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Description

“You look like a cat’s loose butt-hole. But not one of those dainty, lady cat butt holes. One of those mangy, hard knock life, street corpse licking types,” smirked the fairy.

Too chipper by half, thought Sir Goober. He slugged the last shot of his coffee and glared at the morning sun.

“Why are we here?” asked Sir Goober, yawning.

Here was We’ll Let It Slide ice rink. The fairy didn’t seem like the ice skating sort. Ice hockey, maybe. But only if the pads were left off and the puck had glass embedded in the plastic. Too touchy-feelie otherwise.

“Once again, I have a lead,” said the fairy. She paused. “Remind me again. Why do I need you?”

Sir Goober said nothing. Coffee. Need more coffee. Maybe they’d have some inside.

They didn’t. What kind of ice rink refused to serve coffee? Apparently one that had received multiple health code violations for feral pigs in the kitchen. Job training, the owner had called it. The Board of Health weren’t convinced. So no more coffee for Sir Goober.

“What lead?” asked Sir Goober.

The fairy snorted.

“I have an informant. Likes to watch women do things...on ice. He’s a f!#&ing creepy sock stuffing, egg sucker, but after some...persuading...he remembers that just before the assistant goes missing, she subbed in for a member of Fit2BBurned,” said the fairy.

“The curling team?”

“You like to watch old biddies too, huh? Figures,” smiled the fairy.

Sir Goober chose not to dignify that with a response.

Fit2BBurned were busy practicing as the pair approach. Long black dresses twirling as they scurried across the ice, their brooms a blur. Sir Goober had never seen such elegance, such geriatric athleticism. A long suppressed burning rose in his chest as he watched them hobbled speedily down the lane. Shouldn’t have had that breakfast burrito, thought Sir Goober.

Or was it something else? Watching these specimens of peak performance, Sir Goober couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe he secretly longed for the adoration of tens of fans as he glided majestically across an artificial plane of ice. Maybe he pined for the adrenaline filled intensity of hardcore competition. Maybe his soul had found it’s holy land. Or maybe it was just heartburn. It was impossible to tell.

“This practice is closed to the public. Fan meet and greet isn’t until 2pm,” said an old lady. Although in her later years, the tight suit wrapped her thin frame with the crisp smell of officialness.

“We need to ask the teams some questions,” said Sir Goober.

“Where’s your press passes?”

“We’re not journalists. We’re here investigating a murder,” said Sir Goober.

“You don’t talk to the team without their lawyer,” said the manager.

“They’re not under suspicion. We just need them to tell us about the dental assistant that subbed for them last month,” said Sir Goober.

“Deedee Tea. Aged 34. Played three games last month. Quite the gun enthusiast. Works for Dr Chompers. Has a cat named Biscotti. Farts in her sleep. Dreams of being a full time coin operated fortune teller. That her?” asked the manager.

“We didn’t get her name, but that sounds about right,” said Sir Goober.

Probably should have gotten her name. Would have made tracking her down easier.

“Never heard of her,” said the official. “Nobody on the team has either.”

Sir Goober’s finely tuned powers of observation started tingling. He couldn’t be entirely sure, but something told him that the manager might be lying.

“You need to leave now,” said the manager, hustling them to the door.

Before Sir Goober could insist, two large security people joined the manager and before long he found himself bodily tossed into the parking lot. His head joined him shortly after. While he was brushing himself off, the manager, who had followed them out, paused briefly and darted a look around the empty lot.

“Left side trap. Hole 11. Ask for Jim,” said the manager. Then she walked back inside. The security guards remained.

“Cryptic,” said Sir Goober.

“Stuff that,” grumbled the fairy. “You’re on your own on this one.”

“Not into golf?” asked Sir Goober.

“A bunch of flour swirling, clown guzzlers, dressed in clothes you wouldn’t give to your blind archenemy, whacking balls smaller than yours, just for fun of it? No thanks,” said the fairy. “Besides, I’m, uh, not allowed back to Gnarly Pines.”

