993 - A Bad Motivator

"Uncle Owen, this R2 unit has a bad motivator"

-Luke Skywalker, Star Wars (1977)

I return to my on-again off-again fascination with black robots.  Here's a couple of links to others in JSVB (please click on the titles:)

JSVB Post #525: Black Bot

JSVB Post #524 : Black Robot Blues

JSVB Post #519: No Black Replicants?

JSVB Post #773: JKE-RBN7

Although, this isn't really a robot, it's a round of perfect Chinese Char-Siu ribs.  I promise to post the recipe!  

 

992 - "Air Powered Wrench"

This is the instruction sheet you get for pneumatic wrenches created by someone who knows nothing about them.  The paper texture is free courtesy of Bashcorpo. The fonts are courtesy Ray Larabie.

991 - "Kavi Kanem"

I have a bunch of these little illustrations of people in life rings.  I've sold them as part of a larger series, so I don't believe I have the permission to show who these people really are.  So, instead, I'm making the faces anonymous and I am giving each of them a name and background story suitable for a pulp spy novel.  Today's JSVB entry is the final illustration in the series:

NAME: Kavi Kanem

OCCUPATION: CRIME LORD

"I have been expecting you, Grant."  Kavi Kanem was a tall, elegant, raven-haired lady wearing a striking silk kaftan.  At her feet crouched a massive, muscular black Ruritanian Ridgeback, a dog renowned for its vicious efficiency in running down prey.  She held loosely in one hand the pistol grip of a Steyr tactical automatic submachinegun. 

Grant pointed his nine millimeter at Kavi's right eye, which neither blinked nor showed any alarm.  "Put down that gun, muzzle that dog, and take me to speak to Julius Wolverine," Grant demanded.

"You didn't say the magic word," smiled Kavi.

"Please," said Grant, phrasing the one syllable as if it were a terrible curse.

"That's not the magic word, Grant.  The magic word is 'abracadabra'.  Don't you see?  The only way you will ever have a conversation with Julius Wolverine is if you used magic and time travel - he has been dead for over a year, now.  Of course, if you wish to join him, that can be arranged."

Kavi Kanem had reflexes so fast her movements were unearthly.  She recovered her gun and sprayed the spot Grant where Grant had been standing with a hail of bullets.  Grant vaulted for cover behind a large iron planter wrought into Korean mythological symbols.  The dog loped towards Grant, barking with rage.  Grant aimed quickly and shot a thick, woody branch from the plant, which he immediately jammed sideways into the dog's jaws.  Grant fired at Kavi's whirling kaftan.  He thought he scored a hit - there was a drop of crimson blood on the white marble floor, but if Kavi Kanem was hurt, the wound was not critical.  She leaped for a secret oubliette, her loyal dog charging into the hole after her.  The hidden door snapped shut, and Grant was left alone in the room, his ears ringing from the gunshots and his nose itching with the smell of gunpowder.  

Just another day at the office. 

 - excerpt from the novel "A Spy Too Far"

 

See the other portraits and read the other excerpts:

 

"Greta Job" 

"Al Pescia" 

"Louisa Hoff-Perez"

"Mr. Kill" 

"Michigan Lake" 

 

 

 

 

 

990 - "Michigan Lake"

I have a bunch of these little illustrations of people in life rings.  I've sold them as part of a larger series, so I don't believe I have the permission to show who these people really are.  So, instead, I'm making the faces anonymous and I am giving each of them a name and background story suitable for a pulp spy novel:

NAME: Michigan Lake

OCCUPATION: PILOT

"Are you sure you can fly this thing?" Grant demanded, "I thought I just saw a wing come off!"

Michigan Lake laughed and threw the little Stearman biplane into a tight barrel roll.  "Nope," she keyed her radio, "Not the wing, just part of the tail."

"You're joking."

"Of course!  Don't be such a baby, we're going to be just fine."

Grant wavered between sullen silence and speechless petrified fear.  No matter his assignment, he had never come completely to terms with open-cockpit aircraft.  It was far too easy to fall out of one, and there was never any room for parachutes. Normally he avoided flying in them unless there was no alternative.  

"So where to next?" he finally said.

"This little lady only has enough fuel to take us to Jeddah, in Saudi.  We will fly low over the Red Sea most of the way so we don't attract any unwanted attention.  Once we're there, we'll change planes and catch the A-380 to Dubai and then Seoul."

"Sounds good.  Cairo turned out be a dead end." 

"It did for Mr. Kill's crew after you finished with them, Grant." 

Grant rubbed his wrists which were still sore.  Kavi Kanem had eluded capture just as Grant had eluded death.  However, this time N.A.S.T.I.E had under-estimated Grant's will to survive, and so were unprepared for his lethal vengeance.  Grant was confident the trail of clues would take him to South Korea where he would finally run Dr. Julius Wolverine to the ground.  

