Caligula

God I hate rich people, with their heated swimming pools and shrimp cocktail sauce. I hear that shit's delicious beyond all reason, but the only seafood I can afford with my foodstamps is dolphin-laden tuna fish. It's not fair! That's why I stick it to 'em good with comic funnies. Did you see the look on the smug jerk's expensive face when we threw him in the well? I hope he hates himself.

On a lighter note, this week's comic destroyed our previous record for comic with the most titties. A staggering 53! Go back and see if you can find em all (Hint: you can't. Not because they aren't there, but because years of your mother's passive-aggressive mental abuse has rendered you unable to identify 93% of titties. Sucks to be you, fag.).

To celebrate our new record, we're gonna let you decide the topic for next week's comic. Throw down your ideas in the comment box so we can promptly ignore/ mock them. The guy with the idea that doesn't suck wins!

Hi there. We here at SnM comics would like to take a break from our usual routine of making hilarity, ingesting drugs, and wagering money you've only dreamed of on what it will take to get tonight's hooker to cry delicious shame tears so that we can explain a few things to our possibly confused studio audience.

Pay attention. You better not make me do this again.

One of our fans, let's just call him Skyler since we don't actually have fans, recently became concerned that our future fans (of which there'll be so, so many)might not understand what the fuck is happening with our cast of characters.

It's like this: We invented these fictitious people whose resemblence to us and many of our friends is completely coincidental. No. Fuck that. It's non-existant. We're that fucking creative. Anyway, they're basically actors, dig? And we can throw them into any situation we please.

None of these stories has any real effect on the actors who act them, except for the times when they do. Those times are the shit, and you should totally write essays that analyze our character developement over the span of several period genres in relation to our bulging genius. Then hand them shits to your professors and watch the A's roll in.

Wednesday's Weekly Update

I hate these fucking updates. They're stupid. Every stupid post is an update, and we don't need some stupid list of all the crap we shat this week. So this is the last one ever, for the rest of your life.

In other news, this week's comic will be up on Saturday, which also happens to be the new day we post comics everyweek. So you can't say we were late two times in two weeks, cause that would be a lie, and liars burn in hell.

***SPOILER ALERT***

The new comic takes us back to a simpler time, when rich people did things and emperors wore capes.

I hope this preview in no way harms your future reading experience. That would make us cry.

But it's okay, cause SnM is breaking out of California and sending cultslave #490 to the land that gave America chicken and horses and absolutley nothing else. That means you, Kentucky. He's been brainwashed to stab your mayor, so watch the fuck out, and be sure to mention SnM to your bartender, cause if he happens to be that one guy who actually knows what you're talking about, you'll get a free beer!

SnM cannot be held liable for any big gay bartenders that tie you up and rape you, although we do find your predicament hilarious.

New fiction up. Go read it.

I was going to wait until I was a little further along to put this up, maybe like twice what I've written, but I got a little stuck on such a perfect cliff hangy line that I figured I'd roll with it.

There's more acoming though, so stay tuned! And since it's a work in progress, comments and, fuck even suggestions why not, are encouraged.

They're reading your brains

I'm feeling frisky, plus I've been neglecting this blog like it was one of my kids, so today you get two posts. Two! I'm a fucking blog machine, baby.

Here goes: I've been thinking about this crazy internet thing a lot lately, and I've concluded with absolute certainty that it will undoubtedly plunge us into a new utopian era of facism and slavery and war.

They've got this new thing where airport security can tell if you're gonna blow shit up based entirely on facial ticks and sweat. It's straight up mind reading, with science.

Imagine what THey (the evil doers who rule the world) could do if they used some of them fancy gizmos to cross-analyze your myspace with your fucking browsing history. People are spending so much time inputing their thoughts into this massive information taco we call the internet that pretty soon, some guy somewhere will know exactly what you're thinking at all times. If you start looking at gun websites and "fuck I need some money.com," he'll press some little button and the cops'll swoop in with tear gas and the rest is history, ass-rape history to be precise.

Conversely, if you spend all your time jerking off to the comics here at SnM, the internet police will know you're just some worthless pile of stoner who couldn't commit a real crime if his balls were made out of knife fights and his mustache were a carefully trimmed case of domestic abuse.

So play it safe kids, and keep it tuned to SnM. Your life may depend on it.

My favorite goddamned holiday ever

I want to be serious for a minute. Bear with me. It's father's day today, and it always gets me to thinking just how bad ass of a father I am.

Case in point, think about what you did today. Did you smoke some bowls, play some video games, maybe work at some crappy job? Well, I created a person, using only my glistening penis and a lot of soulful thrusting. Then, for good measure, I fattened the kid up with all sorts of nurishment and taught her everything known to man until she became this awesome girl who sings and draws tattoos on herself and laughs everytime anyone farts, ever.

Sure Katrina helped here and there, but it's my day, so back off!

Wednesday's Weekly Update

It's been one wacky week here at SnM comics. The big news, of course, is that we completely blew our Monday deadline for the new comic. Believe me when I tell you that it was entirely Skyler's fault. He oughta be ashamed of himself.

But don't worry. I kidnapped his bong and sent him a ransom note ensuring that Mr. Bubbles will be released from torture as soon as the new comic is posted. I also hired a goon to Falcon Punch his balls because that's funny to me.


He's coming for you, Skyler.

