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Homecoming:
In 2002, in the freelancer’s eternal quest for a plum assignment that
combines good pay and high visibility, I thought I had struck gold.
The legitimate representative of a major Hollywood franchise (which
shall remain nameless here, to avoid any legal hassles; suffice it to
say that their films are best noted for certain Phildickian qualities
involving which pill leads to reality) asked me to produce a comics
script set in their universe, to be illustrated by any major artist I
chose and to appear on their website. Eagerly, I immediately wrote
the script, without ever signing a contract. Can you guess the rest?
Pulp Alibis:
Sherrif Fuhrman swung his massive hairy fist into the gut of the
unsuspecting tramp — some bottled-blonde nancy-boy he had picked up
for vagrancy — and felt it connect with the man’s backbone. Stepping
back with a neat practiced motion to avoid the spew of vomit from the
unshaven hobo, Fuhrman began to laugh. "Told ya that cheap wine
wouldn’t agree with ya, Kato old son!" Leaving the crippled bum
to wallow in his own filth, Fuhrman swung shut the cell door, twisted
the key in the lock, and moved across the tiny jailhouse to his desk.
Seated with his booted feet up, a pint of whiskey opened for
chugging, he ran through some pleasant options for how to spend the
rest of his day.