And talking about me.

Christ, you think I sound disgruntled? I haven't once told you that you'd be better off packing your shit, going home to Mommy, and asking her to beat you for being a goddamn ignorant moron. I haven't once said that the only people in your life who've had any success is your parents for getting rid of the leech that was dragging them down. Nor have I sent you links to places that do cut-rate ball-snipping before you breed and pollute the fucking gene pool.

You remind me of those kids that would get all upset at their monthly reviews and practically cry because they weren't told that they were special and perfect and instead told where they needed to work on their abilities.

Considering your reply to my list of questions was to whine that it wasn't blowing sunshine up your ass, your idea of angry and disgruntled seems to be anyone who doesn't immediately tell you how wonderful and special you are.

The saddest thing? When I saw you were a graphic artist I'd had work for you. In dirty fiat money, true, but money all the same.

Between your threads and your other posts, I decided to give the work to artists who could make deadlines and take criticism. During the time this thread rolled on I bought 3 covers and 12 interior images. True, I paid with them with dirty dirty US dollars, but I still paid. On time. On deadline. To artists who could make the deadlines.

After all, you were the one who posted that following deadlines wasn't how you rolled.

Not really. About six months ago a friend of mine's son got a sizable bank loan to open a business because he had a plan, did the research, became familiar with local laws and licensing fees and regulations, and he was 18 by a month.

The difference was: That kid had a dream AND a plan. Dank's got a dream.

Which is why that kid has a business and Dank's trying to convince everyone that him rubbing his ballsack on a guitar will let him overcome the need for lessons to be the next Jimi Hendrix.