I still remember the day 17-year-old me walked into the dorm room that would be my home for the next six months. I was secretly hoping, as everyone else did, that my first college roommate would be cool. Maybe we’d hit it off from the get-go; maybe it would turn out that we listened to the same music, or were both ecstatic at the thought of skateboarding through the treacherous slopes of downtown San Francisco; or maybe we shared the same ambition of rising through the writhing, hormone-fueled ranks of the freshman student body to become gods among college kids. Where the tales of our deeds — the countless, glorious victories on the tables of beer pong, or the passionate lamentation of the women who would grace our bunk-bedsides each night, or the way we totally didn’t study for the final for that one class we didn’t go to the entire year but still ended up passing anyway — were the stuff of legends.

Maybe — just maybe — he would be cool.

He turned out to be this big pimply fat kid with one arm who never showered, brushed his teeth, or went to class. He would just sit at his desk on his side of the room and eat. Needless to say, he left quite a mess and the smell was atrocious. He DID only have one arm though (the other was malformed at birth and non-functional), so I did my best to be accommodating, but since he never left the room except to get more food, I only ever really had to help him with grocery bags. I tried to clean up after him at first but gave up stuck to my own side of the room.

He was openly gay, which I didn’t have a problem with. I did find it a bit disconcerting that he would watch porn while I was in the room (he would only use headphones if I asked). But I did start getting creeped out when I would catch him just staring at me. Our desks were at an angle because of the strange shape of the room so that if I looked out of the corner of my eye I could see him. It was obvious because he would turn his entire body to face me, not just his head. Every time I noticed him doing that, I’d turn around and ask, “what’s up?” to receive a curt “nothin’”. There’d be awkward silence for a few seconds then I’d turn back to my laptop. But out of the corner of my eye I could still see him staring., burning holes into the back of my head.

I felt bad for the kid and finally coaxed him out to have lunch with me at this awesome Asian restaurant I found on Market street. I’m not sure if that was a good idea, because I think he started crushing on me afterwards. I wasn’t sure how to deal with that, so I never tried to get him out of the room again. I did scold him for not going to class all the time, but to no avail.

Then one day he comes home and I smell the distinct, nose-wrinkling aroma of human fucking shit. And it wasn’t just one of those whiffs you catch when you walk through a shitty (heh) part of town. It was full-blown unprotected un-lubed anal nose rape. His explanation was — and I quote — “I was at the record store and I really had to go. They didn’t have a bathroom, so I just went in my pants.” As I’m trying to recover from speechlessness, he ducks into the bathroom.

While he’s in there, I didn’t hear the shower or — sweet zombie jesus — even the faucet run at ALL. When he comes out, the only evidence I could see of an even attempt to clean himself was the empty toilet paper dispenser and the pile of of crumpled sheets in the trash can. He had essentially just wiped himself off with the entire roll. And he was wearing the same pants.

When I tried to confront him about this, he simply replied, “well, I took off my boxers, but my pants are still pretty okay.” He then takes his soiled ass-boxers and puts them inside the laundry hamper.

I don’t know about you guys, but if I ever shit myself to the extent this boy did, I would throw away everything I wore that day.

So for whatever reason, he goes out again, and I spend the next hour cleaning the bathroom (the toilet and the seat were pockmarked with shit yogurt and skidmarks) and trying to rid the room of the ungodly stench. Opening the windows seemed to do little to help. If you purchased stock in air fresheners in September 2006, you are a smarter man than I. The room was so thick with Febreze that I probably contaminated my sperm.

And I could still smell it.

So the hour passes and just as I feel like it’s almost gone, he comes home and the air replenishes itself with poop aroma. I didn’t say anything, out of the fear — I thought that if I opened my mouth, a stray shit asteroid would orbit into my throat. He sits down at his desk and browses the web for about ten minutes — and then picks up the phone and calls his mother. I know this because the two phrases that I caught as I absentmindedly listened in on his side of the conversation will forever be burned into my mind:

“Hey, mom? It happened again.“

“I’m not throwing them out. They’re good shorts.”

He had gone back to the same record store where he was gifted a second bout of surprise diarrhea. And this time he hadn’t even bothered going to the bathroom first upon arriving home. It was like he had given up, as if he was succumbing to the fate of everlasting incontinence, and that any effort to stem the chunky brown flow would be futile.

The day after the shitstorm (heh), our toilet backed up and flooded murky water about a half-inch deep in our bathroom. I panicked and called to my roommate, asking him for help. He simply looked up and replied,

“I dunno, that’s your problem, not mine.”

That’s pretty much when I snapped I like to think I was fairly patient with him despite how uncomfortable I was living there, but his retort just screamed rudeness and indifference towards me, and my patience wore out. I eventually solved the water crisis in the bathroom — an RA gave me a vacuum cleaner and told me to vacuum up the water (I didn’t do this. It sounded fucking stupid. I ended up finding a mop and bucket in the laundry room).

