Neil the Chiseler

"If it wasn't for half the people in world, the other half would be all of them." --Colonel Stoopnagle (F. Chase Taylor)

[deramin2]

This might be Derek Guy's greatest masterpiece.

(The Twitter thread is probably easier to read and easier to look at the images, but I wanted to make sure it got preserved. Images are the tweets.)

(Continued in reblog)

[deramin2]

(continued in reblog)

[deramin2]

End thread.

[mysterygrl20]

duolingo owl came for steamboat willie

[dd-the-man-without-fear]

My entire timeline atm:

[yesterdaysprint]

The San Francisco Examiner, California, January 20, 1942

[chernobog13]

IT’S 5 MORE SLEEPS ‘TIL CHRISTMAS!

[browsethestacks]

Superman’s Christmas Adventure

Script: Jerry Siegel

Pencils: Jack Burnley

Inks: Jack Burnley

DC Comics (1940)

[thoughtportal]

It's good that our finest minds have focused on automating writing and making art, two things human beings do simply because it brings them joy

[humansofnewyork]

(1/15) “It’s a magic trick, a dupe. Nothing but an illusion. And it starts the moment you walk in the door. Biggest store in the world. Eight full floors of shopping. And Santaland is at the very top. You can take the elevators. Or you can do what I did when I was a kid, and what I still do today: you take the escalators. Up, up, up. Through make-up. Through linens. Through housewares. Around the third floor, something happens. The escalators change to wood. They’re over one hundred years old, these escalators. From the original Macy’s. When you see them, you know: very soon. You’re about to see Santa. Your heart starts racing. Up, up, up. Until finally you see it: the back of the line. A line like you wouldn’t believe. Real life is happening in that line. Somebody pooped their diaper. Somebody needs to be breastfed. If anyone tries to smuggle in a pet, a white flower will step in. White flowers are managers. But nothing in Santaland is called by its actual name. The line goes past windows featuring scenes from Miracle on 34th Street. Then it spits you out at The North Pole. There’s a little kiosk with an elf. Full-grown adult, but the floor is dug out. So it looks like an elf. They’ll ask you Christmas questions: How many reindeer? How many lords a leaping? Doesn’t matter if you know the answer, because it’s all a mind game. To make you forget how long you’ve been waiting. In the business we call it ‘resetting the clock.’ After the elf you’re into the final maze. Everything covered in snow. Everything lit to the nines: the rainbow bridge, the animatronic penguins, the Lionel train. All of it setting up the final trick. You’ll come to a giant toy soldier made of candy. And that’s when you know you’ve arrived. A final elf will whisper those magic words: ‘Follow me.’ They’re walking backwards. They’re waving their hands. Keep looking at the hands. Don’t look at the other children, following other elves, to other doors. Just follow your elf to your door. Then walk right in. Turn that final corner, and poof. Real life disappears. All the waiting, all the crying, all the pooping, just melts away. And you’re face-to-face with the grandest illusion of all: Me.”

[vintagegeekculture]

Superwoman, a comic strip in the newspaper that only ran once before it was sued in 1942. 

An apology was put in after only a single comic: 

A shame, that’s a very stylish costume, in an era most costumes don’t look good (I’ve often argued that the Flash in 1956 was the first comic book hero to actually have a good costume). The art was avant-garde, clearly Japanese block print inspired and Rea Irvin said as much (weebs have been around longer than everyone thinks). 

The artist was Rea Irvin, famous for the New Yorker. It’s hard to imagine now, but at one point the New Yorker was youthful, scandalous, indecent, bursting with creative energy, controversial, with liberated womenfolk and descriptions of nightlife at a time when alcohol was illegal.

[publicdomainreview]

Emily Dickinson was born #onthisday in 1830. Celebrate with an exploration of her unusual manuscripts, including poems scribbled down on concert programmes and chocolate wrappers – offering a fascinating insight into how the poet worked: https://publicdomainreview.org/essay/the-manuscripts-of-emily-dickinson #OTD

[gameraboy2]

Peanuts, May 14, 1964

[mydadisdracula]

some comics about CEATIVITY to inspire you! 🤩 patreon | books | twitter | facebook | instagram

[mydadisdracula]

Reblog if u think My Dad is Dracula is an underrated webcomic! 💖

[1five1two]

'May I Give This Ukrainian Bread to All People in This Big Wide World'. Maria Prymachenko. 1982.

[oldshowbiz]

The day after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech, J. Edgar Hoover wrote a memo and sent it to the Kennedys: 

“In the light of King’s powerful demagogic speech… We must mark him now, if we have not done so before, as the most dangerous Negro of the future in this Nation from the standpoint of communism, the Negro, and national security.”

[oldshowbiz]

[humansofnewyork]

“We got shut down two days before St. Patrick’s Day. Always the biggest day for an Irish bar. My husband is a longshoreman, so he was trapped in the Aleutian Islands for nine months, no flights out. It was just me and six kids that needed homeschooling. I pulled all the furniture out of the bar, and made a section for each of them: pillow, blankets, everything they needed. Then I had to figure out how to survive. Other bar owners were just throwing up their hands, but I had to try something. I began catering dinners for emergency workers at a nearby hotel. It wasn’t much money, but it was something to do. Each night I’d cook dinner for thirty people. The kids would help when they could: peeling potatoes, washing dishes. But I’d be so exhausted every day. Everyone had so much faith in me to survive. Maybe because I keep the tough side out, everyone assumed I was OK. Nobody knew I was full of worries. But it was so freakin’ hard. To keep the kids happy. Month after month I’m falling further behind on the rent. It felt like the walls were closing in. But my regulars kept showing up. They ran errands for me. Sometimes they’d take the kids on walks to give me a break. There was a group of Irish musicians who would play here every Thursday night. They helped me set up an online store, so that I could sell scones to the music people. Soda bread scones with homemade blackberry jam. My mother’s recipe from back in Ireland. Really, it’s the simplest thing, but all six of us kids used to line up for them. In January a reporter named Roger Clark from NY1 came to do a story on the bar, about how I’ve been running it all alone, with my kids. And that angel, he had the anchors taste a scone live on TV. It created big scone hype for a few months. It wasn’t a ton of money. I was only making $1800 for 100 boxes of scones. It wasn’t paying rent or anything. But it was something to do, you know? I finally found something that was working. People were writing notes, saying: ‘I gave these to my grandmother, and she loved them.’ It was the little bit of light that I needed. It pulled me forward. I didn’t feel alone anymore. It was like: ‘Oh My God, there’s something out there.’”

[oldshowbiz]

[oldshowbiz]

this is not going to end well…

[myjetpack]

A recent cartoon for New Scientist.