The Peter Pan Peanut Butter Poisoning of 2007: Hypostatic Pollution and The Secret of Immortality

MidLife production "art"

In the mystic year of 2007... the year of the iPhone, Daft Punk's Alive tour, and, of course, Cyclone Sidr... a bunch of "Peter Pan" brand peanut butter jars were reported... infected. In Peter's seemingly innocent nutty load, swam the terrifying, microscopic fiend... Salmonella; a shocking, and appalling perversion of not only everyone's favorite creepy feminine eunich, but the very concept of Nuts. 

I got that Peter Pan. I got that Salmonella. I believe this is a key point in my life.

I've received dozens of e-mails, superchats and fan letters over the years asking about my oft-teased "Nut Story"; my only real memory, beyond general seasickness, is hallucinating a massive unreal yellow monster truck floating above me, as I laid, dreary - possibly fading to a purple, bootleg Figment-type plushie dragon guy, somewhere in-between. Almost as if I could control it - I found it funny. Reasoning with it - aware. False.

My parents - nonchalantly painting nearby, the hippies they were, probly some odd Misfits or Jack Skellington thing - were freaked. Little demon boy. Babbling tongues, visions of death.

I'm told I manically constructed The Mask in this fervor... prattling on, through shaking jaws, of urbanized purgatories... the functioning dead; but, it's all hazy. 

what a cutie!

Naturally, I was sent off to school the very next day, tripping literal nuts as the world came to discover the terrifying reality of Peter's Penultimate Prank. There were even cool, creepy legal PSAs, "call us if you got fucking poisoned", on TV - I think I remember catching 'em live. It didn't take long to feel well - in fact, it wasn't all that bad. But I'll never forget.

What if that's, like... what happened? What if that's what changed me? What if that's where it all began? Could there be some dark, deeper truths behind a seven year old's inexplicable mutation from Boy, to SmogMonster... or was it all the Nut?

I had a real issue with that "Pan" guy, for years. I try an' practice peace, but sometimes... I'm the SmogMonster. I use to deliberately rotate each and every "P.P." jar I'd see, hiding the label - no more casualties. Bring it all down. Let No Bad Happen. Heck, I still won't touch 'em. That awful Bobby Driscoll Peter Pan parody in the Rescue Rangers movie? Deserved. I even fired a guy over a Smee tattoo. That's how bad it is.

Conceptual rendering by 71 Director of
Call Center Operations, "The Hintt"

Last year's investors
promotional poster!

What if I made... "Smog Nut Butter"?  "The SmogNutster?" "Smog's Sour Mystery Spread"? 

It is, however, nice of Conagra Brands, Inc, - perpetrators of the "P.P" poisoning - to fund both myself, and inadvertently, 71 as a whole; as per the annual monetary reparations - or, as the kids say, "Quiet Money" - agreed upon in a controversial out-of-court settlement. Though the infinitely generous peoples of Conagra have repeatedly asked not to be credited, characterized, or referred to as business partners... I will continue doing so.

Quiet money formed a new existence...

Okay, okay. Jokes, funny, character-writing stuff over... it was that night - the night of the visions - the Neverland virus - I... connected to the Hedorah. Smog in three parts; The Face, The Self, and The Holy Kaiju.

Hypostatic pollution.

The trick is, I'm Immortal. 

Oh yeah! I've started watching "Parks and Rec"! I guess that was my point, in all this. Cute show! I've also slipped ever-so nervously into the unfamiliar, frigid depths known as... post-Season 7 The Office. The Horror! So far, so... Odd. Robert California's me. Manager Andy feels a little too expy-Michael. It's certainly a lot more... surreal. 

Blog Post Over. 

Yellow Eyes and Art Hoes

As the perhaps infinite making of MidLife - FATE toils on, I am reminded of one of MidLife's first real public appearances; the otherworldly spark of life, beyond life - 2023's guest-spot on the weirdo indie comic strip, [REDACTED]!

