Showing posts with label Richie Rich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Richie Rich. Show all posts

Monday, June 14, 2010

Murder Hill 2: Electric Boogaloo

In my basement, I have 10, 11 (or 15) boxes of stuff that I've collected over my years on this Earth. I've hauled these boxes from house to house, starting when I moved out of my parent's house for good, way back in 1991.

What's in these boxes you ask? Drawings, crayons, action figures, old watches term papers, magazine clips, sketch books, Playboys, Fangoria, etc. Basicaly a lot of stuff. I know (I hope) my kids will love going through these boxes because there's a lot of stuff in those boxes of stuff that shows my stuff (if you know what I mean).

Once in a blue moon when I'm feeling a bit nostalgic, I open one of these boxes and, take an hour or two, to rummage through the contents, searching for any funny, creative buried treasures.

Well lo and behold, I came upon another interesting Eimer drawing (circa early 1980's) that could give Murder Hill and Richie Rich a run for it's money. It's a before and after type drawing, but taken to the extreme.


BEFORE
(click to enlarge)



AFTER
(click to enlarge)




Oh, that's not all. This one particular box had some pretty funny stuff that I drew, and wrote, in my youth.

Definitely more to come.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

My macabre Richie Rich cartoon (circa 1980)

Eight-years old must have been a very violent time for me. Either that or I forgot to take my lithium during the Summer of 80. In any event, I found this little cartoon tucked away with my Murder Hill plans.


I guess it's my macabre homage to Richie Rich, my favorite cartoon character at the time.

My personal critique...I like where I'm going with the character. You can totally tell that I traced Richie's (or should I say Retchie's?) head. And check out Cadbury's legs. Either he has short quads and long ankles or Retchie ordered one of his cronies (more than likely Irona, the robot maid) to completely break his hips so Retch can easily swoop in to deliver the eventual death blow of a blade to the perfect butler's gullet.

Which begs to wonder, what were my parent's thinking during this obvious destructive, murderous period of my life?