I then took my roommate’s towel and dipped it into the filthy concoction of toilet and mopwater — did the same with his toothbrush. I also mixed my shit potion into his soap and shampoo bottles.

I was grinning for a full minute at my horrendous vengeance before I suddenly remembered – he has NEVER used his towel, or his toothbrush, or the shower.

I moved to a single the next day.

I originally had a long-winded explanation as to why I tend to disappear without warning but I scrapped it because it all boils down to one thing — I only draw when I’m inspired, and I’m only inspired when I’m unhappy about something. I’m not about to start cranking out half-assed shit just to meet a deadline. When I create something, it has to be the best I can possibly make it to my ability. I’m not about to let CUEK become one of those shit strips you see in the newspaper.

That being said — I struck gold a few weeks ago and have been working ever since trying to get this… “new thing” I’m trying into motion. Coupled with a redesign, it’s going to be… well, a story comic. Whether it’s one entire page  a week or several panels every few days, I’m taking a break from the norm and telling you a story that you may or may not be already familiar with.

In the  meantime, have a fantastical new year — eat, drink, and be fat and drunk.

Art never comes from happiness. — Chuck Palahniuk

I am really, really sorry for the lack of updates the past couple of weeks. This week was finals week and despite all the sleep I lost I still managed to fail one class. But it doesn’t matter, because for the next two weeks I have COMPLETE FREEDOM. Which means, we’re back to our regular updates!
Also, my 21st is this weekend, so I implore you to go out and party with me in spirit. : )

The forums are down right now, I’ve been trying to fix them for the last couple of hours but to no avail. I think I’m gonna sleep on it and see what I can do tomorrow.

For everyone who has stuck around, I thank you from the very bottom of my heart for putting up with my constant bullshit. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again — I write a comic about failed relationships. How together do you think my life is?

Much love.

Some old stuff, some new stuff, just felt like putting ‘em up since most of them haven’t seen the light of day before. School is killer, and it’s destroying my sleep schedule, my appetite, and — this I fear the most — my sense of humor.

But I’m trying my best. Promise.

I mean, I write a comic about failed relationships — how ‘together’ do you think my life is, really?

So much love for the continued, undying support. You guys are awesome.

That formula might not work for me anymore, unfortunately. As we enter our fourth quarter in this intensive design program, the workload has increased accordingly. One of the reasons I maintained a Sunday/Tuesday/Thursday schedule is that I am an incredibly slow worker. I may understand a concept or have a great idea in mind for a comic, but as of late it’s been taking me up to six to eight hours to finish a comic strip. “Six to eight hours?!” you gasp, raising an eyebrow. “But the comic art is so simple. Why does it take so long?” Well, I tend to be a little OCD when it comes to my line art, and the actual majority of that time is spent drawing, erasing, and redrawing.

tl;dr I’m slow to begin with, and being busy makes me slower.

As it stands I may tone down the updates temporarily for the next few weeks, from three updates to two (most likely on Sunday and Thursday).

(To appease a disgruntled reader, the header image will be edited to reflect this change as soon as I get home.)

I really wish I didn’t have to do this, but school is killer and I haven’t been sleeping lately. Well, that’s a lie, I did sleep yesterday — I got home on Tuesday night, passed out, and woke up on Thursday morning. It’s pretty bad. My dad calls me “Sleeping Beauty” now.

The good news is that, while I am working at school right now as I’m writing this, I do have a strip in the works that will be up between tonight and tomorrow morning. And as a little extra for those who haven’t seen it and are willing to wait for me to get my shit together, I’ve put my old webcomic back up. You’ve probably been wondering who the hell those kids at the top of this post are — it’s the cast from the defunct No Spring Chicken webcomic. If you have some time to kill, feel free to browse through about 200 mediocre strips!

It’s nothing amazing and frankly at some points it’s a little embarassing, but I started making those strips when I was fourteen. It was just kind of interesting looking through all my failed projects and seeing how small elements from all of those endeavors seem to have found their way back to CUEK.

And finally, thank you all so much for your infinite patience and continued support, you guys rock

Hint: I made THIS for my final project for Flash class (nothing amazing, but I’m still thinking baby steps). And don’t forget THIS.

So as it stands, the school semester just ended and I find myself a bit behind on the comic, so ideally I’m going to try to get caught up with over our two-week break (yes, that short) from school.

