Recently, he asked me to do something. Naturally, I told him to shove it, but since my contract has rendered me useless in avoiding his pleas, I had to, by law, entertain this peon.
He asked me to send him a suggestion in what to draw. For fun. For shits and giggles. Well, sure thing, buddy!
Now, in high school, I did everything I could to avoid realizing I was in high school. I read during class, I puttered about and I doodled. A lot. Most of my teachers could expect that "special touch" on all of my papers and tests -- a girl smiling here, a monster head there. If I could scratch my pencil into it, I drew on it. Of anything and everything.
Mostly mummies. I had a fascination with mummies, if only because they were easy and fun to draw. All the wraps were an effort in fine tuning, and if I screwed up, hell, it looked like it was a part of the mess of mummy toilet paper, anyway.
I drew a lot of aliens, too. "Mars Attacks" had recently come out, and I grew into such a fervid frenzy when it came to monsters from another planet. I only had one way of drawing my specialty brand of alien, but they always had a jet pack (connected by a bunch of random hoses and wires) wore boots and had goofy, snarled teeth. But now I'm just repeating myself, 'cause Jimmy did a whole article about it all a few months back, which, HEY AWESOME, you can read it all here.
More to the point, during my rebellious teenage years, I drew notebook upon notebook full of what I have deemed space ducks. What are "space ducks?" Exactly what you think they are -- ducks from space.
Are they real? Do they exist? I support the idea that, yes, yes they do exist.
There is no logical explanation is to how or why I decided to sketch ducks in an infinite abyss of darkness, or how I remain firm in the stance that they could live in this reality, bouncing around and quacking at the moon -- so I won't even try. Aside from the obvious holes in my theory, the only thing I can think of as to why I would draw these is that they were...I dunno, cute? They wore tiny little astronaut helmets, for God's sake. And, alright, as with the mummies, they were really easy to draw, too. Doodling ain't supposed to be rocket science, man.
The point is that now, fifteen years later, I'm getting someone else to interpret my artistic styling, my doodling duck obsession.
Andrew drew his Space Duck:
Looks good. For me, I find joy in the multiple eyes, and the scientifically accurate lack of any shoes. Space ducks don't wear shoes, silly.
Surprisingly, it looks almost identical to my vision, which makes me think that, apparently, there's really only one way to draw a "space duck."
I regret nothing.