How to write Anarchist Comix
This is how the sausage is generated.
PONY VALLEY ANTHOLOGY — Season 0: Full Script
By Eunice / Clusterfarce — Master Bible Compiled 2026-05-13
EPISODE 1: PVC-RITUAL-001 — THE KITCHEN RITUAL / THE TREE TRUNK PROPHECY
Logline: Preservation through contamination.
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT - SMOKE HAZE
A small kitchen. An ashtray overflows. Half-dozen cigs burn in rotation. Johnny stands over a fresh batch of cookies.
He takes a drag, taps ash, and drops the entire filter straight into the dough.
JOHNNY
At the end of every session we save the roaches and we add another ring to the tree trunk.
He folds the roaches in. The dough darkens.
He is not wasting. He is archiving.
CUT TO: Tree stump cutting board. A new ring drawn in ash.
CINEMATIC: 35mm, 4:3 Academy, locked tripod. Macro push-in. Tungsten haze. Sound: cig crackle, timer tick.
EPISODE 2: PVC-GRAIL-001 — THE ULTIMATE COLLECTOR'S PARADOX
Logline: When defacement becomes provenance.
INT. PONY VALLEY GARAGE - DAY
On the workbench, under sterile white light, sits the grail:
LEICA M (Type 240) "Edition 0.1" by Marc Newson for (RED) - 2013. 1 of 1 prototype. $1.8M auction. Aluminum unibody, no leatherette, pure industrial sculpture.
Johnny, in magenta nitrile gloves, picks up a fat black Sharpie.
He pauses. Smirks. Signs it.
SHARPIE SQUEAK = HORROR STING.
Close-up: ink bleeding into aluminum.
CUT TO: Internet forums exploding. Purists weeping. Resale value -90%. But now it's his Leica. Not Leica's.
JOHNNY
Originality is the only serial number that matters.
CINEMATIC: 85mm macro, 2.39:1. Rack focus curve → Sharpie tip. Magenta glove pop. Sound: Leica shutter clack.
EPISODE 3: PVC-DIVE-001 — TOKYO BAY MIDNIGHT MIRROR
Logline: Trading electric hum for weightless silence.
Beneath neon pulse of Tokyo skyline, water opens like cool midnight mirror. TOKYO TOWER burns red, reflections ripple.
JOHNNY, EUNICE, and V stand at edge of concrete.
They slip into dark heavy brine away from concrete roar.
No gauges ticking. No regulators hissing. Just final breath, focus, slow drop past thermocline.
Bioluminescent urban runoff dances against wetsuits as they drift downward into obsidian dark.
Weightless. Silent. Absolute.
CINEMATIC: 24mm underwater dome, 2:1. Single breath take, overhead drift. Cyan → obsidian gradient. Sound: city hum cuts at waterline, only heartbeat + bubbles.
EPISODE 4: PVC-PENUMBRA-001 — NORTH BEACH NIGHT RUN
Logline: Analog sanctuary in digital city.
FOUR PANEL COMIC - Storyboard built.
PANEL 1: NORTH BEACH, SF — NIGHT
Foggy street. Johnny, V, Eunice approach MR. PENUMBRA'S 24-HOUR BOOKSTORE, neon sign humming.
Inside, impossibly towering shelves, ladders, warm lamplight. All three look up in wonder.
At a wooden table: V holds her book triumphantly. Johnny holds ROUGE NETRUNNER JOURNAL. Eunice holds MEMOIRS OF THE NIGHT READER and lifts THE CODE & THE FOG.
PANEL 4: GOODNIGHT, NORTH BEACH
Backs to camera, walking away together into foggy street, bookstore glow behind them.
CINEMATIC: 32mm, 1.66:1 cozy comic. Warm interior vs cold sodium exterior. Bell jingle, pages rustle, fog horn.
EPISODE 5: PVC-HOLY-001 — THE HOLY MOUNTAIN BACKYARD COOKOUT
Logline: Occult cinematic happening in a cookout.
EXT. BACKYARD - DAY - SUNNY
A surreal gathering of musical avant-garde.
Johnny and V arrive completely committed to esoteric surrealism of THE HOLY MOUNTAIN.
ALDOUS HARDING opens door statuesque and piercingly deadpan in striking red costume and headpiece from "Fixture Picture" video, entirely unfazed by cinematic cult iconography on porch.
TIM PRESLEY stands near patio, moody high-contrast monochrome spectral, wary eye at sun.
HUW EVANS (H. Hawkline) covered in splatters bright paint, walking abstract expressionist canvas, elbow-deep in album art project.
JESSICA PRATT seated under tree, softly fingerpicking intricate timeless melodies on guitar, anchoring bizarre tableau with something gorgeous.
CATE LE BON sitting nearby, deeply engrossed in vintage ultra-rare 1960s Beatles tablature book adorned with mind-bending full-color psychedelic art, treating Fab Four chord progressions with seriousness of sacred text.
