LOOKS LIKE BOBBY ISN'T GOING TO THE BIG HOUSE AFTER ALL



HA HA HA HA HA!!!



Well, whaddya expect? The ballistics never matched, NO GSR (gun shot residue) on his hands, and NO Blood on the shirt- so how could you send such a softie like him out to pasture? If you watch old Baretta episodes (and they're out on DVD - and the residuals are now for Bobby's taking - once he finds out that these second rate DVD companies located out in those buttfuck mid western states like Michigan (and ANCHOR BAY - you know who I'm talking about) are churning out season sets of his famed seventies cop show episodes and are squandering him out of any existing royalty checks - believe me, he's going to need those for those legal fees piling up. I'm sure those lawyers weren't working pro bono.), you can see that Robert Blake couldn't shoot a prop gun straight, let alone a REAL ONE. His hand shakes like a blender. That's what I've been trying to tell people all along WHO think they had figured out he was guilty based on circumstantial evidence. It also helped that those drug-addled washed-up stuntmen who testified about hullucinations concerning cops tunneling underneath their beds had shit credibility to begin with.

So, Bobby, take a walk out of that courtroom and breathe deep that FREE CRISP AIR- 'cause you earned it. And now your baby daughter doesn't have to grow up without a daddy.

And to all you golddiggers out there on the prowl for celebrity husbands with big fat bulges in their SIDE pockets- let this story be a lesson to you.

And you can take that to the bank, pal.

~

Coat

SHIT, WE'RE NOT OUT OF THE WOODS YET, VIRGINIA aka CARY COATNEY & THE 8OO DOLLAR BLUNDER!!

Apropos to what I said before about the new DEPOSIT MAN book being finished. It appears that I have ran into a few snags at the printer. The virus stems from within- little MAC gremlins are determined to see this project not see the light of day. First, it was the fonts that Oliver had on his system that he neglected to tell the good people @ Brenner Printing that it didn't match to theirs. Oliver had to resend the fonts via e-mail, stuff or compressed. That went OK until I got a call from the girl handling my account asking about my cover (see the entry IT's A WRAP...FINALLY for details) and what was the deal with the big black bird. What bird?, I asked in a panic stricken voice? THERE's NO F-ING BIRD ON MY COVER? She told me to go check my files. Well, like every other geek schmuck in the country, I'm the only deprived of having a MAC in my life. I abhor them- putting in some of the word balloons myself on Oliver's computer was a major pain in the ass for me to get used to in terms of navigating a mouse. I literally freaked out at work and had excuse myself for the day, at least I took a pair of brass knuckles to my face- I couldn't handle the workload when you got fried shit kabob on the brain- so I went home to YELL at people on the PHONE instead of at the workplace.

Finally after a hour at home just simply gelling- I get a phone call from Alan to come meet him down at his house and I'm down @ the Santa Monica Promonade at RAPID METRO BUS speed (it's a blessing in disguise that I live near a Rapid line that transfers to another Rapid line to both Oliver's and Alan's house) within a hour. Once I'm there, my jaw practically fell into my lap and chewed my own nuts off- because that's how much excruicating pain I was in when I saw that both the front and back were COMPLETELY OUT OF WHACK. In fact, there was nothing on the front cover file but a WHITE VOID with a black Peter Max like splotches that could be misconstrued as a bird. Even the Arena ad, which was the very last nail that Oliver and I hammered in the coffin before saving everything down to disc was fudged - all the lettering was spewed all over the place

Well, It looks like the new book is completely fucked. I might as well throw in the towel right now.

Not exactly, says Alan.

Alan introduces me to a little concept called PDF. Files. He starts to reconstruct the files to the cover and back cover and finishes fixing in twenty-minutes

So then Alan 'Super Hero' Sinder calls up Brenner... and sends it over their intranet and all our worries are put to ease. So says we and so sayeth them.

Well, two days later.......

And let me say that from this point and as a word of sage advice- I do not wish the horrors of being a independent comic book self publisher on anyone- I bet even Terri Schiavo wouldn't have snapped under all this pressure when your baby is suffering from still-birth at the printer.

Two days later, I got the blueline proof. I ripped open the UPS Next Day package faster than tearing off a pair of pantyhose off a three dollar hooker's crotch and was about to bask myself in selfish congratulatory praise when I preceeded to flip through the contents.

And it turns out, I wasn't pleased.

All the pages inside were blown to telescopic porportions, so much that bits of dialogue and captions were cut off the edges of the paper. There were essentially no borders to speak of! There's no way that anyone is going to buy a defective product if you can't follow the story because of a shitload of word balloons are cut in half. The front cover needed fixing, because the image didn't fill the whole plate. So I called them to ask what the fuck? Oliver has called to ask Brenner what the fuck? Even Alan has throw in his two cents of what the fuck? And you know what they told us.

Well, they tell me, you didn't specify on the work order that you needed the book to be sized from the file. The images that Oliver put on the disk wasn't the correct standard sized.

Oliver chimed in, well, isn't that part of your job?

Either way, they have to construct a whole new blueline proof for me to approve.

The cost: 800 buckaroos.

The saga continues.

~

Coat