Okay, we all know that the idea of illustrating other people’s tweets is the best idea since Jimmy Carter invented ideas*. Lots of people are going to be doing it, right? That’s what I thought, so I went looking. And I looked for minutes on end — we’re talking double digits of minutes — and I found slightly more than zilch. Here’s what we got:
And that’s it. It’s like back in the day when Geraldo Rivera opened that guy’s safe.
*It was Jimmy Carter. Al Gore looked up some stuff in a book for him, but that’s it.
If you’ve come across any Illustrators of tweets, could you let me know?
Photos by Christine Gill (notcatherinezeta, Rebecca Helen, Nice Welsh Lady)
My fancy pants have a meeting in the morning. I basically go along to make sure nothing spills on them. —@badbanana
A tortoise once upon a time
was slow of body, but quick of mind.
A hare was quite his opposite
A slothful mind, a body fit.
Quiet tortoise thought a lot.
and hare thought not a lot
except about his awesome speed
for he was faster than a steed.
He liked to boast about his speed
how he was faster than a steed.
He went on and on about his speed
and outrunning speedy steeds
while simply cruising at half speed.
Bragging was his favourite deed.
The hare and tortoise both had homes
In woods north of France and south of Rome
where the hare he drove the tortoise crazy
with mouth so loud and mind so lazy.
Tortoise thought, I’ve got to find a way
to shut the dang hare up some day.
He thought and searched with no avail
of a shutting up plan that would not fail.
Then one day while taking inventory
he came across a forgotten story
of a hare and tortoise from long ago –
an Æsop’s fable, don’t you know,
in which a tortoise and a hare
raced each other for a dare.
The tortoise won with a steady plod.
I’ll do the same and beat that clod,
said tortoise with a look of glee –
ha ha ho ho, ho ho hee hee.
He planned the race route on a map
It went past hare’s fav’rite place to nap.
He marked out start and finish lines
The words were clear and well-defined.
He also wrote down ‘napping spot’
He thought that that would help his plot.
He took his map and went outside.
Hey, hare! Come here. Come see, he cried.
I know about your awesome speed
how you are faster than a steed.
But I too have got good pace.
I challenge you to a race.
The hare, ho ho, he laughed out loud
I won’t race you. I am too proud.
Tortoise tried a little trick:
You mean you are too slow and thick
to beat a clever tortoise like me.
Never mind. I’ll let you be.
Hare called out, tortoise, wait!
On second thought, a race is great.
I’m not worried about turtle speed
for I am faster than a steed.
Tortoise answered, hey that’s great
I for one can hardly wait,
so let’s get a fox to referee
to be sure the race is fair, you see.
But because of farmers’ guns and bait
they found no fox to arbitrate
the race, so they asked a bear
to make sure that they both ran fair.
Bear took the map and said, good
the course is clear, just like it should
be. Hare, look here and you will see
just where the race is supposed to be.
I see, said the hare. I start right here.
I run to the finish, then you all cheer.
Maybe not, the tortoise said.
I might win the race instead.
Hare said, ha ha ho ho hee hee.
Bear said, we’ll start the race: one, two, three
Go! he growled with all his might
And hare leapt off as if with fright.
Tortoise with his walk so slow
thought, don’t worry. I know how this will go.
But when hare came to his napping spot –
I must not stop, he said, must not.
The race is long, and I must run.
I’ll have a nap when I have won.
So on he went with blazing speed,
running faster than a steed.
He ran for hours. He ran for days.
He believed determination pays
off. Then after a very long time
he made it to the finish line.
Hooray! he shouted. At last I’ve won.
Back in the woods folk wondered, where’s he gone?
The finish line he’d made, you see
was of a northern territ’ry.
Yes, the finish line to which he went
was not the one the tortoise meant.
One mile point five around the bend
was where the race came to an end.
But when the rabbit read the map he thought
a little local race was not
what was meant for him to run,
but rather a super marathun
cross mountain, plain, hill and dale
cross water full of prawn and whale
then to a road called E4
and travel many miles more
through Stockholm, Uppsala and through Gävle
cross Söderhamn where the road is gravel
Iggesund and Hudiksvall are next
past Sundsvall and then betwixt
the hamlets of Timrå and Sörberge
all the traffic has to merge
into one lane past Hämösand
then off to where the sea meets land
at Örnsköldsvik. (There the sea for sailing
is not as nice as it is by Nordmaling.)
Umeå, Luleå, Kalix and Tornio
That’s where Sweden ends you know,
and Finland starts at the sign
announcing: Here’s the Finnish Line.
If hare had brains, he would have spied
the second N upon the sign.
Although finish and Finnish sound the same
Two Ns make one a proper name.
If hare cared about these things than he
would have known that N is the difference, see,
between winning a race or coming in fourth
and freezing your bum off way up north.
And now the moral of this tale,
some truth to help you without fail:
If you want to win, then you’ll do well
to take some time and learn to spell.
19 June is our legal anniversary, and 29 June is our real anniversary. I’m so in love with her!
See, I can draw sweet and lovely things if I set my mind to it.
Pro Tip: “I’m sorry for whatever it is you think I did” is the antithesis of an apology. —@vmarinelli
It makes me a little bit sad that you don’t get to be “Fish of the Day” without also being dead. —@munki
Ugh, so many junebugs smacking into the window screen. Leave me in peace, you little hell pellets. —@zolora
Quinn just picked up the iPod, did a li’l jig, and said MAGIC POTATOES! I have no idea what’s going to happen to this kid. —@emilybrianna
The tears of a clown can break your heart.
The tears of a clown can also etch steel and reduce a cow to bones in 60 seconds.
Did you know that Herself aka my wife aka nicewelshlady aka notcatherinezeta aka Rebecca Helen is also a photographer?
She is. And it just so happens that her photographs can make your walls pretty. Some of her photos are on Imagekind and Photobox.
Spring has heralded a series of nosebleeds so vicious I’m now known in the office as ‘the guy who menstruates from his face’. —@secretsquirrel
What I learned is democracy is rubbish.
A mere five people voted. I say ‘mere’, but actually I think the five people who voted are brilliant. The rest of you probably confused me with a Labour MP or something. Whatever.
The result was three votes in favour of @sween’s clown tears to two votes for @secretsquirrel’s nosebleeds. @sween wins.
But it’s not that simple. My beautiful wife voted for @secretsquirrel. All of you who are or have wives know that this means @secretsquirrel wins. End of.
Except it’s not. baileygenine joined in, apparently as an impartial UN observer, so if I skew the vote in favour of love, I will inevitably be subject to sanctions against my Tumblr and probably my Twitter. And if I go with the numerical count - well, I don’t like sleeping on the couch. I can see no way out of this other than to illustrate both tweets.
That’s right. You go celebrate in the streets; I’ll be here rubbing my finger raw on the screen of my iPhone illustrating tweets for you.
Democracy is rubbish.
*
PS The first one will be @secretsquirrel’s. The drawing is straight out of the look-mum-we-used-oil-pastels-in-art-class-today school, but the joke is okay.
Spring has heralded a series of nosebleeds so vicious I’m now known in the office as ‘the guy who menstruates from his face’. —@secretsquirrel
OR
The tears of a clown can break your heart. The tears of a clown can also etch steel and reduce a cow to bones in 60 seconds. —@sween
Which shall I choose?
I may be an assassin programmed to have no memory of my early morning kills. Or I just fall asleep in the shower sometimes. Hard to say. —@superfantastic
Putting my chain saw away, and expecting it will be awhile before a neighborhood tree looks at me funny again. —@CranberryPerson