Occult symbols hang from olive tree. BBQ smokes. Tarot on stone table.
CINEMATIC: 28mm wide daylight, 1.85:1. Tableau master, slight Dutch angle. Sound: fingerpick + grill sizzle + occult chimes.
EPISODE 6: PVC-SCROLL-001 — THE NEON-DRENCHED SCROLL
Logline: Sacred craft reduced to serial numbers — Johnny vomits.
INT. JAPANTOWN SQUAT - NIGHT
Air smells stale synth-caffeinated rot and ozone from half-blown solder station. Johnny shoves battered plastic headset up against forehead, elastic greasy from three straight days in chair. Reflection in cracked terminal glass: grease-slicked hair, smirk that doesn't reach eyes.
Floating orange AR listings blur past retinas at Mach 3:
Cartier Santos-Dumont — Pre-collapse mint. Only 40,000 eddies. Ideal for corporate lackeys who enjoy wearing pension fund on wrist.
TAG Heuer Monaco — Vintage 1970s reissue. Waterproof up to fifty meters pure nostalgia.
Hamilton Khaki Field — Standard-issue mil-surp. At least it doesn't pretend to be art.
Rolex Submariner — Gold-capped. Certified by three fixers as 40% authentic.
Rolex GMT-Master II — Pepsi bezel. Wear it while you watch Pacific coastline sink into bay.
Rolex Datejust — Another fucking Datejust. Is there fabricator in Watson turning these out by gross, or do suits spontaneously generate them upon reaching middle management?
Hublot Big Bang — Sleek. Aggressive. As subtle as grenade launcher in confessional.
Jaw clenched. Suffocating weight — centuries human ingenuity, artistic expression, mechanical passion boiled down to serial numbers and status symbols traded by corpos in high-rise glass coffins who wouldn't know gear train from bullet wound.
Stomach violent tectonic heave.
ERRRECH. Rips goggles off just in time, doubling over edge rusted crate as torrent cheap tequila, synth-noodles, pure ideological disgust splashes concrete.
Wiping mouth with back leather sleeve, eyes bloodshot blazing at glowing holographic debris.
JOHNNY
Fucking posers. Even the ticks are wearing gold.
CINEMATIC: 18mm fisheye AR POV, 16:9 glitch. Orange HUD burn → grey-green sick. Sound: scroll whine, gulp, heave + reverb.
EPISODE 7: PVC-LESTAT-001 — THE AFTERLIFE CONFESSION
Logline: Lestat admits he was in Korn.
INT. AFTERLIFE BAR - NIGHT
Cold red neon. Sticky table. Cracked vinyl booth. Stainless-steel flask, amber liquid catches neon.
LESTAT takes slow deliberate sip, sets metal down with soft clink, theatrical exaggerated sigh.
LESTAT
Ah, the nineties. A truly pathetic era of human culture. But yes... unfortunately, the rumors are quite true.
Leans back against booth, arms crossed over ruffled shirt.
LESTAT
It was a brief, excruciating lapse in judgment during a particularly dull decade in London. Some mortals fancied themselves musical visionaries, and they needed a frontman who could stare blankly into a strobe light while screaming about feeling like a freak on a leash. The hair extensions alone were a crime against aesthetics. Why? Were you thinking of booking us for a reunion tour through the Sprawl, Johnny?
JOHNNY (from doorway)
Christ, Lestat. I knew you were old, but I didn't know you were Baggy-Jeans-And-Wallet-Chain old.
CINEMATIC: 50mm, 2.39:1. Slow push-in on flask clink. Neon red rim. Sound: clink, sigh, vinyl creak.
EPISODE 8: PVC-IDORU-001 — LO/REZ LORE
Logline: Low-res as resistance.
Reference from William Gibson's Idoru (1996).
Core Duo: Rez (half-Irish lead singer, announces marriage to virtual celebrity Rei Toei / idoru) and Lo (Chinese guitarist). Pun on "low-res."
Crew: Willy Jude (drummer), Keith Alan Blackwell (massive scarred Australian ex-standover man, chief security), Arleigh McCrae (tech staff, assists Colin Laney).
Thematic link: Rez marries light — opposite of Johnny vomiting at status. Johnny Sharpie-ing Leica to make it personal vs Rez defacing myth to make it real.
EPISODE 9: PVC-VHS-001 — THE GARAGE WORKBENCH PARADOX
Logline: Mango as butterfly effect.
INT. GARAGE WORKBENCH - NIGHT
Cluttered garage, single overhead fluorescent bulb. Vintage VCR hums next to airsoft pistol.
BURNOUT JOHNNY (37) rubs eyes, stares blankly at flickering CRT displaying tape.
YOUNG JOHNNY (12) on screen, mop of hair, holding slingshot, squinting.