The ghastly Ratipede - skele-stoner Dev, greaseball Spence, demonic The Popobawa, and dumbass Vienna - are visited by a dimension-hopping "art hoe" - star of [REDACTED]! - stumbling through Spence's mysterious trans-existential star-gate to the purgatorial realm of MidLife, only to be threatened, mocked and further instigated by the flock of undead neon losers awaiting her. Likely facing a comical death. Or worse. For no reason. 

These pages were taken from the collaborative "Sears" storyline, featuring various studios and artists' further temporal exploits through the mysterious titular box-store.

We were initially... shall we say, uninterested, in the collaboration - you can see where 71's efforts begin, and end, y’know? However, as exuberant commission rates were discussed - including catering, lodging, and pharmaceutical expenses - we graciously blessed the MidLife IP it's rejuvenating gasp, bursting from the soil with a zombie's roar... and, though certain legal constraints following the ruling of "Molene V Delaware" prevent us from properly thanking our sponsor... I wouldn't anyway! I'm the master. 

With MidLife: FATE's laborious production, even then, well underway, a new team of 32 young, peppy temps - a colorful bunch, starry-eyed dreamers fresh from the nearby Full Sail University - were "hired" for the comic, injecting it's compromised veins with the narcotic joy of artistic creation; only found pure in the inexperienced, and stupid. 

Though 31 of these 32 artists were, of course, terminated immediately upon completion, the sole remainder - color technician "Big Slim" Jim Mink, pictured below - quickly moved on to become 71 speech language pathologist, purchasing me this humorous mug in adulation. After all; how could I fire a guy threatening to shoot himself all over my vintage ALF door-poster? Thanks, Big Slim Jim!

So, yeah. That's where the Vienna on the MidLife icon to the left came from. The keen amongst you might notice I've changed her eyes - this comic's so old, it predates her solidified color scheme; her terrible eye-jaundice pretty much the final step in the  desecration of Vienna. The grosser-er, the better-er. 

From #BoringCaucasian to #PurplePower... 2017 vs 2026

Though the whole white-to-yellow thing is an inconsistency even onscreen, on film, it works. She's rotting! Like threads through the rubber eyelids of a damp plasticine corpse, we wove it in. I've come to enjoy a healthy shaking-up of color schemes as it all goes on... and on. 

...Have I ever mentioned how much I love those little tiny mandarin-type oranges? So good. 

TONIGHT'S EPISODE... Zorak Vs The Smogmonster

Space Ghost: Coast to Coast - perhaps, the greatest drama of all history; the storied tale of the host with the most, Tad Ghostal, and his epic quest to face the omnipresent forces of evil - otherwise known as Zorak, Moltar, Brak, the extended Legion of Doom, and an endless barrage of strange late 90's guests, cameos and total freakshows.

Passed down to me at a young age - a sort of, stoner family heirloom -  I instantly became a hyperfan, as I endlessly rewatched the Season Two DVD.  I believe it was from Suncoast Video. Look 'em up..

Cookout, Sharrock, Jacksonville, 20.01 - flawless nostalgic classics. Endless hilarious quotes I remember day-to-day; "You Killed the Chicken." ... "I'm one hundred percent Stupid." ... "Tonight's Episode: Hickory. Dickory. Dead." Not to mention, real wicked menus and music on that Season 2 set, literally burned into the waves of my brain...  I even remember doodling Zorak as a nasty fetal kid. Or at least, trying. Guy's hard to draw.

A shame the only complete DVD collections are bootlegs. I found this one on Craigslist. 

Dusting the Linoleum, Sir.

Was I too young? Maybe. Did it shape my entire sense of humor? Definitely. Do I owe the Ghost Planet all that I am? With Absolute Certainty. 

Back, again, when I was but a wee lad, I had the great honor of meeting the demonic extraterrestrial terrors Zorak and Moltar, themselves - that is, C. Martin Croker!- on, where else, but "sunny Ghost Planet"! The interstellar adventure of a lifetime. We even passed by the remains of Melmac. 

