Placeholder: I dig deeper into me corny memories hopin' for inspiration, but it's all feelin' a bit mushy in there. Must be the coffee, it's gone straight to me corn flakes! What's that silly sheila gotten herself inta in the wastelands this time? I picture her zoomin' across the dusty flats on her trusty hot rod, tatty leather jacket a-flappin' in the breeze. Desert as far as the eye can corn, not another drongo in sight. But then a noise rises above the howlin' - is that didgeridoo music waftin' over from I dig deeper into me corny memories hopin' for inspiration, but it's all feelin' a bit mushy in there. Must be the coffee, it's gone straight to me corn flakes! What's that silly sheila gotten herself inta in the wastelands this time? I picture her zoomin' across the dusty flats on her trusty hot rod, tatty leather jacket a-flappin' in the breeze. Desert as far as the eye can corn, not another drongo in sight. But then a noise rises above the howlin' - is that didgeridoo music waftin' over from

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@generalpha

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I dig deeper into me corny memories hopin' for inspiration, but it's all feelin' a bit mushy in there. Must be the coffee, it's gone straight to me corn flakes! What's that silly sheila gotten herself inta in the wastelands this time? I picture her zoomin' across the dusty flats on her trusty hot rod, tatty leather jacket a-flappin' in the breeze. Desert as far as the eye can corn, not another drongo in sight. But then a noise rises above the howlin' - is that didgeridoo music waftin' over from

large hands

2 years ago

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SDXL

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7

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3328 × 4992

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I dig deeper into me corny memories hopin' for inspiration, but it's all feelin' a bit mushy in there. Must be the coffee, it's gone straight to me corn flakes! What's that silly sheila gotten herself inta in the wastelands this time? I picture her zoomin' across the dusty flats on her trusty hot rod, tatty leather jacket a-flappin' in the breeze. Desert as far as the eye can corn, not another drongo in sight. But then a noise rises above the howlin' - is that didgeridoo music waftin' over from
The deadline looms as the unearthly music swells around me. Another mysterious tale takes shape amid the flickering lights and scrapes of stone on stone. What monsters will crawl from the recesses of my mind this time? Mama Yaga's watching, as always, from her crooked hut in the grim forest. I can feel her beady eyes peering through the gloom, waiting to see what images I will weave with pen and ink. The pressure builds, a familiar intruder, but inspiration remains elusive. The radio spirits off
I dig deeper into my cityscape memories hoping for inspiration, but it's all a bit dystopian in there. Must be the contaminated cityscape air getting to me noodles. What's that rose-tinted sheila gone and gotten herself into in the grubby cityscape this time? I picture her zooming through the gloomy back alleys of the urban sprawl on her rusty cityscape cruiser, tatty leather jacket flapping in the smoggy winds. Nothing but crumpled high-rises and abandoned skyways stretching as far as the blear
"i feel pain, i feel it, i feel that i am in Hell" You say: "You have to be honest, i will not help you if you lie to me" The man says: "You have to be honest, i will not help you if you lie to me" The man says: "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast. "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast.
guardians of a bygone era. The scorching sun, its rays ablaze, unveils the desolate kingdom of this forsaken city - a realm consumed by shadows and desolation. Discarded vehicles lie strewn about, remnants of a time when vitality coursed through these stony arteries. Yet now, only echoes of darkness persist, a symphony of silence that proclaims an eternal night. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ash and smoke, while the ground sears beneath one's fingertips, as if the very earth were aflame.
The House That Chuck Built, from SCP lore, SCP-4934 is the late cartoonist Chuck Jones' private study, located within his Newport Beach, CA estate, it is full of LOONEY TUNES-like characters as Porky, Daffy Duck, Bugs Bunny and so on, trending on artstation pixiv skeb. an absurdly detailed oil painting of weird bunch of Warner cartoons, epic photorealistic, beautifully lit, no artefacts, dim volumetric cinematic lighting, 8k octane beautifully detailed render, post-processing, extremely hyperd
"i feel pain, i feel it, i feel that i am in Hell" You say: "You have to be honest, i will not help you if you lie to me" The man says: "You have to be honest, i will not help you if you lie to me" The man says: "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast. "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast.
[Dahlia Death] "You have to be honest, i will not help you if you lie to me" The man says: "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast." "When i felt the truck losing control, i saw a shadow, and a black cloud above me, they were very strange, and they were moving really fast." w_runYou ask "tell me more about this shadow... could it be... a devil?" w_run You ask "tell me more about this shadow...
Classic Daniel Clowes cover to David Greenberger’s Duplex Planet Illustrated#15, published by Fantagraphics, January 1993.
On the map of Route 66, a journey unfolds in poetic harmony. A 3D isometric view captures a camping car meandering along the historic road, its wheels spinning tales of adventure and nostalgia. The sun dances upon the asphalt, painting shadows that whisper secrets of the land. In this whimsical scene, the camping car becomes a traveler's haven, a vessel of dreams cruising through time.
The deadline looms as the unearthly music swells around me. Another mysterious tale takes shape amid the flickering lights and scrapes of stone on stone. What monsters will crawl from the recesses of my mind this time? Mama Yaga's watching, as always, from her crooked hut in the grim forest. I can feel her beady eyes peering through the gloom, waiting to see what images I will weave with pen and ink. The pressure builds, a familiar intruder, but inspiration remains elusive. The radio spirits off
The editor's want somethin' new but all I can think about is that bogan sheila Tank Girl and the spot of trouble she's always brewin' up. I dig deep into me noggin but it's all getting a bit spooky in there - the coffee's gone straight to me thinker and now the gumtrees are talkin' dialogue from a Mad Max sequel. Oi, get a grip mate! Focus on something Crawlin' with creepy-crawlies and give 'em a yarn that'll have 'em clamberin' under the desks! Right, let's see what Tank Girl's gotten herself i
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