Meanwhile, on the infamous Mean Streets...

[BrownEyedCat]

I understand there is a deficit of threads? So I thought I'd pitch in. I challenged some chat people to some comics improv! Not quite a jam, seeing as it's pre-arranged, but I don't think anyone would be offended if the forum at large threw their hats in the ring.



The baton's been passed!

[McDuffies]

Man I hope it's visible what's going on in this comic.

[MixedMyth]

Whatever you do, don't dress up as a zombie.

[Tellurider]

I ignore you, McDuffies!

...OR DO I

[McDuffies]

Suddenly I hope you do.

[Laemkral]

This is cool stuff and I do approve. I shall be watching this...most intently.

[Laemkral]

Because I don't draw:

The cold night air is turned hot and foul by the city, alive and breathing even at this ungodly hour. I light up a cigarette, smelling the butane burning away from the tiny little flame. As I put it to my lips and inhale, I cough. That's right, I don't smoke...

I throw the cigarettes back into my pocket, because you never know when a dame will want a light. The lighter, I keep playing with it because I stopped taking my Ritalin, and the methodic click of the lid keeps my edgy nerves in line. I turn the collar on my trenchcoat up, not because I'm cold, but because it makes me look a little more dangerous. And danger is my business.

Who am I? I'm just a guy, a guy living in a world run amok with gags gone bad, puns that kill at fifty yards, and two-bit artists who make a living off of cheap pixels and back alley sketches. Five will get you ten that if you turn the right alley here you'll be able to pick up a "genuine" Scott Kurtz or Jerry Holkins for less than the price of a gallon of milk. I'm the law in this town, well not THE law, but a part of the law. Too many years of military service have left me bitter and with a short haircut. It's not the haircut that makes me bitter, it's that the uniform these days just isn't as snazzy. I used to carry a gun, now I carry a smaller gun and a badge. Back then, my gun WAS my badge, now it's a small brass one I carry in a little flip out leather wallet. Come to think of it, it's pretty cool.

I suddenly realize I was walking the whole time I did this inner monologue, and now I'm where I wasn't, and where I was is somewhere else entirely because I don't remember this street being here when I started talking. I take a glance upwards at the sign, and then it hits me. I've taken a turn into the Off Topic neighborhood, the place where a badge means nothing. The outlaws have taken over here.

That's when I see it, the something that catches my eye and makes my blood run colder than a Hogan's Salted Licorice Frozen Ice Cream Popsicle (and with all that salt...it's gotta be DAMN cold to keep it frozen). I look left, and I look right, then I cross against the signal because there's no traffic. Not here, not in Off Topic. My right hand reaches for the fifteen rounds of justice I keep holstered underneath the coat as I kick open the door. I pull my gun and look right at what shook me to my core. Pastrami sandwich, side of fries, and a Coke for five dollars.

I look the manager dead in the eyes and in a voice that tells of grit and grim, "Table for one, please."

[Tellurider]

HARD-BOILED!!!

[IVstudios]

Great, now I' hungry for eggs.

[Laemkral]

I realized I committed a basic error in introducing a character without advancing the plot, so here's some more:

I'm just biting into my nice and hot pastrami sandwich, my teeth sinking into warm rye bread thats just ever so slightly toasted. I mean, really, it's so rare to actually find a good loaf of rye anymore, you gotta find the individual bakeries where they actually care and use the quality anise seeds in the crust. That's what makes or breaks the crust, and rye is all about the crust. Once, I spent an entire afternoon eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, it was strawberry jelly, on rye and at least three of those hours were on the crust alone.

I had to shoot a guy, Joey Malone, not because I wanted to but because I had to because he was about to plug me with this .38 revolver that looked like it coulda taken out the engine block of a tank, and anyways Joey had earlier ordered a sandwich on rye, no crust. No crust! I take back the not wanting to shoot him part.

Where was I? I got distracted by my sandwich. Right, the sandwich.

I'm taking a bite that would have made a nutcracker proud, when I hear a ruckus out in the streets. I'm talking the kind that would make a professional fireworks launcher stand up and take notice. Guns are going off, lots of them. Next thing I know, as I'm dipping my french fries into ketchup, a cat runs past the window, as bright orange as the traffic cones lining the curb. Tall, lanky fellow, he's got a look of terror plastered across his face like a frightened Mona Lisa. Before my stunned eyes he dives into the store next door, and as I'm sipping on my Coke he reemerges minutes later in the craziest looking Mexican getup I've ever seen.

I lean back in the booth and run my hands along my coat, smoothing the leather and wiping off a mustard stain that reminds me of days long past. I've got some bad memories of mustard, memories that have no place here. This cat is all sorts of danger, the kind that follows you home and copies down your address, just so it can return later pretending to sell you chocolate bars to help with a summer camp for special kids. That's trouble I don't need. I don't buy street chocolate, I buy premium and its imported.

Luckily, banditos carry him off, so I scratch him off my list of troubles after I pull a pencil and add him on. Then I make a note to sell my time share in Baja.

I pay the tab, tip heartily because its good honest folks that work this place. They'll need every cent when the rackets come round, shaking down stores for backdrops, settings, even just filler. It's a cruel world here in Off Topic.

Two dames come running out of the alley across the road, one's prettier than any girl you'll see in a magazine, the other wears a mask. Dames in masks don't frighten me, but when they wear a trenchcoat I know they're trouble. And when they've got a friend in a trenchcoat, that means they're dangerous. And like I said when I started my narration, danger is my business. Every nerve is twitching, telling me I should turn around and leave Off Topic to the scum and lowlifes that prowl its streets. But that nagging thing called plot pulls me in, and I'll be damned if I don't need to work off that pastrami sandwich.