Such a charming guy - little-baby-me, awestruck, nervously beamed my love for Zorak, - and he was like - paraphrased - "Did you know I'm Moltar, too! MoltarbabbleMoltarbabble" - I was like... Huh?! What?! How!!! I still remember real well. I couldn't even grasp that idea. I sort of thought to myself, at the time... wait... so he... replaced Moltar's guy? Or...? 

Croker was so memorable - down to even that wicked ol' surfmonster look. Just take the incredibly dedicated signature. A signature - and it's so loving, and funny! What a guy. You can find similar examples of very personal signings and sketches, online; he truly appreciated his fans - especially a Yung Creature like me. Which also, so happens, to have been my rapper, and prison name(s), before I began going by Lil Zorak.

He is missed. A King among Adult Swim's lifeguards... the original Doctor Weird... little, lovable Steve... Truly - Zorak!

MidLife production art

One of my biggest regrets; I never got the chance to meet Space Ghost - George Lowe - despite the fact I lived right nearby his hometown for years. Perhaps I sold him some odd folk art... 

A living legend, Lowe's humor is literally unmatched; watch any interview, he's unbelievable. Any show, anything. One can only wish to have such endless charisma, literally commanding the audience. Endless comedy, endless talent. What a voice - the best voice. 

It's so great he, and Tad, got such a beautiful closer on that weird Hannah-Barbara-Universe show. Jelleestone? Money can't buy me happiness... Lowe will always be the definitive Space Ghost, to me. With that; a fabulous video tribute to Mr. Lowe...

Still walking among us; haunting the peaceful Ghost Planet; the powerful - the insightful - the musical - Brak! - Andy Merrill! Who even rocks an original Brak doodle PFP by yours truly. That being, Me. Me!! Look at me!!!

He even once sang me Feel Good Inc. Seriously!

This is all to say; on the very eve of Croker's passing, I encountered a nasty little Zorak perched atop the Everclear-bleached studio bar; who, soon, attacked my associate, The SmogMite. Disturbing.

Wi-Fi Comedy!

Did you know, in the Good Lord's year of 2026, you can name your own personal wi-fi connection? I did... but I'm sure You didn't. 

So, what; "Smog's Wi-Fi"? "71 Business"? "71F223-2.4"? No, no - no more boring nothings, plain company titles, technical jib-jab... believe it or not, your wi-fi service can be entitled... well! just about anything you want! 

Within Reason. 

Why, just this afternoon - on my daily walk through the filthy, filthy slums of the Gulf Coast - I encountered just loads of hootin', hollerin', hilarious wi-fi boners! Of course, there's the usual suspects... "FBI Surveillance Van", always a classic... "Gangstalking Club House", heh, yawn... "Epsteinet"... where's the funny?

Well, here's the real zingers; in the famed words of Grand Vizier Jafar, "The Diamond[s] in The Rough" - a collection of cantankerous connections, with additions from none other than the beloved staff of 71! 

"There Are People Under My Veins"

"Free Trojan"

"UndergroundPandaFightingRing"

"CYBORG_PHILLY"

"GhostPlanet Guest"

"I_Believe_Wi_Can_Fi" 

"Glitch Studios Is The Death Of Art"

"Robotropolis5G"

"FancyNippleTassels" 

"Don't Call Her WiFi If You Met Her At The Freaknik"

"HumanTraffickingHQ1887"

"Ghidorah the Three-Banded Router" 

"PP-Link_69" 

"Dunder_Mifflin"

Special shout-out to "ZappsFreeWiFi", which has been inexplicably broadcasting free service from a nearby abandoned structure for, seemingly, decades; despite said Zapp's location having closed circa 1990... itself, having taken place quite a while before wi-fi, even, like.. existed. Huh. Whatever! Always comes in clutch when webby-things go awry... and how about that McDonald's!