Goals up until end of July:

• Get shit together and establish a comic buffer. No more  waiting until the night before to draw the strip. Have a couple done ahead of time, say, a week or three’s worth.
• Get out of the house every now and then.
• Refrain from threatening to ” ___(violent verb)___ a  __(_[group of]_ cute fuzzy baby animal[s]_)__”.
• MERCHANDISE. Or, at the very least, T-shirts.
• Put up a Cast Page so people won’t wonder anymore who is Frank and who is Zeke.
• Explain in said cast page that the characters weren’t originally supposed to have names/distinct personalities, hence initial confusion when reading from the beginning (if you read closely & follow the text colors, you’ll notice that both Frank AND Zeke apparently went out with Red, which makes no sense).
• Revise the Frequently Asked Questions page to include questions that have actually been asked.
• Have the script ready for the CUEK Flash game.
• No more fat jokes for a while. Compensate with dick jokes.

And that’s it from me until later today. Sorry to bump Jade’s article off the front, so go read it now or I’ll start punching puppies.

Wait, fuck

Quick update on Thursday’s ’strip’: It’s going to be late, and I apologize, because I wanted it to be fully animated but last night during the time I usually get my shit done, I got caught up in a personal emergency. It will most likely be up tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. Sorry . In the meantime I hope to distract you with some eye candy as well as something I’d like to discuss.

I have a question about the phrase “CHEER UP, EMO KID”. Why is this so offensive? So far I have had the privilege of meeting three distinct people who have taken offense to the phrase. Two of them were on WoW back in the day when my named my guild “Cheer Up, Emo Kid”. I was bitched at for being “insensitive”, “a bully”, and “a jerk”, among other things. The third instance is a girl commenting on the Facebook Artwork Album (you may have to trackback a bit if you want to read through it).

Apparently, “Emo kids” don’t need cheering up. Or something like that.

How can anyone take offense to this phrase? Yes, it is implying and reinforcing the stereotype that “Emos” are unhappy or depressed — but the word “Emo” itself stems from “emotional”. So by in fact defining yourself as an “Emo kid” you are admitting to that you are emotional, am I correct?

Stereotypes are stereotypes because they’re true. I’m not going to lie about that. I’m Asian and in all cases I am a terrible driver. I’m a Filipino and I switch my F’s & P’s and my B’s & V’s sometimes. The big (and only) white guys in my high school were jocks. I have a close Jewish friend and he’s pretty fucking stingy with his money. I have a Japanese friend and he is, by all accounts, insane. The same goes with “Emos” — they’re naturally associated with depression, cutting, suicide, whiny music, distinct hairdos, and black clothing (among other things) because IT’S FUCKING TRUE, RIGHT?

Please, stop me if I’m wrong.

I always thought that this webcomic would be a guide of sorts, in order to either prevent people from making the same mistakes I have, or humor those with similar experiences. As far as I see it, “Emo” isn’t a fashion trend or a type of music. Emo is a MINDSET. Anyone who defines themselves as “Emo” solely by the clothes they wear, the music they listen to, and the cuts on their arms, are attention whores. I say this because I used to be EXACTLY like this. I used to be “Emo”. I dressed up the hair, wore the clothes, cut the arms, blasted the music, cried the tears. Sure, MAYBE you’re genuinely depressed, MAYBE you genuinely have a problem, but when I look back at my own personal experience I realize it was all a bid for attention.

If you’re depressed, or sad, don’t dress it up. Get help. Talk to a friend, talk to your parents, talk to SOMEBODY. And don’t tell me “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND” because I’ve been there, believe me. Please don’t be an attention whore.

So, again, my question: Why are “Emo kids” so offended when they’re told to “cheer up”?

Okay, so this is another animation that is going to be the “finale” to the TRAPdoor story arc. I AM COMPLETELY AWARE I SPELLED TATTOOS WRONG.

Jade explodes Frank’s biplane. This has nothing to do with the story whatsoever!

Join the forum discussion on this post – (18) Posts

I noticed while going through the demographics of all the visitors to CUEK that 52% of all the visitors from the US were female. This was quite intriguing to me!

Mainly because I’ve always felt that, in the majority of the strips — especially the ones before the introduction of Jade (yes, that’s Purple’s real name) in #46 — the females were either the butt of the intended joke, the object of ridicule, or depicted as a bitch or a liar or a slut or something along those lines. Not that I hate women or feel a need for them to be constantly ridiculed (in truth, it’s just one or two specific women, but that’s not the point). I just, you know, thought that I was always relating to a more male audience since that’s my personal perspective.

I mean, I’m not unwelcoming to the female audience as well, it just came as a bit of a surprise!

I suppose I’m that closed-minded that I’ve never taken the time to look at relationships from a female point of view. But since I was 15 I have been in four serious “relationships” (quoted, because only two of them were “official”) and all of them ended terribly. Which doesn’t leave me much of a perspective to go on aside from the stereotypical “THAT BITCH WAS A HO” standpoint.

What’s the plural of “ho”, anyway? Hos? Ho’s? Hoes? This is going to bug me all day.

So if you’re a female, and you’ve wasted the few minutes it took to read this, tell me: Why do you read CUEK? Join the forum discussion on this post – (38) Posts