“Oh my GOD, if they did more tailgating at hockey games, it’d be America’s most popular sport.”
Check, Please! convention flyer cards 2016
”Hey, Bittl–”
“SO I just finished watching one of the new videos y’all’s PR people put up and Jack, honey??? You know I used to babysit??? Right???”
#dads
“–Oh m'gawf, Holffy–” Ransom swallowed his bite of pecan pie. “Parse totally elbowed Jack?”
Holster’s eyes shot up from his laptop and to the Haus TV, but the puck was already back in play.
“Aw man!” groaned Holster. “Come on, they gotta show that again. Or someone make a gif or something.”
Ransom went back to his pie. “Jack and Parse. Lol.”
Marty pressed in the floor numbers as the elevator doors slid shut.
Leaning back against the side of the elevator, Thirdy grinned down at a message on his phone. “Yup. You get used to the eighty-two games, sure? But roadies never grow on you.”
“Hard being away from the kids, eh?” said Jack.
“It’s tough.” Thirdy slapped him on the back as the bell dinged. “But you’re young–that helps. Lucky you’re not tied down.”
Some SMH as PKMN trainers!
“'Chyeah. Hah. There’s your crew, Whisk,” said Chad R. He nodded to the Founder’s side of Lake Quad where the hockey team was approaching like a cartoon dust cloud.
“The fucking hockey team,” said Chad S. “No offense, but every single time I look over from the lax house, like, those guys are listening to shit music and eating a bajillion cakes and prancing around like–I used to hang with hockey guys back in high school! But here, brah? Fuckin’ Samwell…”
“Pies,” said Whiskey. Chad and also Chad looked at him. “It’s weird.”
Chad R. shook his head. “'Chyeah.”
(Quick sketch from AX!)
Bitty: Section 8 requires a graphing calculator.
Favorite sketches and commissions from Swarmcon & TCAF! [x]