[BrownEyedCat]

Laemkral my man, do not think that my fascination with these traps reflects upon the fine fine quality of your contributions! I agree with Telly whole-heartedly... that is Hard-Boiled!

Edit: Also, it appears Photobucket does not appreciate the long-format comic. But it's not as though much detail is lost...

[IVstudios]

Edit: Also, it appears Photobucket does not appreciate the long-format comic. But it's not as though much detail is lost...

Make sure photobuckets "reduce to…" is set to file size, not image size.

[BrownEyedCat]

Excellent! Thank you, IV!

[Laemkral]

Just to keep things chugging along...

I know when to shoot, when to ask questions, and when its best to just climb a drain pipe and get out of there. This is definitely the third option, and I do. There's no sense in jumping in, not now, not when they're so intently focused on that guy who's in the giant bear trap. Walk down the right alley and you can find anything, even a giant bear trap with a guy in it.

There's nothing on the roof but a lot of air conditioners and some television antennas. Also, some hobos. And a costumed vigilante. But he's on union time, plus I think he's one of the good guy vigilantes. But that's all, and that's about normal for this town. I scoot over to the edge, peering down and almost losing my hat. It wafts off in a sudden gust, but I shoot out a gloved hand and grab it back. Nuh uh, not losing that, not with hat prices so high thanks to the Vort gang's iron fisted control over the fedora market...

I can't even tell if the guy in the bear trap is dead, but I know for certain he's not gonna go home and say that today was a good day. No sir, today he's definitely gonna chalk up as a mulligan. If he's left enough living to pick up a piece of chalk.

I recognize the one in the mask as Telly, a dangerous hitter for The Cat. Which is probably the girl next to her. I'm guessing that cause she's got bells for earrings, like the kind cats wear on their collars, and she's called the Cat so the connection seemed kinda obvious. Plus I'd seen her picture at the precinct since she's one of the Ten Most Wanted in this town. Pretty eyes, and a smile that'll make you wish she'd never laid them upon you. Her eyes, that is.

I loom a little closer, still keeping a hand on my piece. Trouble comes at any moment in my line of work, so you can't be too prepared. That's also why I've covered myself in newspapers and a cardboard box. Sure it's the latest style in Hobo-Paris, but its functional, too. So there I am, just an ordinary pile of garbage... or a hobo. Your call really. Depends upon your eyesight. And below me, two too devilishly good looking dames doing dirty and dangerous deeds in the darkness of the alley. As I inwardly congratulate myself on the alliteration, something I practice on in my off time so it just comes easily in situations like this, I'm outwardly listening in. Existentially, I'm at least three-fourths in tune with nature thanks to a hiking trip I took recently. Spiritually, I'm feeling pretty good with myself and with my belief in a higher power. Exponentially, I'm thinking about the cockroaches that have infested my kitchen. Scientifically, I'm trying to ignore the bacteria that have to be growing in the wet spot of cardboard. Mostly, I'm just curious what these two ladies are up to and why I've suddenly got a sinking feeling that I don't get paid enough.

[Tellurider]

Okay Robby said he was gonna draw a little something but I've got an idea, so tomorrow night I'll post something unless he posts and it messes up my plan.

Whee!

[MariaAndMichelle]

*Sex Machine*

Oh, God, mcDuffies- That first panel is the best!

[Perdire]

Not quite a jam, seeing as it's pre-arranged[...]

Alright, I don't mean to derail the train of awesome you guys are building out of pictures and text, but you say that as if a Jam has to spontaneously erupt out of the aether before it counts as a jam. Maybe it's because I'm new around here, but I always used the definition of jam from Sexy Losers(NSFW) circa forever ago (read '99), which was roughly "An artist does a page layout and other artists volunteer to do the individual panels". Is this not the right definition?

[Laemkral]

Not quite a jam, seeing as it's pre-arranged[...]

Alright, I don't mean to derail the train of awesome you guys are building out of pictures and text, but you say that as if a Jam has to spontaneously erupt out of the aether before it counts as a jam. Maybe it's because I'm new around here, but I always used the definition of jam from Sexy Losers(NSFW) circa forever ago (read '99), which was roughly "An artist does a page layout and other artists volunteer to do the individual panels". Is this not the right definition?

Yes and no. A jam, for those who are not knowledgeable about music, is when a bunch of artists get together and just improvise a song, using their understanding of their craft to do a give and take in the creation of music. When its your turn you add direction to the song, and when its not you fade into the background and support what's being played through rhythm/harmony/etc.

Here, it's an improvised comic. Different artists take random turns (typically whoever gets their part done soonest gets to add in) creating short comics that are a part of the overall story. The KEY is finding that give and take and remembering the basic rules of improv acting. Most people here fail the most basic principle of "IT IS NOT ABOUT YOU", and are so determined to be a part of the story they fuck it all up and no one wins. That's simply how WE do a jam, because the story is not dictated, ergo its up to everyone to play nice.

I think this has good jam potential, but I'm aware I enjoy a certain advantage in using only written script so I'm trying to give others a chance to contribute and drive the story.

[BrownEyedCat]

Various forums have various house rules for Jams. Sometimes this gets pedantic and annoying.

What I meant by 'not quite a jam' was that I specifically went into chat and challenged people to duels. The idea was that if the forums in general didn't want to play, it could be a contained back and forth between two people.

[Killbert-Robby]

Ffffffffffffffffffffff, I had it half done, then when I went back to the photoshop studios to finish it, there was a class in there for the whole evening and they wouldn't let me in
I'll scrap what I did, go ahead Telly, I'll springboard off what you got