BURNOUT JOHNNY
Look, man... if this all goes well—and I hope to Christ it does—this tape is being watched by my twelve-year-old self in some alternate timeline where I actually finished a project. You have no idea the shit I had to go through just to get an old VHS cassette working in 2026.
YOUNG JOHNNY
Can't believe you found the VCR, man. I thought Mom hid it in the same drawer where she keeps her spare eyeglass frames. Moms never realize we know every hiding spot in the house.
Burnout leans close to monitor, finger to screen.
BURNOUT JOHNNY
Listen very carefully, kid. On Thursday night, do not eat the fresh mangoes Mom gives you for dessert. I know they taste great, but your throat is going to close up like a fist and you'll miss the middle school field trip to the museum on Friday. More importantly, you gotta change the route, or at least mess up the carburetor on the family station wagon so we stay off the highway bridge.
YOUNG JOHNNY (unimpressed)
Wait... is this why my adult life smells like stale coffee and grease? Because of some stupid fruit allergy?
BURNOUT JOHNNY (slump into metal folding chair, groaning)
Just trust me, alright? And whatever you do, stop trying to hold your airsoft pistol sideways. It doesn't maximize profile reduction, it just looks ridiculous.
CINEMATIC: VHS texture + 35mm, 4:3 within 16:9. CRT within frame, interlaced flicker. Fluorescent buzz + tape hiss + chair groan.
EPISODE 10: PVC-POP-001 — THE POP TRUNK - MF
Logline: Minimal proof of existence.
INT. HOLDING CELL - NIGHT
Cold sterile grey. Cheap disinfectant and old copper. Outside heavy steel mesh door, endless grinding thrum city muted to dull vibration in floorboards.
Across concrete room sits pop trunk — battered standard-issue property box meant to hold scraps system scraped off him before throwing behind locks.
Johnny drags boot across floor, pushing heavy plastic box closer to narrow cot. Drops down, springs groaning, lifts lid.
Inside usual garbage: pair worn boots, charred remnants leather vest, couple loose cartridges. Flips heavy lid all way back, tilts head to inspect underside steel frame where hinges bite into casing.
Scratched deep into cold industrial grey paint — gouged out with something sharp, like corner rusted belt buckle or shaved-down toothbrush handle — are two stark letters:
Johnny stares long quiet beat, chrome of arm catching harsh strip fluorescent overhead. Ghost of dry humorless smirk.
JOHNNY
So he really was here.
CINEMATIC: 40mm, 1.33:1 prison box. Boot drags box, lid flip, macro on MF gouge. Sterile grey, single harsh strip. Sound: spring groan, plastic scrape, long silence.
EPISODE 11: PVC-SANDTROUT-001 — THE FOX EMPEROR
Logline: Contamination of Godhood.
INT. AFTERLIFE BAR - SAME BOOTH - NIGHT
Same flask, now joined by unexpected guest.
LESTAT
My lord emperor Doctorow, etc.
DOCTOR O (Leto II, God Emperor, but fox-hybrid)
There was an unforeseen complication in my transformation. The sand trout may have eaten a fox before I did the transformation, so yeah, this is how I look now.
Lestat slowly lowers velvet-gloved hand from face, eyes narrowing with mix profound aesthetic offense and genuine clinical curiosity.
LESTAT
A fox. You allowed a verminous woodland scavenger to contaminate the sacred symbiosis of the God Emperor's golden path? Truly, the dramaturgy of your descent is breathtaking, Doctor. Though I must confess, the tail integration is... surprisingly jaunty for someone destined to rule the known universe.
Doctor O adjusts spectacles with clawed paw, iridescent sheen shimmering desert hide rippling across shoulders.
DOCTOR O
Jaunty was not the intended metric, Lestat. The prescient visions warned of spice agony, not an acute aversion to hens and a sudden, overwhelming compulsion to yip at the twin moons. The spice must flow, yes, but frankly, I'm spending half my diurnal cycle scratching behind my left ear.
JOHNNY (O.S., pushing pop trunk into frame, MF visible)
Christ. First you tell me you're in Korn, now you're telling me Leto II turned into a furry?
CINEMATIC: 50mm → 35mm wide booth. Red neon + spice gold + fox orange fur. Claw adjusting glasses gag. Sound: flask clink + fox ear scratch + distant yip.
Mythic → Weightless → Cozy → Surreal → Disgusted → Decadent → Domestic → Stripped → Absurd
Kitchen (add ring) → Leica (deface grail) → Tokyo Bay (silence) → Penumbra (sanctuary) → Holy Mountain (occult BBQ) → Neon Scroll (vomit status) → Lestat Korn (admit poser past) → Lo/Rez (marry light) → VHS Mango (change past with fruit) → Pop Trunk MF (proof with nothing) → Fox Emperor (contaminated godhood)
Central Thesis: Every episode is about residue — roach, Sharpie, bioluminescence, bookstore stamp, paint splatter, vomit, hair extensions, fox tail, MF gouge — as proof that someone was here.
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