“Why?”

“There was an incident. And it’s none of your nostril yodeling business,” snapped the fairy.

---

Sorry this one is a bit late, but I've hit a bit of a rough page in this year's Inktober journey (which usually happens). But not to worry. I might have fallen a bit behind, but I promise that Sir Goober's story won't be cut short. Over these past couple of years Inktober has become more than just a drawing challenge for me, so trying to strictly maintain a daily piece is less important than the overall production of a complete 31 pieces that illustrate Sir Goobers adventures. This means that while it might take me a little longer to get the whole thing done, I will get there.

The other reason this one is late is because I being attempting to make some changes to my fav replies strategy. I've fallen a bit behind in that area too, and this change is an attempt to help deal with this issue. You can check out this journal post if you want to know more.

As to this picture, well, it was a bit of a struggle. While there wasn't anything wrong with it, I think my confidence took a hit after yesterday's piece and I've struggled a bit to bounce back. Thankfully the story this time was better, and I'm feeling better about the process, for both story and drawing, so that's a good thing.

Anyway, let me know what you think.
More on the way. I promise.

******************************************

Thanks for the fav on Inktober 12: Sir Goober on ice...
ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
Sir Goober on ice… was a lot more entertaining than Sir Goober on Air. There was a lot more screaming, flapping and catastrophic parachute failures in that thousands-of-feet-above Broadway show. Critics predictably panned the production but even the general public were merciless in their criticism. I can’t really blame them. Nobody likes audience participation and I imagine dodging falling cast members was not something they expected to have to deal with while enjoying an evening of entertainment. I do know that the producers of the show have not fared well. Amid the negative reviews, audience liability suits and crime scene cleanup, they still have to deal with replacing fallen cast members in order to complete the rest of the production’s six remaining shows. I just hope they plan ahead this time. They really need to hire at least 4 or 5 understudies for each role. Or they are just going to end up going through this whole process all over again.
#CastFromAGreatHeight

Description

“You look like a cat’s loose butt-hole. But not one of those dainty, lady cat butt holes. One of those mangy, hard knock life, street corpse licking types,” smirked the fairy.

Too chipper by half, thought Sir Goober. He slugged the last shot of his coffee and glared at the morning sun.

“Why are we here?” asked Sir Goober, yawning.

Here was We’ll Let It Slide ice rink. The fairy didn’t seem like the ice skating sort. Ice hockey, maybe. But only if the pads were left off and the puck had glass embedded in the plastic. Too touchy-feelie otherwise.

“Once again, I have a lead,” said the fairy. She paused. “Remind me again. Why do I need you?”

Sir Goober said nothing. Coffee. Need more coffee. Maybe they’d have some inside.

They didn’t. What kind of ice rink refused to serve coffee? Apparently one that had received multiple health code violations for feral pigs in the kitchen. Job training, the owner had called it. The Board of Health weren’t convinced. So no more coffee for Sir Goober.

“What lead?” asked Sir Goober.

The fairy snorted.

“I have an informant. Likes to watch women do things...on ice. He’s a f!#&ing creepy sock stuffing, egg sucker, but after some...persuading...he remembers that just before the assistant goes missing, she subbed in for a member of Fit2BBurned,” said the fairy.

“The curling team?”

“You like to watch old biddies too, huh? Figures,” smiled the fairy.

Sir Goober chose not to dignify that with a response.

Fit2BBurned were busy practicing as the pair approach. Long black dresses twirling as they scurried across the ice, their brooms a blur. Sir Goober had never seen such elegance, such geriatric athleticism. A long suppressed burning rose in his chest as he watched them hobbled speedily down the lane. Shouldn’t have had that breakfast burrito, thought Sir Goober.

Or was it something else? Watching these specimens of peak performance, Sir Goober couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe he secretly longed for the adoration of tens of fans as he glided majestically across an artificial plane of ice. Maybe he pined for the adrenaline filled intensity of hardcore competition. Maybe his soul had found it’s holy land. Or maybe it was just heartburn. It was impossible to tell.