 

 - excerpt from the novel "A Spy Too Far"

 

 

 

 

 

989 - "Mr. Kill"

I have a bunch of these little illustrations of people in life rings.  I've sold them as part of a larger series, so I don't believe I have the permission to show who these people really are.  So, instead, I'm making the faces anonymous and I am giving each of them a name and background story suitable for a pulp spy novel:

NAME: Unknown (Alias: Mr. Kill)

OCCUPATION: N.A.S.T.I.E. Assassin

"You will discover that these handcuffs are quite unique.  Naturally they are constructed of drop-forged steel, making them most highly resistant to damage. However, these manacles have a distinctive feature: there is no hole for a key.  You see, my dear Grant, these cuffs are designed for one use only.  Once they are applied, as they are now on to you, they can never be removed.  Unless, of course, your hands were to come off.  I expect that will happen as your body decomposes."

Mr. Kill emitted a brief, oily laugh that Grant did not share.  Mr. Kill nodded towards the big man in the tan suit, who in turn flexed his powerful muscles and hauled on the chain connected to Grant's cuffs.  The chain ran to a large metal pulley in the ceiling; Grant's hands were pulled harshly above his head.  The tan-suited man pulled harder, and Grant was heaved painfully upwards until his feet no longer touched the floor.  He looked up. Indeed, there was no keyhole to manipulate the lock.

"I am fully aware that your Gadget Branch has equipped you with a trick belt buckle that can open two thousand different locks," said Mr. Kill, "However, you cannot pick a lock that has no keyhole.  In a few minutes, your arm muscles will become too tired to support your weight.  After that, your chest muscles will fatigue from trying to keep your arms from coming out of their sockets.  In time, your lungs will become too tired for you to breathe, and you will asphyxiate - a most unpleasant way to meet your end, I should think."

"Go _____ yourself," said Grant.  

"Very well," replied Mr. Kill, "If that is what you wish, I shall leave you to your eventual demise.  Come, Krator."  Thus bidden, the big man in the tan suit obediently left the room with Mr. Kill.

Grant hung alone and in silence.  Obviously, the belt buckle key was of no use.  But he did have the option of retracting his thumbs, since his abductor pollicus longus tendons had been ruptured some years ago on assingment during the infamous KLOPT Crisis.  By manipulating the tendons, Grant could effectively dislocate both of his thumbs, causing their muscle masses to withdraw into his hands.  Then, it would just be a simple matter of sliding out of the cuffs.

  

 - excerpt from the novel "A Spy Too Far"

 

988 - "Happily Ever After"

July 19th, my friends Del and Brian were married!  The "Squirrels In Love" is a tribute to them.  I had a nice art print made up for them and I framed it as a gift.  

Please click here to see the original artwork.

987 - "Louisa Hoff-Perez"

I have a bunch of these little illustrations of people in life rings.  I've sold them as part of a larger series, so I don't believe I have the permission to show who these people really are.  So, instead, I'm making the faces anonymous and I am giving each of them a name and background story suitable for a pulp spy novel:

NAME: Louisa Hoff-Perez
OCCUPATION: N.A.S.T.I.E. Assassin

"Kitten's got claws," remarked Grant, his hands upraised just enough to indicate surrender. He kicked the door to his small hotel room shut with the heel of his shoe and stepped carefully to the center of the suite.

Louisa held the elegant silver revolver pointed directly at Grant's chest, "Shut up.  Stand where you are. With your right hand, reach into the your coat and slowly withdraw your weapon.  Any fast moves and I will shoot."

"Very well," complied Grant, "You're the lady in my bedroom with a gun." 

"Put your weapon on the ground and kick it under the bed."

"Anything you say, my dear".  Grant kept his weight on the ball of his right foot as he used his left toe to flick his nine millimeter under the bed.  A quick, dancerlike shift in his weight allowed Grant to effortlessly step inside Louisa's shooting stance and immobilize her gun arm in a judo lock.  He chopped her wrist with a single quick open-palm strike.  She dropped her gun to the floor with a low animal grunt.

He  grabbed Louisa by her waist and pulled her close.  Her eyes flared hot as welding torches.  Her breath smelled of strawberries and honey.

"When was the last time we met like this?  Gdansk?  Toronto?"

"Johannesburg.  You tried to kill me with a kuru blade on Ash Wednesday."

Grant threw Louisa onto the bed. 

- excerpt from the novel "A Spy Too Far"

986 - "Al Pescia"

I have a bunch of these little illustrations of people in life rings.  I've sold them as part of a larger series, so I don't believe I have the permission to show who these people really are.  So, instead, I'm making the faces anonymous and I am giving each of them a name and background story suitable for a pulp spy novel:

NAME: AL PESCIA
OCCUPATION: AGENT-IN-PLACE (COVER: FOOD EXPORTER)

The bedouin's hands were brown like mahogany, and Grant guessed they were hard as that as well.  The man held his hands cupped in front of him, holding forth a mound of nondescript beans.  "Taste, taste," he said in very rough English.

Pescia looked to Grant, "He wants you to eat one of those seeds."

"I gathered as much."

"Do not worry, it is perfectly safe.  And to not try one would be a grave insult."

Grant and Pescia took the proffered food.  Grant nibbled on the soft meal, it tasted vaguely of vegetable oil, but much richer.

"Shukran," Grant said to the bedouin, thanking him.  The man bowed and returned to his work sorting a large pile of the seeds.  

