Sunday Comix #2

Introducing the second installment of Sunday Comix!  This issue, which is aptly titled, "Not Exactly Batmaning It Up," explores a superhero's not-so-secret identity, which can only be told through these two men.  And surely you know their names!  Cheers!

An Open Letter to Mike Grell

I was fortunate enough to meet one of my idols a few weeks ago, the legendary Green Arrow artist/writer, Mike Grell.  I told him of an experience I had when I was in high school and I would like to share to you all my letter to Mike Grell because it has meant a lot to me and my father.  So without further adieu:

Dear Mr. Mike Grell,

My name is Philip McNulty and I recently attended the Philadelphia Comic Con on the weekend of June 17^th, where, on the 19^th, I came up to your booth on the showroom floor and told you a short story of mine.

Ever since I was a little kid, my favorite character has been Green Arrow.  My Dad first introduced me to the character when he gave me his reprint issues of the Denny O’Neil/Neal Adams Green Lantern/Green Arrow run.  Then in high school when I was going through my Dad’s comic book bin, I came upon your “Longbow Hunters” book and I asked my Dad, “What is this?”  He responded by saying, “It was the last Green Arrow story to ever matter.”  And you know what?  My Dad was right.  Seven years removed from when I first picked up “The Longbow Hunters,” I’ve collected every Green Arrow issue since and I still tell my Dad that he was right when he told me that Mike Grell’s “The Longbow Hunters” was the last Green Arrow story to ever matter.  Thank you for giving my father and I the greatest Green Arrow story and the last to ever matter.

I also wanted to share with you an illustration I recently did which was inspired by your comic series.  I hope you enjoy it.

With the utmost sincerity I thank you, Mike Grell, for some of the greatest art the industry has ever seen.

-Philip McNulty

Sunday Comix is a new weekly series created by Philip McNulty and Patrick McNulty (Absinthe Hour), and will feature various humorous outlooks surrounding your favorite (and our favorite) comic book superheroes.

This is the first Sunday Comix to premiere!  Entitled "An Easy Decision," we examine what we think Gotham City's citizens should really be thinking.

Enjoy!
-Philip "AnimatedPhil" McNulty

         (Artwork and words are copyright to Philip and Patrick McNulty)

This is a snippet of the story my twin is trying to get published right now.  If you like it, you can go see more of his work here: http://mcnultytwo.blogspot.com/

The image above is the artwork I created for the piece and I hope you enjoy:


There's something I should tell you, comrade, so let me start from the beginning.
I offered Vladimir a cigarette, but he did not take it. He showed me a Lux. I offered him a light, the least for which he took graciously from me, and it pleased me immensely. A small, red glow ignited the grey, ashy tip of his Lux as he drew in a deliberate and sensitive breath. I asked him if he could recite some of his poetry, some of my favorites, from "Morning" to "Night," "To His own Beloved Self." He began with the latter and I sat there like a dumb child. He read it with such depravity, such contrition—just so disconsolately—it made my eyes well with small tears. But there was such a freshness and sincerity to it all. It was simply magnificent.
"Were I as quiet as thunder," Vladimir said, "how I'd wail and whine!"
I lifted the loose crimson mask dangling over my head above my nose and pursed my lips. I raised the cigarette to my lips as Vladimir continued to traipse the delicate lines of his poetry over the small curves of smoke in the air. I should apologize if my words become too whimsical at times. I'm not particularly a poet—a far cry from one, actually—but it's hard to ignore the temptations of poetry's waters when such a great artist is sitting next to you. I don't know. I feel a little embarrassed even trying. But, it is Mayakovsky! Mayakovsky!
"If I were as dim as the sun, night I'd drill with the rays of my eyes."
I laughed heartily and mightily, and I'm sure Vladimir thought me insane. But he didn't stutter in his reading. He didn't even look at me crooked. What a true comrade!
I took another inhalation of cigarette smoke as Vladimir recited the last line. "…by what Goliaths was I begot—I, so big and by no one needed."
I know that particular poem ends with a question, but every time I hear it or read it, it always sounds more like a statement to me. I lifted my mask and took a mighty inhalation of the cigarette and breathed it slowly out into the air. My mask fell carelessly over my mouth and I felt disrespectful when I turned to Vladimir and, with a smile, nodded to him. I felt badly about it—not letting him see my smile, that is. I assume he didn't. I should have lifted my mask to show him how enlightened I was—even after hearing that poem for what amounted to an insurmountable number of times. It is refreshing to me every time I hear it, like a cool breeze on a lukewarm day. I'm sure it went without mentioning to Vladimir, of course. But oftentimes, it is necessary to hear. I suppose I'll tell him tomorrow.
I dug into my coat pocket. I grabbed an ancient, eight-times folded poster with the intentions of unraveling it in front of Vladimir and telling him the story behind it. It was a fascinating story, one I wanted dearly to tell Vladimir, but everyday was the same. I'd be interrupted by a knock on the train car door and I'd never tell him the history behind the poster.
Today was no different.
A knock on the door abruptly stalled my story before I could even begin it. Bogolomov, who was a small man in height and stature with a grey bristle ring of hair surrounding the completely hairless, polished tip of his head, entered the train car with a fair amount of trepidation.
"Is it prepared, Bogolomov?" I asked.
He nodded, and his nervous, antsy eyes stumbled into their natural frenzy. He was quite fidgety, so I always felt compelled to be stern with him, which is why I asked him if it was ready rather coldly. You must know he is quite a good man, a man I trusted my life with during the War. He is also a confident man, but he hasn't shown it since we made our journey to America. He is the kind of man who needs to be treated with a fair firmness. It's all to build him up, to remind him that—no matter where he is—he is still the same Bogolomov inside; the comrade I relied so heavily on in Russia; the comrade who was fearless, dignified, and self assured. But it has taken longer than I had hoped. And watching his pupils dance in his head like that, it's unnerving.
"Yes, Comrade—"
"No." The grey tip of my cigarette burst red. "It's Captain, Bogolomov."
Bogolomov's uneasy, nervous eyes fluttered rapidly. He avoided my eyes—my only facial feature unhidden by the deep red cowl—like a ship avoiding the onslaught of a hurricane. "Of course, Captain." His cheeks became rosy. He shook his head in disgust and a wavering, uncomfortable smile took shape on his face. "My apologies."
I took one final inhalation of the cigarette and released its smoke slowly. "You were saying?" I flicked the edge of the cigarette with my thumb violently. Ash crumbled into a thousand small, irrelevant pieces, its descent hardly noticeable.
"The new poster is ready," Bogolomov said.

The Herd on Sale at Teefury on Sunday, June 5th For Only 24 Hours!

This Chuck inspired T-shirt "The Herd" will be on sale at teefury.com on Sunday, June 5th for ONLY 24 hours when the clock turns to midnight on Saturday night. To win an exclusive t-shirt signed by "Chuck" star, Adam Baldwin, visit teefury.com for details.

Is your computer not working properly? Does it have that dark, blank screen no matter how many times you slam Ctrl/Alt/Delete? None of the lights blinking when you just absolutely know they were green and vibrant yesterday? Fear not! There is a solution! BuyMore proudly introduces the Nerd Herd! These are the guys who know the ins-and-outs of every rule there is to know in D&D. These are the guys who clam up and freeze still in their tracks at the sight of a woman. These are guys who make up the Nerd Herd, who get paid to tell you your computer wasn't plugged in.

Thanks Chuck, Jeff, and Lester for being the Nerd Herd!

A big thanks to Patrick McNulty for a great T-Shirt Bio!

The Tragedy of Hedonism

The Tragedy of Hedonism

(Artwork by Philip McNulty)

Here's a small vignette for you all by my twin Patrick McNulty entitled:


