Category Archives: Fun

Drawkward: I want a nation to bleed ink

Saturday dawned and a xyline feuled bloodlust inspired some affable peeps and myself to go lynchin’. White paper lynchin’. With permanent markers. Lookin’ mighty fine in dem jeans boy.


At Re: Capitoli’s Capitol theatre event my friend Sibu and I spread out 10 meters of bleached cellulose and stuck it to the wall with masking tape. Anyone could come in and blemish it with me. And they did. And it was sweet.

I’ve recently started learning music, an artform where people are naturally drawn together for a garage jam sesh sweatlodge.


This is rarely the case with drawing. I wanted to fix that. No longer did I have to choose between drawing delicious velociraptors and my friends. I could draw it with ’em. Or on ’em. Nom nom nom.


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Favourite Ninja Turtle is Infographael

This is a little infographic I made for varsity about the impact that cartoonists can have on soceitoi.


And I lied. My favourite ninja turtle is this gnarly dude.

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My life is Crunk

Just a video of my friends and I living life to death. Buddaboom.

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My dad taught me how to draw better than your dad and your stupid head

So that’s heartfelt. So here’s something crude to balance it out. Crud. I’ll crud a crudding crudsicle right up your crudhole, you crudsucking fathercrudder. Yeah, can’t really swear with this one, for it’s about crudsachets i.e. diapers, which are generally for kids.

We did this thing for Huggies for father’s day where we asked people to facebook or Tweet in what their favourite activity was to do with their male parental unit. And I drew every one.

My dad taught me how to draw. Damn, I love thatsonofabitch. Sorry grandma.

Look through them all. If you’ve got the stones.

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Hug those idiots at the watercooler

Foster true relationships with your colleagues. No really.

I made the grievous mistake to think that you should keep work and play separate. The ideal is to have your weekends and weeks bleed into each other, when the people that buy your fish and O2 are the people that you share your fish with. Because lord knows they take your O2 anyway, the damn moochers.

But for real real.

Think about the funnest work you’ve ever done. If you’re like me, it’s probably that off-beat stupid video you made on a drunken whim when you didn’t have anything vicing your angerglands except for a burning desire lodged within those same mansatchels.

Clients have a tendency to dilute the artistic integrity of your craft, sometimes even up to the point when you throw your hands up and say “I’ll make it, you damn machine-cog, but I’ll have eyes more glazed than honeyed hams.” Alliteration. Don’t compound the soulless interest.

You cannot separate work and play, because by it’s very definition you’ll separate your soul from your hands. And everybody knows Raziel without the Soul Reaver is just a tall smurf with an overbite.

You play with your friends, you work and make belittling comments behind your colleagues’ backs. Foster the former, obliterate the latter. By. any. means. nessy.

This is a animation I made for Bulelwa, and I love her to horrific facemelting death-death.



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No dog would care about this post

So, if you consider that the universe has a finite amount of f%#s to give, and that the entire canine segment of the all-pie chart is eliminated, logic dictates that you should probably care.

And here’s why.

The psychology of colour is fascinating, we have cultural associations and physical responses.

The colour of blood, sex, heat, war, speed, anger, love, courage, defiance, revolution, tension and it’s the colour of Cyclops’s eyebeams for pity’s sake. Vreeem!

I’m taking the obsequious kiss-ass route and sharing this nifty little thing I made for my dark masters (who are actually quite affable). Oooh, negative space.

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Ogilvy for Vendetta.

I’ve been scarce. And now I’m back with a vengeance.

I’ve started working for international communication powerchalet, Ogilvy. Where dream humongous is written in technicolour dreamcrunk on the roof, koi fish coyly tease peacocks and park-grade grass stain the ol’ pantaloons on a lunch break. Despite my predisposition to the ol’ McHyperbole, I’m not even exaggerating.

C’mon you guys! Yeah! Follow my wacky adventures as I learn so much it feels like I’ve got my eyes wrenched open and corneas badtouched a la Clockwork orange. My 9 to 5 is better than your 9 to 5. Believe it.

Ogilvy for victory

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Lookit me, I’m electric!

Okay, so we’d like to have superpowers. You might like to have battervision (deep fry with eyebeams) and I’d like to have the power to instantly be the life of the party.

But I’d settle for the might of Thor.

I’m making a comic where I’m the electric lad, or something similar. You don’t even have to be able to draw good. It boils down to being a kid. Kids paint pictures with their brainsauce, so get with the program.



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Get Zooey Deschanel to star in the movie that is your life


My friend, James, met this girl at a Prodigy concert.

He didn’t get her blood-type, he didn’t get her number, heck, he didn’t even get her name.

We codenamed her “Jenni”, becuase that’s what it sounded like to James, in his head, which is the same head as the one who didn’t ask a girl’s (who freely stood on her head ’cause it looked fun) name.

Man, I have to simplify my parentheses.

Anyway, we’re on a search for her.

This is the only photo we have, and of course, her’s would be the face that you can’t see. So if anyone can recognise her obscured profile, or knows her friend or knows someone who know’s their dentist or something equally ridiculous, leave a comment.

Romantic comedies are lame if they don’t become real life endeavours, and foo on anyone who says different.


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