Well, another thing... I wonder what do you think of Pokémon... I suddenly got onto Pokémon mode again... but I don't know...
You are challenged by-...
Two random old guys??
I did draw a Pokémon picture a while back, but I don't really like that one anymore. So here's another go at matching the Sword and Shield artstyle.
I still think Stan should have a gengar (ghostly trixter) and Ford should have a clefable (fairy rumoured to have come from space), due to the very old fan theory that gengar is the shadow of clefable - Stan being Ford's "shadow".
I think Stan also has a meowth due to their connection with money (maybe it's like an alley cat he found during his drifter years) and maybe a ditto (shapeshifter) and abra/cadabra/alakazam (teleporter) due to the heist and/or scamming potential of both. For added sadness, maybe the last two on his team could be a banette (a pokemon that grows from the resentment and sadness of a doll abandoned by it's owner) and a mimikyu (a pokemon who wears a pikachu disguise at all times because nobody wants it in it's actual form).
Ford has a grimer that appeared in his lab one day and started eating toxic waste, so he decided it could stay for cleanup purpouses. He has a pikachu to run electronics in an emergency, a xatu (inspiration from native American and mesoamerican legends + supposedly able to tell the future), and a metagross (robotic supercomputer that hits like a semitruck). After his ordeal with Bill, he went out and caught a munna - a pokemon known for it's ability to rid people of nightmares by eating bad dreams.
I have a lot of thoughts about this.
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“Hey, go easy on those chips,” says Ford, shooting an admonishing look at his brother, who is currently standing at the wheel of the Stan o’ War II. “Our food has to last us until we get to Yarmouth.”
Stan glares up at his twin, perched on the roof of the boat, adjusting the mounted VHF antenna. “We’d have a lot more money for food if we hadn’t gotten thrown out of that casino in Halifax,” he points out, his fist crammed into a box of Chipackerz. “Bunch of snooty Canadians.”
“And whose fault was that?” Ford retorts, cursing under his breath as he wrestles with the equipment. “I was just minding my own business, and collecting intel on local monster legends. You’re the one who got caught counting cards.”
“I blame modern technology,” says Stan, his mouth spraying crumbs all over the deck. “Damn security cameras are taking jobs from hard-working pit bosses.”
Ford simply rolls his eyes. There’d be no use in mentioning that they had no need of money. Stan’s always on the lookout for an opportunity to rake in some dough.
He climbs down from the roof and lands lightly on his feet. “Not to worry, we’ll be at the next port soon enough,” he says. “But not until we find this Cape Sable serpent I’ve been reading so much about. Where are we, anyway?”
Stan consults the GPS on his phone. “Nearly there. The island should be just on the other side of this… peninsula thingy.”
Sure enough, off in the distance, Ford can just make out the hazy outline of Cape Sable Island, off the southwest coast of Nova Scotia. He’s been excited to investigate this little island since he first heard about it in an unassuming bar in a seaside town. In 1976, there were three separate sightings of a fearsome beast in the waters surrounding the island, all within a week of each other. At first Ford dismissed the accounts as exaggeration — drunk fishermen embellishing each other’s stories for notoriety. Until he heard that a creature matching their descriptions was spotted in the same waters last week.
As Stan brings the boat close to the shore and begins trawling, Ford dons his custom gloves, lifts the lid from one of the storage lockers, and retrieves the fish chum he got from a local bait shop and proceeds to spread it over the surface of the water, hoping the scent will coax the creature to them.
He hears a snort, and looks over to find Stan chuckling to himself. “Imagine if Pa could see us now,” he says. “Throwing fish guts in the water to attract sea monsters on the ass end of Nova Scotia.”
Ford grins. “We’re independently wealthy. We can do whatever the hell we want.”
“Correction: you’re independently wealthy. I’m just a scam artist and a freeloader.”
“Don’t say that,” Ford snaps, his voice unintentionally sharp. “Your contributions have been vitally helpful, Stanley. If it wasn’t for your nautical expertise, we never would have made it this far. Besides,” he adds as his twin opens his mouth to protest, “your worth is not contingent on any knowledge or abilities you may or may not possess.”
He claps his hand on his shoulder. “Forget whatever Pa told you. You’re my brother. That alone makes you invaluable.”
A slow, hesitant smile spreads over Stan’s face. “Thanks, Sixer,” he says, swiping a finger under his glasses. “You know you got chum all over my jacket.”
The smell on the deck of the Stan o’ War is absolutely revolting, but it’s all worth it when the water behind the boat begins to ripple, and a wide head on a long neck rises from the surface to watch them curiously. As Ford and Stan take turns tossing bits of fish to the hungry sea serpent, they laugh and trade friendly barbs with each other.
To hell with Filbrick Pines.
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A Happy 22nd Birthday to Dipper & Mabel!
You can’t really take a selfie with a redwood and expect to capture the scale of the tree, but, it’s the thought that counts! You can show the scale of the trees by including people in the picture, but the people wind up being very small. (Thus, a provided detail as well as the full piece!) I would make a joke about the Pines and pines, but, redwoods are conifers but are *not* actually pines (they’re in the cypress family).
I’ve had redwoods on my mind lately, and of course, they feature prominently in Gravity Falls. My idea here, though, is that they’re in northern California, hiking around on the trail of some cryptid or ghost or anomaly. (Actually I know what I meant them to be on the trail of; perhaps I’ll get around to a sequel showing that someday.)
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