K Thor Means Business

All right, lickspittles and clown-noses, as threatened, I have declared myself the Editor Assemblitus of SHIOT CROCK TWELVE: THE FUNKY ZODIAC. What does this mean to you, the hard-working and unpublishable by any conventional means cartoonist? It means that you are in for the THRILL RIDE OF YOUR LIFETIMES as I let you ride my coattails to STARDOM ROCKET CITY, USA. I think it’s no exaggeration to say that this Crock will be THE BEST ONE YET, for a few reasons.
1) NO FORMAT RESTRICTIONS. Whatever you send me, I will integrate into the finished Crock. I will find a way. No matter the size, no matter the material, no matter the cost. This will be the goddamned Swiss Army Knife of hand-assembled shoddy comics APAs. Paint it in feces, carve it on a stone tablet, fart it into a plastic bag and call it comics. IT’S IN! SO MUCH FOR YOU CONSERVATIVES!!!!!
2) NO EXCESSIVE MAILING COSTS. As my gift to the world, mailing costs for Crock #12 will be a flat FOUR DOLLARS. NO MORE. All other costs will be absorbed out of my deep and tender pockets, no matter how heavy the damn thing gets.
3) NOBODY GETS OUT ALIVE. I will include the antidote to a deadly poison in every package of Shiot Crock #12. Six weeks after the collection is mailed, that poison will be released into the water supplies of twelve major cities worldwide. I think what I’m saying here is pretty easy to understand.
4) EVERYBODY IS WELCOME AND NON-PARTICIPATORS WILL BE TEASED MERCILESSLY. Seriously. David Recine and Tedd Rall could do a twelve-page furry jam and I’d be all A-OK COOL. YOU GUYS AM ALL RIGHT (at least in public). Conversely, my mother could neglect to participate and I’d beat her to death with a tire iron. MY OWN MOTHER.
INCLUSION DEADLINE: JULY 2, 2006. This is the date of my wedding.
NUMBER OF COPIES NEEDED DEADLINE: July 16, 2006 – after I get back from my honeymoon I will send you this information.
SUMBITCHION SUBMISSION DEADLINE: August 4, 2006 – this is my 30th birthday.
IF YOU WANT IN: Email kthor@shortandhappy.com with SHIOT CROCK in the
IF YOU WANT OUT: Here’s a knife. Let’s go, asshole.

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