“This practice is closed to the public. Fan meet and greet isn’t until 2pm,” said an old lady. Although in her later years, the tight suit wrapped her thin frame with the crisp smell of officialness.

“We need to ask the teams some questions,” said Sir Goober.

“Where’s your press passes?”

“We’re not journalists. We’re here investigating a murder,” said Sir Goober.

“You don’t talk to the team without their lawyer,” said the manager.

“They’re not under suspicion. We just need them to tell us about the dental assistant that subbed for them last month,” said Sir Goober.

“Deedee Tea. Aged 34. Played three games last month. Quite the gun enthusiast. Works for Dr Chompers. Has a cat named Biscotti. Farts in her sleep. Dreams of being a full time coin operated fortune teller. That her?” asked the manager.

“We didn’t get her name, but that sounds about right,” said Sir Goober.

Probably should have gotten her name. Would have made tracking her down easier.

“Never heard of her,” said the official. “Nobody on the team has either.”

Sir Goober’s finely tuned powers of observation started tingling. He couldn’t be entirely sure, but something told him that the manager might be lying.

“You need to leave now,” said the manager, hustling them to the door.

Before Sir Goober could insist, two large security people joined the manager and before long he found himself bodily tossed into the parking lot. His head joined him shortly after. While he was brushing himself off, the manager, who had followed them out, paused briefly and darted a look around the empty lot.

“Left side trap. Hole 11. Ask for Jim,” said the manager. Then she walked back inside. The security guards remained.

“Cryptic,” said Sir Goober.

“Stuff that,” grumbled the fairy. “You’re on your own on this one.”

“Not into golf?” asked Sir Goober.

“A bunch of flour swirling, clown guzzlers, dressed in clothes you wouldn’t give to your blind archenemy, whacking balls smaller than yours, just for fun of it? No thanks,” said the fairy. “Besides, I’m, uh, not allowed back to Gnarly Pines.”

“Why?”

“There was an incident. And it’s none of your nostril yodeling business,” snapped the fairy.

---

Sorry this one is a bit late, but I've hit a bit of a rough page in this year's Inktober journey (which usually happens). But not to worry. I might have fallen a bit behind, but I promise that Sir Goober's story won't be cut short. Over these past couple of years Inktober has become more than just a drawing challenge for me, so trying to strictly maintain a daily piece is less important than the overall production of a complete 31 pieces that illustrate Sir Goobers adventures. This means that while it might take me a little longer to get the whole thing done, I will get there.

The other reason this one is late is because I being attempting to make some changes to my fav replies strategy. I've fallen a bit behind in that area too, and this change is an attempt to help deal with this issue. You can check out this journal post if you want to know more.

As to this picture, well, it was a bit of a struggle. While there wasn't anything wrong with it, I think my confidence took a hit after yesterday's piece and I've struggled a bit to bounce back. Thankfully the story this time was better, and I'm feeling better about the process, for both story and drawing, so that's a good thing.

Anyway, let me know what you think.
More on the way. I promise.

******************************************

Thanks for the fav on Inktober 12: Sir Goober on ice...
ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
Sir Goober on ice… was a lot more entertaining than Sir Goober on Air. There was a lot more screaming, flapping and catastrophic parachute failures in that thousands-of-feet-above Broadway show. Critics predictably panned the production but even the general public were merciless in their criticism. I can’t really blame them. Nobody likes audience participation and I imagine dodging falling cast members was not something they expected to have to deal with while enjoying an evening of entertainment. I do know that the producers of the show have not fared well. Amid the negative reviews, audience liability suits and crime scene cleanup, they still have to deal with replacing fallen cast members in order to complete the rest of the production’s six remaining shows. I just hope they plan ahead this time. They really need to hire at least 4 or 5 understudies for each role. Or they are just going to end up going through this whole process all over again.
#CastFromAGreatHeight