We were headed to Onyxcon, but we hit a wormhole and traveled back in time to January.
Or I don't know how to get the time stamp thing off of the pictures. One of those, I forget.
Cruising in the ATL, John trembles with fear as, all around us, Georgians drive with the smooth grace of chihuahuas on a meth bender.
Turtel Onli Studios in the full early morning blush of Onyxcon. The father of the Black Age of Comics and his able assistant whose name I can't remember, but was very nice indeed, and so I am a dick, get ready to sell comics like some kind of comics...selling... thing.
I'm gonna post the rest of these later. We need to hit the road and my metaphor reserves are lower than... low stuff.