The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Thursday, August 19, 2004


From this day forward I hereby declare jihad on the I.R.S. -

I've had it up the yang with them pelting my Landescape Productions mailbox with their harrassing threats and innuendoes of wage garishments just because I owe them a lousy $ 800.00 for last year's taxes.

As far as I know, the law states that it's against the law to not file your income taxes.

Doesn't say anywhere that you have to actually pay them.

But anywhere to cut a long story short, for the past two weeks I've been getting these stupid certified mail slips in my mailbox to come up to the counter and sign for these stupid thick envelopes. Fool me once, fool me twice, the next time I have to waste a fifteen minute break waiting in line at the post office to pick up this nonsense- I'm going to have to do something drastic to put a cease and desist to this activity.

I will never, ever write a check out to the name of a organization that no longer has a fundamental right to exist. Enough deductions are taken out of my check each week - there's plenty enough to go around for everyone. I don't give a flying fuck if some John Boy white trash family out on the Appalachian trail doesn't get their goddamn box lunch every week because I don't want to pitch in. I'm not in the business of giving handouts and that's just what the I.R.S is:
nothing worse than some foul smelling derelict standing on a sidewalk with a chinging stryofoam cup in his hand and when you walk by without acknowledging his existence, he has a screaming shitfit behind your back and accuses you of being the devil's spawn.

Or shudder to think: some Saudi's pocket change.

Let's some other Dubya cum swallowing rich fuck handle the load. What I don't get is what the hell am I paying for? Am I paying for coalition troops to attach electrical wire to Iraqi men's testacles or to put hoods on their heads and to tell them to go join on in the Dagwood double decker ass sandwich that's happening in the middle of the floor? Is my money going to help provide proper body armor to the understaffed and malnourished troops that are supposedly out in some god knows where butt fucking country that did nothing to us other than have their dictator defyingly flip us the bird? Or am I getting my fair share of that great CIA intelligence that this Diet Coke snorting Dubya and the rest of his empty-minded cabinet are so much praising to be so concise and accurate only to be shot down by a 9/11 commission that has proven to debunk the intell when the big shit was going to hit the God's fan when two tinkertoy towers came tumbling down - should I help paying those agents's salaries?

Tell me why the fuck should I fork over $800.00 for something this is not going to materialize out of thin air?

So I went on with my anarchistic rants and raves at work yesterday to some of my co-workers. I even got into a slight debate with someone pointing out to me that it is the federal taxes that covers the cost of road maintance - and I have to cut him right there and stomp my foot down on the word CAL TRANS who actually is the organization that does the maintenance on the road. and they just so happen to be on the Big Gov Schwartz's payroll - the STATE TAX of which I have no beef in providing for (in fact I am cutting a past due check for $98 tomorrow just to show that I can conform to some commiseration.

And I went on the internet and did a google search on the words: ABOLISH THE I.R.S.

And just to make it easy on you- I've provided some interesting links and I think you need to read them, 'cause they have a better method of pleading their case better than I can:



and an oldie but goodie 3. -

Hard to believe that some Republicians and I can actually agree on something.

But some sinister plan started to formulate in my selfish eroding mind:

What if I were to sit down and actually write a check out to the IRS, maybe just a fraction of it

but not address it to the IRS per se.

Instead what if I made the check out to GO FUCK YOURSELVES Internal Revenue Service - just to see what would happen? And thereafter every other goddamn stupid lien notice that they send to me certified, I'll certify it back with big bold black letters: GO FUCK YOURSELF I.R.S. I think everyone should get in on the act- as a viable form of protest in making a ripple in this form of psycho abuse.

I mean after all- tit for tat. They are invading my breathing space. Look, I can't be nothing to them but a speck in the mote's eye , so what do I got to lose? I'm forty, not married, I'm holed up now sharing a bedroom in a apartment with two other single guys like if I were still a college frat boy, and any money I make goes into the production of my comic books that I write and PAY other people (under the table) to draw and design for me. So what is there for them to confisicate other than a good chunk of my under 25 grand salary. I purposily lowballed my salary in order to avoid confrontation from this shadow collection agency. I'm so poverty-stricken, that they have to dislodge the plastic spoon that's shoved so far up my ass. I'm going to tell these schmucks once and for all to go bother someone else (such as a family of four in Central LA) who is more worthy of paying the right to breathe the stale stagnant smog.