The Tragedy of Hedonism


The corridor stretched beyond comprehension as I was led down the dark, despondent hall by two husky goons. They didn't tell me much of the what or the why of their actions. In fact, they didn't even gasp or sigh or moan as they waltzed into my house and marched down the basement to apprehend me. They just did. It was, after all, Stalin's Motherland.
A light bulb on a single string of dim lights down the hall flickered as we approached it. I watched, as it consumed moths and mosquitoes, repressing and extirpating the life of the insects, swallowing them whole in the flashes of darkness. I searched for remnants of them, something that could prove to me that they were once a part of life, but any signs of wings, antennas—even their charged bulbous eyes—were gone. Either lost to the tight, thin air or hidden by the dust and cobwebs coating the cracks in the concrete floor and the musty brick wall.
The large, intimidating guard jabbed me sharply in the back and pointed ahead. I stumbled over my feet as I continued down the tedious hall. I looked back at the other guard. He, too, pointed ahead.
I ran through my mind the events of the days, weeks, even the months before. I internally wondered who I crossed, what I had told people, either in passing or when engaged in deep conversation. I tried remembering to whom I smiled or frowned upon. I questioned what song I sang in the shower last night. My mind could not raise one damned red flag. Nothing about me was unordinary or out of line. Nothing.
An iridescent green glow at the head of the hall made me nervous. We were approaching the conclusion of this path and I immediately wanted to turn back and watch more bugs sizzle in the light behind me. My knees shivered and my legs became instant goo. A darkness slowly enshrouded my vision, a blindness induced by fear or the want for comfort. I shook my head rapidly to regain sight. The green light was brighter, more vibrant, and the large Russian behind me placed his hand on my shoulder and forced me to turn the corner.
The light was blinding, burning my retinas and singeing away all of my sensations but fear.
"Sit down," a deep voice said.
And, when coerced by my new comrades, I did just that.
I squinted in an effort to look through the green light at my mysterious captor. I could not decipher much of the man not two feet in front of me. I caught only a glimpse of a Russian army cap and shoulder pads. Otherwise, I discovered he smoked Herzoginva Flor.
"I imagine you are intrigued as to why you are here," he said. "Well, my friend, the answer is relatively simple and borderline cliché: you have something we want."
I raised my arm over my eyes to shield from the ever-persistent green light.
"Please," he said, "keep both hands on the table."
I did as I was told. My heart pounded.
"I have been told you are a simple man versed only in the pleasures of butchery. Skilled with a knife, unafraid to mutilate the dead, undeterred to wear the blood of your victims on the whites of your sleeves."
"Well," I said, "technically—"
"In times like these," he said, "you know, with the Americans threatening, we could use an assassin with your talent."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Please, please, do not be so modest, Mr. Konev."
"No, "I said, "it's not that. I'm not Mr. Konev. My name is Konon, the owner of Meats Meats Meats at the corner of Vetoshnyy pereulok."
"Oh, really?" His toned changed and his voice cracked slightly, like a prepubescent school child. "Oh. Then this is an awful mistake."
He waved his hand next to his head and the green light switched off. The room's natural light exposed his face—for the worse, I might add. His face was scarred by deep, inset wrinkles and his eyes bulged like a warped beast from a Kafka story.
"This is most embarrassing," he said. "Clearly…" he paused and chuckled in a most uncomfortable way. "Clearly, you are not him."
He dug into his pockets and rummaged about in a fidgety way.
"Here." He removed a crumbled, seemingly sandy pack of Flor from his pocket and pushed it into my chest. There was one cigarette left. I was curious as to why there was more sand than cigarettes. Nonetheless, it was still a Flor.
"Take this as an apology," he said, forcing the pack more deeply into my chest. Grains of white sand trickled from the open sores of the bottom of the pack and formed a relatively large ant hill in front of my feet. "It's so…" he said, shaking his head, "just so embarrassing."
"Please," I said, "it's alright." I took the unscrupulously handled pack. There was still a perfectly fine Flor remaining. "This is more than enough."
"Perfect." He tapped both of my shoulders twice with his large, bristle hands and smiled. "Let me light that for you, Comrade."
I nodded, and plucked the cigarette from the pack and pursed my lips. He raised a pistol from his hip and shot the end of the cigarette. The bullet must have pierced my neck, or grazed my Adam's apple. I must have impulsively grabbed for my neck as I fell to the floor. To be honest, I didn't even feel the blood on my hands. I just saw it, and sort of rubbed it inquiringly with my thumb into my forefinger.
"Dispose of the body," the man said casually to the two goons who brought me in.
I looked at the cigarette, which was still intact and smoldering. I was surprised at how well it was preserved after receiving a gunshot to its head. I figured my captor must have been a horrible shot.
My eye sight was slowly fading, and everything was become hazy and arbitrary. I couldn't even feel the men's hands under my armpits, couldn't feel my heels sliding in staggered zigzags to the hall where moths had received the same disparaging end. And then, there in front of my face was the swaying, sensual smell of the cigarette smoke.
I raised the cigarette to my lips. Hell, it was still a perfectly fine Flor.

Thanks for the Support!

Thanks to your kindness and support, were able to help make "Scooby Who" a popular item at Teefury.com.  And though the 24 hours is up to purchase the shirt, the t-shirt is now available at redbubble.com!  The link to purchase the shirt is:

http://www.redbubble.com/people/animatedphil/t-shirts/6968626-2-scooby-who

Thanks again for all your love an support and look out for me in the upcoming future.

