SNYDERMANIA: Soaring Swine

Showing posts with label Soaring Swine. Show all posts

Friday, December 31, 2010

SNYDER COMICS #25

SOARING SWINE #25

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Snyder Comics/Soaring Swine #24

WHO AMONGST US HAS NOT ASKED THIS PRESSING HISTORICAL QUESTION?

Bad Joke of the week:

What kind of hot dogs should be eaten on Halloween?

Halloweenies

I stole this bad joke from an episode of Happy Days.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Soaring Swine #23 and the Latest News on THE EIGHT FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON

Snyder Comics

The bad news is the release date is going to be pushed back a couple of months. This is due to the fact that I used my book dough to put a rebuilt transmission for my car. The good news is the guys at Chandler Auto and Tire have agreed to hawk my book. This brings the grand total of venues prepared to carry The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son to six.

Chandler Auto and Tire - Chandler, Arizona
Tempe Auto Repair - Tempe, Arizona
Second Use Building Materials - Seattle, Washington
Island Style Kitchen Design - Maui, Hawaii
Lakeside Sporting Goods - Beaver Island, Michigan
Geli Books - Bangkok, Thailand

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?