Speaking of self publishing : I wanna to take the plunge and send in the submission packet off to Diamond Distributors and I download the application but something halted me in my tracks:

<< All books submitted to Diamond should be bar coded with a unique EAN, Price-Point, or UPC bar code on the back of every book following BISAC standards. To obtain a copy of the standards contact: Book Industry Study Group, 160 5th Avenue, New York, New York 10010 >>

At first I thought they were referring to all comic books, and I went to scrambling for some of the books given to me by my small press neighbors at the last San Diego Comic Con International, most notable sturdier products such as LOS COMIX's El Muerto & LAW DOG COMICS' Territory 51 to see if they were carrying barcoding - wasn't a hide nor hair anywhere - but then I read it again and I mistakenly read the blurb under the NON- COMICS section and breathed a sigh of relief-

But then I suddenly realized - what if I wanted to put out a collected edition of all my Deposit Man books?

So I cyberally bellyflopped onto the Book Industry Study Group link: and much to my chagrin I was appalled to read this when I inquired about obtaining my own barcode - if the need ever arised to get one, mind you.

<<Where can I get an ISBN and what is the cost?ISBNs are assigned by the ISBN Agency ( The processing fee is approximately $240 for 10 ISBNs. There are additional fees for Priority and Express processing. Allow 10 business days for non-priority processing from the time the application is received at the agency. >>

$240.00? Are you fucking kidding me? I don't even have enough material to fill in one trade paperback- let alone 10!!

That's whacked out. So in addition to the couple of thousand you got to pour in in printing your thick slick product- you gotta cough up an additional quarter of a tho- to put on funky little stickers on? And not to mention the salaries you gotta to pay the artist, the inker, the letterer, the book designer, the ad space in magazine such as Too Much Coffee Man and on and on ad nauseam

On my first two Deposit Man books, my then co-publisher, Mark Capuano somehow managed to fake the barcodes on his Adobe Illustrator- whether or not they can pass through the scanner remains to be seen- but I'm sure Steve Geppi doesn't employ people just to test out the barcode on every product?

Or do they anything else better to do than run a beauty contest for poor independent publishers wanting a little slice of the industry pie?

Tuesday, August 17, 2004


The Story so far:

Last weekend, I managed to score the newest Ayreon double compact disc opera - 'The Human Equation' and the new Threshold album ' Subsurface' on, (need I dare say it?) that magnificent progressive rock label, Insideout Music America. I would like to say a few words about the power and brilliance behind the HE project and how it purges away the bitter taste of the ending of M. Night's Shayamalan's The Village out of your system in terms of shock value - but I will need more educated listenings to give you all a fair and balanced dialogue concerning it. It's a very complicated and delicate affair to even get into. I kind of shunned the new Threshold album over to the side with more repeated Ayreon plays, so I should sit down with it and at least go over the lyrics and figure out some melody lines on my last remaining Roland keyboard.

It's kind of unorthodox for me to go and compare a movie to a double CD mystery rock opera, but in terms of making your heart actually skip a beat along with a suprise ending to knock the skid marks right out of your BDVs - then Ayreon is the safest bet in your filibrator resuscitating budget. Movies, DVDs, CDs, and comic books: it's all of a sudden becoming a blur to me.

Also gasped in the awe and splendor of the kiddie scale slice and dice of Aliens vs. Predator over the weekend (which is AVP for the anagram challenged). I enjoyed it. I think it definitely kicked hard ass ad infinitum and I have no problem placing it third on my list of this summer's great and pleasantly surprised cinema schlock lagging just behind Spider-Man 2, Chronicles of Riddick, and sandwiched right before Collateral. Oh so what, if the fucking whiners are going on and on about continuity issues- I paid to see a writhing wacked-out monster smackdown and that's what's I got - in spades and in scales exploding through the bellies of Hoolywood profiteers.

Last week, I was also moaning and groaning about the lack of female companionship. Well it turns out that both girls didn't reply to my offers after all and I wound up trying to attend these events all by my little lonesome. At the Joey taping event, security insisted on having everyone stand outside the Friends Stage 24 and wait in line for a grueling hour in the hot sun just so we can all relish to Matt LeBlanc's triumphant return to network television. I was curious to see how Drea DeMateo & Ashley Scott would hold their own in a sitcom - but only to find out from some blithering yupscum in line that Ashley Scott got fired from the show and what they were basically going waste all our time on was a re-shoot of some scenes from the pilot that she was in with another actress. Ashley supposedily was going to play the role of Joey's tweaked out neighbor on the show, but the writers somewhat changed the character into some hot shot blond lawyer instead. Whose freaking numb fuck idea was it to leave one of my favorite fantasy hotties to drip dry like that? It seems poor Ashley can't get a break anymore. Well, the lack of her patronage was reason enough for me to step out of the line five minutes before they started frisking people of their valuables and letting them find a seat inside the soundstage. I'm glad Tara never got to me.