"Moringa seeds," Pescia indicated the pile, "The locals collect them and sell them to the city merchants. They provide excellent nutrition here in the desert."

"Moringa also can be processed into high-grade bio-diesel.  I read the report.  These seeds will buy our entry into the souqs of Cairo, where we can expect to find my next contact."

"Kavi Kanem? The Jackal of Khan el-Khalili? "

"Not so loud," Grant hissed, "But yes, the one and the same."

"But nobody's ever seen Kavi Kanem face-to-face," protested Pescia.

"There's a first for everything, then, isn't there?"

- excerpt from the novel "A Spy Too Far"

985 - "Greta Job"

I have a bunch of these little illustrations of people in life rings.  I've sold them as part of a larger series, so I don't believe I have the permission to show who these people really are.  So, instead, I'm making the faces anonymous and I am giving each of them a name and background story suitable for a pulp spy novel:

NAME: GRETA JOB

OCCUPATION:  INTERNAL SECRETARY FOR THE SUB-MINISTRY

Grant looked over the files in the docket with the emerald-green Ministry stamp.  

"Is this all we have on Dr. Lucius Wolverine?" he demanded, perhaps a little too sharp.  The bark in his voice made an unpleasant echo in the small office.

Greta was apologetic. "This is all we have from Station C for Cairo, after the fire."  

Grant scowled: "First the prototype goes missing and then the inventor, and now even our files on the whole damned project go up in smoke.  It looks like someone is cleaning up every trace of the PLUM Bomb.  Well, you'd better book me a flight to Egypt, Miss Job."

Greta handed Grant a paper folder with the elegant Emirates logo embossed in gold.  "You're in First Class, Grant, on the eight o'clock direct."

A smile played across Grant's hard face as he leaned across Greta's desk to kiss her chaste cheek.  "You're in First Class, my dear," he said, "Thank you for this."

"Watch out Grant, it could be a trap."

"It always is."

- excerpt from the novel "A Spy Too Far"

984 - Fishing For Men V

The deadline for my fishing picture is hours away, so that must mean I am finished with it.  I've cropped out the parts I'm pretty sure I don't have permission to show.  The interesting bit of this piece was that I rendered the acrylic water effect.  It sort of looks like blue Jell-O, but in fact I am pleased with the waves and the splash.  It wasn't nearly as hard to accomplish as I had feared.  

983 - "Readable Fonts"

Welcome JSVB Readers  to another entry into my Ungood Art catalogue.  Ungood Art is a piece of artwork that I have created that went from good to ungood somewhere along the way.  On the thirteenth day of every month, I end up showing something I've created that's nowhere near good.  In this case, I break two new frontiers: one, in that this piece is primarily a poem, although visual layout is crucial to the proper appreciation of the work; and two, that the ungoodness in this entry is entirely intentional, a work of art designed to be ungood from inception to completion. 

So, first, the history.  My Uncle Bern, perhaps the greatest CFL Edmonton Eskimo fan ever, phoned me long-distance to make a bet on the outcome of the game between the Esks and my hometown BC Lions.  Well past the ken of prediction, Bern suggested that the wager be a poem.  The loser of the bet would have to write a poem that clearly praises the team that wins the game. 

And the Lions then got edged out by the surging Eskimos.  And then I had to come up with a poem.  A good poem.  A poem in high praise of the hated Eskimos.  Most of all, a memorable poem. 

This is what I wrote, a Shakespearean sonnet to the Eskies:

Sharp-eyed JSVB readers will notice that most of the poem was set in a very flowing fine-lined font called Baroque Script.  Yet other parts of the poem are set in a bold and angular font called Bullpen.  Baroque Script is designed to cover a page with beautiful flowery lines.  Bullpen is meant to be seen from across a sports field.  From these choices, I hope you deduce my object lesson on readable fonts.  

Bern did not appreciate my choice in fonts, at least not at first.  He was wrapped up with Eskimo pride, practically blinded by the glory of his team.   Here is a photo I snapped of him at a family party reading aloud with infinite glee the copy of the sonnet I had printed and framed for him:

I managed to take this picture at exactly the moment of realization dawning.  GO LIONS GO!  I think it may just be the greatest photograph I have ever shot.  This should be in my Showcase Section, not Ungood Art!  Uncle Bern's exact reply to the sonnet was not something I can repeat word for word, but the gist was that ungood nephews do indeed craft ungood art. 

982 - Lifesaver

I drew this floatation rescue ring for a continuation of my big art project.  I rotoscoped a pre-existing ring, however it was not perfectly circular.  I used Photoshop's Distort function to pull the circle back into shape.  Then I hand-painted some watery highlights for visual appeal.

This will be the template for around a half-dozen mini projects featuring the likenesses of people I won't have the right to display.  So, more censored faces for loyal JSVB readers!  Yay! Right?  

 

981 - Fishing For Men IV

The fishing project continues.  The boat, dear to me as love itself, got the kaibosh.  The boat is dead, long live the swimming pool!  I don't mind.  It wasn't too hard to replace the one with the other.  Anyways, this is getting close to being finished, applause, applause.