A collection of stuff, things, nonsense, rants, raves, pretties, sillies, and gee-gaws from Rev. Hugo Nebula, Ordained Minister of the Church of the SubGenius. (And boobs. Sometimes there are boobs. Just like in real life.) Thank you for reading.




Read the Printed Word!
I Like
I Follow
Posts tagged "art"


Matt Howarth panels showing movement with blank panels and text. From Savage Henry

The Ghoul, by Berni Wrightson.

"Speaking from jail on Wednesday, Megumi Igarashi, 42, said she was challenging a culture of "discrimination" against discussion of the vagina in Japanese society.

"Igarashi, who worked under the alias Rokudenashiko, which means "good-for-nothing girl", built a yellow kayak with a top shaped like her vagina after raising about $10,000 (£5,800) through crowdfunding.

"Igarashi sent 3D printer data of her scanned vagina – the digital basis for her kayak project – as a thanks to a number of donors…"


Swamp Thing. Acrylics.


Swamp Thing. Acrylics.

(via gogtzilas-deactivated20140714)

Judge Dredd: Lawgiver Mk 1, by Mick McMahon.


Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss (1907-1908) and Egon Schiele’s Cardinal and Nun (1912)

In 1907, Egon Schiele sought out Gustav Klimt, who generously mentored younger artists, and he took a particular interest in the gifted young Schiele, buying his drawings, offering to exchange them for some of his own, arranging models for him and introducing him to potential patrons. Klimt invited Schiele to exhibit some of his work at the 1909 Vienna Kunstschau, where he encountered the work of Edvard Munch, Jan Toorop, and Vincent van Gogh among others. Schiele began to explore not only the human form, but also human sexuality. At the time, many found the explicitness of his works disturbing.

(via rippedfeathers)

(via mnspk)


Jean Giraud

Welcome, new follower, xeroxmonster!

(via xeroxmonster)


Head of the Baptist by Barry Windsor-Smith, 1978

(via doctordune)


Need to do some TMNT I think.


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar—Eliot