Must be the dawning of the Age of Aquarius or something! The fur is flying like a shitty King Kong movie in a blender!
OK, so I go out to meet The Other Mark M last night, and his first PSD of grunt work looks great, and we're rocking and rolling and everything's hunky dory. TODAY the call comes in from HQ - "HOLD EVERYTHING! And I don't mean for a minute, I mean forEVER!"
The TOP SECRET PROJECT is dead! I guess that's all I can say, legally. I'll get paid for the fabulous work that I did that they were loving to death, but the intrigues of Corporate America have clanged the DEATH BELL and America's Youth will never have the chance to witness these visions and blow their minds. It's all so tragic. My heart weeps for America's Youth!
But hey, here's something sweet that came of it all. That new jabberous masthead up there. By The Other Mark M! See, I have a touch of that strange affliction where I can't recognize faces if I have not been in contact with the person for a long time. Seriously. So I told TOMM not to be offended if I walked by him at the mall. But he said "Don't worry, I'll put a jabberous sign on the table." And he actually DID! And not just one of those hand-scrawled things like the limo drivers hold up at the airport. No, it was this awesome vision designed and executed by TOMM, mounted on black presentation board, with a little stand and everything! Ain't it purty!
I think he said the font is called "bleeding cowboy"? I can't find it here, but if you like it, or any other cool TOMM fonts here, talk to him. Maybe he'll sell you a font or something.
And what the bejeebus is Bissette railing about here? He's not well, folks, forgive him.
Dear Steve: Whatever it is that I supposedly censored, please re-post. I haven't touched a post since the infamous two. Blogger may have mangled something, but not me. What was it anyway? Are there only 98 "Dorky Dunstons" instead of 99? I'll be up at Quechee Gorge tomorrow (01-11-08). If you're in your booth by any chance we'll sort this out like gentlemen - I'll slap your New York Times out of your mitts and you'll cry like a girl!