A couple of courageous slaves and long time friends of the program- Ross and Langlo - threw down on some tracing to make this week's comic a reality. Well done, friends. Your hardwork is an inspiration to all of us, especially that lazy-ass, good-for-nothing cock fiend, Skyler. God I hate him.

P.S. The comic is done and will be online soon. It's about the corrupt nature of our prison system. Only much more hilarious, with fat people.

SnM needs you!

So I'm sitting around at work trying to come up with ideas for the funny, but the stupid phone keeps ringing with all these whiny customers wanting things, things I have to pretend to give a shit about. I'm tired of pretending.

Here's the deal. We've got a pretty legit entertainment site going, what with the chronic shorts and the freshly blogged content. We're reeling in some steady hits, but we're not making any money. I still have to work for cash flow like a sucker.

That's why we're doing this charity drive for cancer: so we can get paid for making comics. It sure as hell isn't for kids with cancer. You can help by showing the site to folks that have never even been to Mammoth, folks you know that we don't. Tell them to buy our book that we make with our goddamned bare hands, cause it'll blow their feeble minds. Tell 'em to check the preview out right here, why don't ya?

I know it sounds like I'm asking you to do a bunch of advertising for me, for free. That's probably because I am. But you can write the time off as a tax exemption. Plus when we got Hollywood banging down our doors for movie rights, we'll be like, "Remember that guy that pimped our site to all his friends? We should send him a fruit basket."

You know you want some fruit. Fucking juicy peaches, strawberries, some mangoes. Them's good eatin.

Site Changes

I decided to delete that long but awesome story from the blog, kind of. I really just made a new blog and moved it over there. So click on that fiction link over to the right there, and read on some juicy prose about psychotic miners, and a new one about a drunken roadtrip.

Hooray for the Government!

I had this brilliant fucking idea for an article last week. It was gonna make me tons of money and probably pull in a pulitzer, cause it's about damn time I get my hands on one of them.

You see, here in California (where I'm sure 100% of my non existant reader ship knows I live), the state's in crazy debt to the mafia. It spent all its loot on panties and Escalades for poor people, so now it wants to close down all of our State Parks. Sounds like bull shit, right?

Well, I heard Hearst Castle was one of the parks on the cut list, and there's this town just north of me that would shrivel up and die if the castle closed. I figuerd if that town's tax revenue exceeds what the state invests into the castle, I could prove that Schwartzenager was retarded. I always wanted to prove that.

But it turns out I'm retarded. After two and a half days of talking to boring-ass state treasury assistants and county assesors about the complex nature of our tax system, I found out Hearst Castle was never gonna close at all.

You know what they want to close? The beach, and some mountains probably. When I heard that, I jerked my meat for joy. You know why? Cause good fucking luck, government. Put up a sign, and we'll all just hide in our houses eating cheese.

If they're too broke to clean up a campsite, they're too broke to gaurd it, which means I still get to go, plus it's free and there's no one there to tell me I can't do drugs and bury the rotting body of that gas stations clerk that's stinking up my ride.

Also my gut's telling me the whole threat to close our parks was a stinky red herring designed to keep our attention off the real shit they want to do: have sex with our children. That's one sneaky group of pedophiles.

Wednesday's Weekly Update

I haven't blogged in a while for five reasons:

1) blogging's kinda lame.

2) nobody reads this shit anyway.

3) Mexicans.

4) I got kids to feed.

5) Skyler ran away from home, and I had to make flyers.

But now I'm back and here's the word. I'll be doing these weekly updates to let ya'll know what we've actually been doing, comic-wise, over the week. I'll probably post some other shit in between. You're welcome, jerks.

This week at SnM comics, we talked about how cool it would be to do acid, if only the government would let us (God damn, I'm afraid of them). Skyler drew a comic instead. It features some of the dopest damn drug drawings to ever hit the webcomics. And it was nice to see Rookie and Vanlichtenvanstein again. Don't you think?

We also plotted out like two more shorts. One features Mersh, the guy who's responsible for our name for some reason.

Here come the Fiction

To tell you you the truth, my life isn't all that interesting, and Skyler's is boring as hell. We're both students. We've got wives. We eat sometimes. Not much to blog about there, unless that makes you want to stop visiting our website, in which case we fight ninjas, no fuck that, are ninjas. Yeah. That'll keep you coming back.

The point is, our fictions are the bread and the blackberry jam, so I'll probably be posting some of that on this here page. It'll be like the comics, minus the pictures.

I've got the beginning of an idea swirling around in my brain that just might lead to a serially posted novel. Keep your fingers crossed, cause you know that shit'll be dope.

In the mean time, I'll start it off with a little Western about our beloved SnM characters.

Amethyst

We got a new comic up for your viewing pleasure. This one features Artie the Lush getting his knees broke-in by animal goons for some reason.
The moral of the story explores the self-perpetuation of poverty and its soul crushing effects. Not really. Its actually about the futility of heroic aspirations in the face of grim reality. Actually that's bullshit too.
In all honesty, there isn't a moral, cause SnM doesn't never have none, ever. It's just a true story about my uncle. That's right. He was beaten near to death by a walrus for fucking around with a mobster's shiny rocks. Poor guy. Hasn't been the same since.

On a lighter note, we're posting these little comics every single week now. Plus I'll be rocking the blog whenever I goddamned feel like it, so keep on a coming back for more of the goods.