related characters allowed without written permission from the