-Philip McNulty

"Scooby Who, Where are you?"

"Scooby-Who, where are you?"
It is a novel question, one which doesn't seem too insightful or too complex when asked in his world--a fantastic world probably too ahead of its time, a world like a grand amalgamation of two pop culture icons--but the answer to the question is more complex than time travel.  It is a mystery that is satisfyingly unsolvable, and, Zoinks!, it might just just scare you if you find him.  But if you badly want to ask Scooby-Who, "where are you," you should probably start in England.  Just a guess.
-Patrick McNulty

Follow Patrick at http://mcnultytwo.blogspot.com/

Available for only 24 hours on Monday, March 28th (starting at Midnight on Sunday night). I make a dollar for each t-shirt sold, so please order one and help spread the word. Shirts are only $10 and are available at http://www.teefury.com/

 

Thanks!

The AMAZING Morrison!

As Many of you know I am a huge WWE fan and recently my favorite superstar has been referred to as Spider-Man.  So here is an illustration I recently did along with an article.  Enjoy!

The Amazing Morrison:  How a Familiar Persona Can make Him the Next Top Face of the WWE

Arrogant.  Sarcastic.  Ambitious.

These are the words often given to Spider-Man when being described by the likes of Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, and the Kingpin when Spider-Man debuted in Amazing Fantasy #15.

Arrogant.  Sarcastic.  Ambitious.

These were the words spoken by the likes of CM Punk, Tommy Dreamer, and Evan Bourne when John Morrison debuted as ECW Champion.

The difference between the two.  Morrison at the time was a heel.

The only knock on Morrison in his career has been his mic skills.  We all know that when Morrison was a heel, his mic work was far superior than it is now as a face.  Week in and week out he heckled the likes of John Cena and CM Punk with great success.  The problem that came from that was his moveset.  We must recognize that the only reason Morrison has risen to feuds above the mid-card is simply because of his movest as a face.  Whether it is leaps from props on the stage, scaling the wall to avoid elimination at the Royal Rumble, or climbing the Elimination Chamber, week in and week out Morrison has thrilled us all.  The conondrum the superstar finds himself in is that it's either one or the other.  Mic skills or Moveset?  Heel or face?  My question is why does he have to choose?

If it's one thing comic book fans and movie goers alike know, it's that Spider-Man is cocky, arrogant, and a hero.  When Spider-Man takes on a villain, he uses his mouth and ability to get the enemy frustrated and heated so that while they are still fuming from the insults, good ol' Spidey is taking them down.

So what does this have to do with John Morrison you might ask?  Is that not only can Morrison be like Spider-Man in the ring, but like Spider-Man on the mic as well.  Those same attributes that Morrison used as a heel on the mic can be used right now as a face, just like Spider-Man does each time he stares down a villain.  Heck, Spider-Man even insults Wolverine and Iron Man at least once an issue in the Avengers.  If it's one thing we've seen in the past is that a face can antagonize both heels and faces alike.  When the Rock came out and ripped Stone Cold, we laughed.  When he ripped Triple H, we laughed harder.  Now I'm not saying that Morrison can ever be like the Rock on the mic, but the tactics he can use are one in the same.  Morrison can be that same sarcastic and arrogant superstar on the mic, but as long as it's written as witty with a hint of sarcasm he can poke fun at everyone on the roster.  It's the same reason why people pick up an issue of Spider-Man each month.

At the Elimination Chamber, Josh Matthews had the quote of the night by saying that, "John Morrison does things that even makes Spider-Man jealous.  The AMAZING Morrison!"

If written correctly, the WWE can have their very own friendly neighborhood superstar.  After all they have Superman, so why not Spider-Man?

Here We Go!

Hi all!  Philip McNulty here and welcome to my official illustration blog.  For those who don't know me there is only 3 things you need to know.  I am an Illustrator, Graphic Designer, and Comic Book Geek.


I hope that someday I'll get my big break into Marvel and DC Comics and one day will be the artist for either Gambit or Green Arrow.  So this being an illustration blog, this will probably be my longest post otherwise you can enjoy yourself some  of my artwork that it published, hoping to be published, or some random doodling.


This will also be the place where my twin brother and creative writer, Patrick McNulty, will debuted comic shorts that come straight from his head.  So we hope to be cross-promoting our blogs and be the next Stan Lee/Jack Kirby or Denny O'Neil/Neal Adams comic book team. Hence the name "McNulty One" in the web address.  So as the title says, here we go.