Last Sunday, I dropped another plea saying that I was going to fetch myself a table for the Shrine Show and that I wanted porn actress Tiger Lily to hang out with me- but I didn't hear back from her either- so I wound up postponing the table until next month. To blurb Duke Ellington: you ain't got that swing if you don't have that porn star thing if you want attention made to your products- at least at this show. Well - that also turned out to be a bust- 'cause hardly anyone showed their faces. I made a head count of approximately an average of 26 people seated at all times in the hall watching the headlining event of some whacked out cartoon festival. So I was content in roaming the dealer's room buying some cheap catch up comics (Chris Claremont and John Byrne on JLA? All six installments of issues #94 through 99 - just a buck each!) and a bootleg DVD R of all the 1960's Thor cartoons and left.

You see, you really can't hold a grudge against these chicks if it's you that really doing the bailing out in the first place since the circumstances don't warrant a enjoyable and pleasant time.

And now we come to today....

The West Nile virus is starting to get on my fucking nerves. If you already don't know or haven't indulged in the tribulations of Chuck Rozanki's Mile High Comics newsletter of late: the migration of mosquitos going around swaping bird spit has managed to find it's way to Southern California and has reportedly taken the lives of a few elderly people and now, sixty or so people have become affected. Now, I don't know if this is confirmed yet, but someone told me last night that there is a report that a twenty-one year old from Calabasas has succumbed to the disease. Chuck had some horror stories of what he endured in Denver, Co last year and he's still not over it.

Now that sort of gets my spider Coatney senses a-tingling.

You know, my current digs are beginning to depress me. I'm not located in the most affluental part of town anymore (I'm sort of lingering on the brackets now) - I'm sort of surrounded by those of a low or middle incomes and I'm wondering if these folks are heeding the media's warning of wearing long sleeved shirts and dousing themselves with OFF! body spray before checking out the sights of a Saturday night crusing along the La Brea tar pits. I just wonder if the disease is going linger on in the poorer sections of town, and people are going to ignore getting medical treatment, etc. At night, I'm going to have start shutting all windows, wear long-sleeved clothing and get used to the idea of sleeping in front of a fan. So far, my lack of bites have been exemplary this year- I think I may have heard nothing but one or two of those mosquitos buzzing around all summer long But just in case- a trip to the market to start stocking up on repellent doesn't hurt.

Yesterday, Larry Nadolsky and I had a few words concerning the just released Deposit Man book and they weren't pleasant ones to say the least.

Well, that may be a understatement.

Larry was more or less fucking furious. How does that sound? Doesn't make the verbally abused boo-boo feel a little better.
Therefore, effective immediately and further implemented by Larry's reaction: Masekela is now out of the picture. Fired. Kaput. I don't want to have anything to do with him other than to give him comp copies of the books that he's worked on.
The root of the screw ups on the book lie with him and because he fouled up and folded under the pressure over a deadline and SAYING he had no problem handling the assignment, but winds up delivering a half ass finished job to me anyway with barely enough time for anyone to come in and cover the slack just infuriates me! When I come to think of it, Oliver (aka editor Alan Smittee) Simonsen had to do doubletime in a attempt to correct his stuff and it was simply winded up being a mote point. Not even Alan Sinder could help save the day. So the assign of blame lies upon me. I jumped the gun, thinking it would be a blast to give the book a new look, have it done in a timely manner and I crumbled in my endeavors. Simple as that. It's even pointless to dream about collaborating (although extremely talented that he is) on future projects with Mas if he's going to sit back and choke. He can't even show up to sign copies for fans who admire his work.

So after some hard coaxing, (and scrawling out a slightly bigger paycheck) I've managed to sweet talk Larry back into doing the complete pencils and inks for the Deposit Man & The Last Great Gate of Mortality Act Three.

The plan was already put in place. It's usually an incentive to include a check when you send out comp copies of your new pet monkey bastard along with a new script to start on all in the very same package.

Just one thing:

Larry already cashed the check- I knew he wasn't going to bail:

But as of yesterday, I didn't have the funds to cover the check! Damn, those fucks at Canadian customs - they probably delayed the package I sent to Larry on purpose for a full goddamn two weeks - even when I sent it out global priority!! I did have the funds to cover it AT THE TIME- but my rent came due and I had credit card payments to deal with - so I had to do something real drastic at the ATM machine in order to cover my ass.

So I guess this means that the next issue will be financed entirely on two of my platinum visa cards.

Which also means: that I will have a shitheap of cash advance fees to make my life more fucking miserable than ever before .

So tune in next time as I discover a malign cancer growth while getting around to preparing my submission packet that I may need to get a second opinion from you folks about: