19yrs of getting crazier
Known to the tumblr world as moshy, known to my friends as Mackenzie. Mostly post sketches of my own up here, and reblog nonesense.
Background Illustrations provided by: http://edison.rutgers.edu/
Reblogged from bruhlancey  86 notes

actualcrutchie:

so im on tvtropes because that’s how i spend my time and i’m on the page for break the cutie because i ended up there through clicking

and if you scroll down you get to the examples, which are divided by type of literature, like novels, animated movies, live-action, etc. except one

image

what the frick happens in this book series that it’s literally the only specific example directly on the page and not in a click through subsection

what are these cats going through

Reblogged from skidar  158,025 notes
please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious.
Anonymous

mysticmoonhigh:

mamalovebone:

all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 

Max. 

We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Sit."

Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.

FUCKING READ IT IT’S WORTH IT

Reblogged from skidar  7 notes
skidar:

Meet Gears -Skidar
Time for the monthly reading of Tucson Meets Andrew. Here’s where Andrew Meets Gears, one of my favorite pieces of dialogue in the whole story :)
In the waiting room Andrew tapped his boot agitatedly. Bitterly he scolded himself for looking at the clock, not for how long he was here, but how long ago his shift had started. He didn’t want to leave Jerri, but he really couldn’t afford to spoil his chances on a job either. His worried conflicted in his head, trying to one-up each other in importance until he finally had to take off his hat and massage his pounding head. 
He heard a door open down the hall and looked through his fingers hopefully but saw a nurse leading two mice down the hall, one with a heavily bandaged arm and hand and the other, a white and gray patched mouse with a ragged looking ear, helping lead him to the door.“Too bad fingers don’t grow back.” The patched mouse sucked air through his teeth. “I’ll see to it your compensated for it, Smithers, don’t worry.”The other mouse nodded dully and the nurse led him around the desk to another room. The patched mouse sighed some papers on the desk and straightened up, stretching his back. He was young, around Andrew’s age probably. His clothes were nicked and torn, stain with what looks like oil and grease. His fur must have been white under all the grit but was several shades darker than what white ought to be.Andrew saw him turn to walk towards some chairs to sit when a work glove slipped out of his back pocket.“”Dropped your glove.” Andrew called lowly. The mouse kept walking. “Hey? Hey you?” Andrew stood and went over, picking up the glove and catching up, prodding his shoulder. The mouse jumped and turned with a frown.“Great thunderclouds! You don’t go sneakin’ oh hey, glove, thanks.” His demeanor changed almost instantly as he took back his glove.“Didn’t mean to startle you.” Andrew confessed.“What’s that?” The patched mouse angled his non-maimed ear forward. “Sorry, I can’t hear you, ‘less you speak up and want to be heard.”Andrew blinked and raised his voice slightly, it felt weird to raise his voice indoors. “I said I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Andrew.” He held out his hand and the patched mouse smiled and shook it.“Gears.” He nodded.“Gears?” “Yes, better name than the one I started with. Gilligan.” Gears rolled sky blue eyes. “What are you in here for?”“Oh, found uh, see my friend Jerri.”“All I got out of that was something found out about cherries, Andrew, I can’t hear you.”“Sorry.” Andrew shook his head. “Um, my gecko friend, I found him hurt.”“Oh the kid they rushed back there?” Gears jerked his thumb to the back door. “Saw him get passed off to the reptilian ward. They’ll put him on firerocks, though looks like he’ll need to be half pan-fried to get his temp up. What happened to him.”“I don’t know,” Andrew frowned. But he had a hunch…“Er, what are you here for?” He asked.“When you tell a new hired to watch his fingers in a textile gear assembly engine and they don’t, they lose their fingers. That’s what happened.”“That’s awful.” Andrew winced, clenching his fists at the thought.“Yeah.” Gears shrugged and sat down, folding his arms. “Well, you’re obviously not from around here, how come you’re hanging out with lizards anyway? Not really a mouse’s crowd.”“He was sort of showing me around.” Andrew sat on his other side. “He walked home alone last night, and this morning I found him like that on the street. I’m worried for him.”“Gotta watch these streets at night, especially you, don’t be lead off anywhere, not even by a dame who says she needs your help, you here? That’s the latest angle.”“Angle?”“No, angle, pay attention.”Andrew arched a brow but said nothing.“You’ll end up looking like your friend or worse. Gets rough out here after dark. I’d quit hanging with lizards too, you’ll get into deep trouble. They’ll drag you down with them.”“Not a fan of lizards are you?” Andrew frowned slightly.“Nothing against an honest lizard, if there is one, but no, I’m not.” Gears snorted. “Give it a month, of you stay that long, you’ll see what I mean.”Gears coughed slightly into his hand and pulled out a stained handkerchief with a faded blue W on the corner.“So where you from, again?”“I didn’t say.”“You going to say or can I push down my cap and sleep?” Gear smirked.Andrew smiled faintly. “You wouldn’t want to hear I doubt.”“I doubt I could hear it with your mumbly mouth.”Andrew laughed slightly. “Come on, all small town boys wanna talk about home, its painfully true. You’re bustin’ at the seams.”“I’m from Redcliff.”“Never heard of it.” Gears fished a nail from his vest pocket and clamped it in his teeth. “Young town?”“Fairly. About 20 years give or take.”“Ranch land? Guess from the hand and boots.”“Guessed right.” Andrew nodded.“And you wanna go back.”“How do you know?” Andrew arched a brow.“Cause the star-eyed snaps I usually see can’t wait to trade in spurs for slacks and doll themselves up to look like they’ve lived here forever. You don’t seem to keen on shelving your roots.”“You’ve known me seven minutes.” Andrew checked the clock.“You’re not that complicated.” Gears glanced over at him.
—

Andrew the adorable country bumpkin is Moshypants’s character The tattered patchy guy Gears is mine.

skidar:

Meet Gears -Skidar

Time for the monthly reading of Tucson Meets Andrew. Here’s where Andrew Meets Gears, one of my favorite pieces of dialogue in the whole story :)

In the waiting room Andrew tapped his boot agitatedly. Bitterly he scolded himself for looking at the clock, not for how long he was here, but how long ago his shift had started. He didn’t want to leave Jerri, but he really couldn’t afford to spoil his chances on a job either. His worried conflicted in his head, trying to one-up each other in importance until he finally had to take off his hat and massage his pounding head. 

He heard a door open down the hall and looked through his fingers hopefully but saw a nurse leading two mice down the hall, one with a heavily bandaged arm and hand and the other, a white and gray patched mouse with a ragged looking ear, helping lead him to the door.
“Too bad fingers don’t grow back.” The patched mouse sucked air through his teeth. “I’ll see to it your compensated for it, Smithers, don’t worry.”
The other mouse nodded dully and the nurse led him around the desk to another room. The patched mouse sighed some papers on the desk and straightened up, stretching his back. He was young, around Andrew’s age probably. His clothes were nicked and torn, stain with what looks like oil and grease. His fur must have been white under all the grit but was several shades darker than what white ought to be.
Andrew saw him turn to walk towards some chairs to sit when a work glove slipped out of his back pocket.
“”Dropped your glove.” Andrew called lowly. The mouse kept walking. “Hey? Hey you?” Andrew stood and went over, picking up the glove and catching up, prodding his shoulder. The mouse jumped and turned with a frown.
“Great thunderclouds! You don’t go sneakin’ oh hey, glove, thanks.” His demeanor changed almost instantly as he took back his glove.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” Andrew confessed.
“What’s that?” The patched mouse angled his non-maimed ear forward. “Sorry, I can’t hear you, ‘less you speak up and want to be heard.”
Andrew blinked and raised his voice slightly, it felt weird to raise his voice indoors. “I said I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Andrew.” He held out his hand and the patched mouse smiled and shook it.
“Gears.” He nodded.
“Gears?” 
“Yes, better name than the one I started with. Gilligan.” Gears rolled sky blue eyes. “What are you in here for?”
“Oh, found uh, see my friend Jerri.”
“All I got out of that was something found out about cherries, Andrew, I can’t hear you.”
“Sorry.” Andrew shook his head. “Um, my gecko friend, I found him hurt.”
“Oh the kid they rushed back there?” Gears jerked his thumb to the back door. “Saw him get passed off to the reptilian ward. They’ll put him on firerocks, though looks like he’ll need to be half pan-fried to get his temp up. What happened to him.”
“I don’t know,” Andrew frowned. But he had a hunch…
“Er, what are you here for?” He asked.
“When you tell a new hired to watch his fingers in a textile gear assembly engine and they don’t, they lose their fingers. That’s what happened.”
“That’s awful.” Andrew winced, clenching his fists at the thought.
“Yeah.” Gears shrugged and sat down, folding his arms. “Well, you’re obviously not from around here, how come you’re hanging out with lizards anyway? Not really a mouse’s crowd.”
“He was sort of showing me around.” Andrew sat on his other side. “He walked home alone last night, and this morning I found him like that on the street. I’m worried for him.”
“Gotta watch these streets at night, especially you, don’t be lead off anywhere, not even by a dame who says she needs your help, you here? That’s the latest angle.”
“Angle?”
“No, angle, pay attention.”
Andrew arched a brow but said nothing.
“You’ll end up looking like your friend or worse. Gets rough out here after dark. I’d quit hanging with lizards too, you’ll get into deep trouble. They’ll drag you down with them.”
“Not a fan of lizards are you?” Andrew frowned slightly.
“Nothing against an honest lizard, if there is one, but no, I’m not.” Gears snorted. “Give it a month, of you stay that long, you’ll see what I mean.”
Gears coughed slightly into his hand and pulled out a stained handkerchief with a faded blue W on the corner.
“So where you from, again?”
“I didn’t say.”
“You going to say or can I push down my cap and sleep?” Gear smirked.
Andrew smiled faintly. “You wouldn’t want to hear I doubt.”
“I doubt I could hear it with your mumbly mouth.”
Andrew laughed slightly. 
“Come on, all small town boys wanna talk about home, its painfully true. You’re bustin’ at the seams.”
“I’m from Redcliff.”
“Never heard of it.” Gears fished a nail from his vest pocket and clamped it in his teeth. “Young town?”
“Fairly. About 20 years give or take.”
“Ranch land? Guess from the hand and boots.”
“Guessed right.” Andrew nodded.
“And you wanna go back.”
“How do you know?” Andrew arched a brow.
“Cause the star-eyed snaps I usually see can’t wait to trade in spurs for slacks and doll themselves up to look like they’ve lived here forever. You don’t seem to keen on shelving your roots.”
“You’ve known me seven minutes.” Andrew checked the clock.
“You’re not that complicated.” Gears glanced over at him.

Andrew the adorable country bumpkin is Moshypants’s character The tattered patchy guy Gears is mine.

Reblogged from skidar  8 notes
skidar:

The New Room -Skidar
After Jared’s father died, Jared stayed with Buck, his god-father. Jared’s father’s final wish was for him to stay in the family, and not be cast out. Jared retaliated after the funeral by running away, he’s a city fellow, not some dusty ranch hand. He soon got into trouble with bandits, they sliced up his ear before Buck rescued him. Jared agreed to come back and live/work on the ranch for him.
I wanted a picture of him first entering the ranch hand wing, his new ‘room’ which he shares with two others, Bo and Charlie. Being an only child born into money, he’s never had to share anything before, so its a rough transition. 

skidar:

The New Room -Skidar

After Jared’s father died, Jared stayed with Buck, his god-father. Jared’s father’s final wish was for him to stay in the family, and not be cast out. Jared retaliated after the funeral by running away, he’s a city fellow, not some dusty ranch hand. He soon got into trouble with bandits, they sliced up his ear before Buck rescued him. Jared agreed to come back and live/work on the ranch for him.

I wanted a picture of him first entering the ranch hand wing, his new ‘room’ which he shares with two others, Bo and Charlie. Being an only child born into money, he’s never had to share anything before, so its a rough transition. 

Reblogged from skidar  10 notes
skidar:

"Please, Don’t put out the fire." -Skidar
More palettes and more Skytown!
Dennis finds shelter in a cave and starts building a fire, only to wake up a young Pueblan Milksnake. She’s cold so she comes to investigate the fire. Dennis, having a horrible history with some wild snakes, spooks and gets ready to bolt from the cave but she pleads for him to stay a while. She doesn’t want to eat him she just wants to warm up for a little while. Dennis could use someone to talk to too.
Concepts for the latter half of Skytown: Ghosts of the Past. 

skidar:

"Please, Don’t put out the fire." -Skidar

More palettes and more Skytown!

Dennis finds shelter in a cave and starts building a fire, only to wake up a young Pueblan Milksnake. She’s cold so she comes to investigate the fire. Dennis, having a horrible history with some wild snakes, spooks and gets ready to bolt from the cave but she pleads for him to stay a while. She doesn’t want to eat him she just wants to warm up for a little while. Dennis could use someone to talk to too.

Concepts for the latter half of Skytown: Ghosts of the Past