Boredominated Ch. 1

Derby's decision was final. Half his life wasted on flash cartoons and cheap whiskey was more than enough. Stretching his back on the crumb and dust decked floor of his studio apartment, the thought that tomorrow he'd be 38 galled him. It was offensive. It was more than he could consider; more years, more cartoons than he could remember. The early years, well those he could recall with precision. Why wouldn't they still be fresh in his mind? The freshest years of his life. Since then, since he settled, since he adopted cartooning as a career mold and rot have riddled and ribboned him. First came the stale years. Rhymes well enough with failure. He's used that joke once or twice. Then there was the fungus. He can see his reflection in the TV on the wall and yeah, that looks like a mold-ravaged man. Then rotting. Brain rotting. No sex in years, no fancy restaurants. Making ends meet doing what he loved when he was a kid. Rot rot rot.

Who knew? Everything was new, anything was possible back then but it was all so ephemeral too. Appealingly so. Making cartoons was a hobby. Gained an awesome reception, bolstered some self-esteem, started making some money on merchandise. Real nice, a real nice college job. Who wouldn't want that on their resume: internet celebrity, influential flash cartoonist, had several thousand fans on facebook. What's that? You want to see my portfolio? Here, let me just borrow your keyboard and...there you go. My portfolio has 117 diggs this morning. Slow day for me. Not my best work. HIRED! But he never got around to actually applying to any jobs. With the DVD deal he didn't even have the time. Got into the habit of doing the taxes of a self-employed man. Got into the habit of sleeping 12 hours a day. Got into the habit of masturbating into empty starbucks cups and stacking them at the foot of the bed. Brushed his teeth every other day. Kept the LOLS coming on a strict and mandatory basis. Every week a new Beluga Whale & Orca full-length. Every other day an Onion-man short. Once a month a holiday special, nevermind that there aren't enough holidays when you can always make more. Being creative is the job. No breaks for the creative. Gimme. More more more.

When was the bottom ever going to drop out. How could people steal like this junk? He'd like to say "I don't know about you guys but I grew up" but of course that wasn't true. Re-read the previous paragraph for clarification. But he stopped enjoying watching flashtoons a few years after he started making them. Same with webcomics and viral videos and everything he loved back when boredom was his wiliest foe, when containing said boredom was his greatest responsibility. But it got old, didn't it? Homestar, Weebl, everything on Newgrounds. Was it bitterness? Insecurity? Lack of self-esteem. He should have quit five years in, jumped to a new high, a new competition. His tolerance level for this dope wasn't hitting the spot anymore.

So be it. No more. He'd made his decision. He'd done 2,999 cartoons. With 3,000 he'd retire. Or at least find a better job. Something that demands that he shampoo his hair every once in a while, perhaps. Didn't have anything lined up yet but this was his chance. Worst comes to worse he'll beg his parents to let him move back him. He has no shame. All that's left is mold.

He hasn't informed his audience. Hasn't told the company in charge of merchandise. Doesn't plan on it. Two years back his work became a bit more irregular, a tad more capricious. Like once a month irregular, when he damn well feels like it capricious. Of course of course a horse there was griping on message boards - same as it ever was. Took a lot of what was left of his self-discipline to keep him from telling his adoring, boredom suffering public to bite him on his prostate. They didn't deserve to be told anything but prices and sizes. They'll wait around for a while after number 3,000. Ooh, maybe he'll lurk the forums in between application. Just to gauge disappointment. Let's see who the real fans are? Whose going to keep clicking back the longest? Let's see some old-fashioned, god-fearing devotion!

But. What to do for a finale? A month has nearly passed since number 2,999. Not a very well spent month. No productivity, no work done on anything, no applications filled out, few showers taken, few vegetable eaten. He's never had performance anxiety before. From the start he just flung whatever shit he thought could possibly funny up against the computer monitor to see what stuck. And then he used it all, the good as well as the bad because who cares. He never expected a following but he took it. Never expected money but he took that too. As much as he could. Never expected fulfillment and what do you know? Can't be wrong about everything. So fuck it, just have Beluga Whale drown or something. Ahh, but then the forum jockeys might find an in on the joke. The joke is not for them, it's on them and his intentions must not be deciphered that easily. What to do, what to do...? Lunch, that'll do.

As he approached the kitchenette corner he saw a funnel of electricity rip a whole through reality right outside his window. Max Headroom appeared with an electric voice and electric eyes. He just stood there, massive! His chin nearly rested on the the awning. Derby opened the window. "Who are you?" "Why, I am a wizard! You must tell me your wish before I grow impatient."

TO BE CONTINUED...