May 18, 2009


Your humble babymakers “tabled” at ZineFest Houston this weekend. (I didn’t know “table” was ever acceptable as a verb, either. And I’m not a fan of the usage. It’s just not the done thing!) Zinefest definitely had its ups and downs, its loops and de loops. It was a veritable Paper Wonkavator, if you will. They offered us a very sweet spot right in front of the dumpster, as we were a bit late, having been furiously stapling/copying/enacting acts of X-acto violence at right up until the very last minute. We politely declined to compete with the Dumpster for people’s affections, and so were moved underneath a very leafy oak tree, which provided both readily-available metaphors for growth and mightiness AND shade, which was a bit more useful. Pros and cons are as follows:



Free beer

Free, and unavoidable, poetry. Poetry about tits and dreadlocks, you know. It was perhaps not so enjoyable? These people were drowning themselves in buckets of that terrible self-awareness that everybody has but ideally nobody would talk about, especially over a microphone. Now maybe if they were poems about tits WITH dreadlocks, we’d really have something here.

DIRTY JOKES, a really hilarious comic made from a Batman coloring book by Tony Abate. Dirty! Filthy! Nasty! Where else can you see Batman exclaiming “Rectum? I nearly killed ‘em!”? Thanks for your phone number, Tony.

That guy next to us who called me ma’am. Fuck that shit with a piece of broken car window. Fuck it ‘til it bleeds all over your mom’s white leather couch.

Running into Sara Cress and getting the word on . Houston might maybe actually perhaps possibly be getting cool question mark?

I always kind of thought “furries” were an urban legend. NOT SO, MON FRERE. NOT SO.

Kissing beneath the mighty oak.

Getting rained on beneath the mighty oak.

Flogging BHAT, Robbie and Bobby, Vegetable People and Hole Moles to the general populace. All available soon at The National Association for the Advancement of Colored Pencils Etsy shop.

The general populace’s lack of interest in anything that doesn’t have a big black man fucking a cheeseburger with a gun tucked behind his ear on the cover. C’est la vie!

So, that was Baby’s first foray into the cold, unfeeling world. Now we have to begin work on Baby In Volume 2. And we will do it, gentle readers, oh, we will do it for sure, straight-up and no messin’. It will get done, do not even ever doubt that it will happen, because it is so happening. It is floating over the horizon like a big, wicked jellyfish, a big, wicked jellyfish wearing a trucker hat from Urban Outfitters, clutching a roman candle in each tentacle. It’s floating closer all the time, and you better get ‘out the way if you don’t want to be heartily amused and not a little bit turned on.