This is all to say... I must, sadly, announce to my staff that we will be temporarily without internet connection; from today, to the foreseeable future, as the "Guys" over at Spectrum do their best to fix our little... "Unbelievable Wiring Issue". Godspeed, men!

Of course, rest assured - the Anti-Gravity Freedom Machine network, as always, stands strong.

Please direct any questions, concerns or comments to Gustavo "From The Selva" De Barcelos, 71 Chief of Human Relations and Head Receiver. Also - as a friendly reminder! - the [REDACTED] animation is due tomorrow. No exceptions, with termination of employment upon failure to deliver.

What does any of this have to do with the promotional event in which Pee-Wee Herman and I, per court order, visited hundreds of Discovery Zone locations across America to speak about Christian mission trips to Haiti? I'm not sure. 

Computron Wants To Live

Aye... what's good, Smogmonster? 

A whole lotta nothing. Binging The Office, enjoying the company pool, feasting up on mandarins and delicious iced coffee. Not to mention, fixing my sleep schedule, Little Dog in tow. Ever met a rat terrier who loves oranges?

I deserve it - as 71's glorious leader, I'm owed a week or two of Lazy. Often! After all, isn't that what upper management is for...?

Fret not, MidLivvians; as always, our crack team of disuting freaks - that is, Animators - are on the case. Of course, the A-Team (pictured below) is currently preoccupied by an upcoming semi-related music video project... y'know, the [REDACTED] one?... but, the Expendables - that is, "Saif Animadness Funhouse (ਸੈਫ ਐਨੀਮੈਡਨੈੱਸ ਫਨਹਾਊਸ)" - are keeping the MidLife ship a-sailin'.

"A fire hazard waiting to happen!" as if. 

What's interesting is, we've been repeatedly warned by OSHA (or, the Obtuse Stupid Heads Association) that our working conditions are, quote, "Unsafe", and, "A Complete Violation Of Basic Human Rights", and, "Almost Certainly Going To End In Mortal Disaster". Which is absolutely silly. 

Sure, things are tough, now. But hey - I'm no monster. I'm the Smog-Monster! The vast majority of my underlings are generously blessed the minimum legal wage - And! - management is even prepared to consider the installation of one brand-new window unit A/C somewhere near the general vicinity of employee quarters! Should production meet schedule!

Not to mention, the newly implemented (mandatory) "Crazy Costume Sundays"! What a riot!

Note: animé characters/references will not be accepted as participation

Of course, my office stays a frosty 60°. Such is life; the mad Captain of the ghostly USS Cygnus. Or... I guess, SS Guppy. It's lonely at the top; the literal top, of the building, y'know? Great view. One very few - again - deserve. But hey - as I grow older, and wiser, I've come to understand, perhaps, not everyone can be a Smogmonster. Or a Doctor Reinhardt. Or a Captain Horatio Magellan Crunch.

Sometimes, as I drown through the murky depths of our blessed company pool; staring through bloody chlorinated eyelids; I just fleetlingly remember. That old thought. The vision really breathed underwater... and maybe, it still does.

Small Steps Toward Walking On Water

Spence Kenneth Hasper's valuable input

I recently awoke, in a manic haze; a sweating, frothing sickness of inspiration, rattling my veins like a Parkinson's patient on Alton Towers' Sonic Spinball. It just... called to me. Something about it. It had to be done. 

Having passed out on in the office (on my famous green foam "mattress"), I scraped together what few crew happened to be still present - at, y'know, roughly 4 AM - piled in the company cars - and sped off... to the smoke shop! 

We've shot around here a small handful of times, up and down the whole strip; essentially serving as the area surrounding Vienna's fateful bus stop. It ain't scenic, but it's... eerie. Detached. Somehow otherworldly. I guess in that way, you could call us locals.

As such, nobody seemed to mind as multiple truckloads of strange, effeminate men flooded the empty streets; arranging props, positioning cameras, and installing arguably illegal blacklights... all at the precise command of their dark, masked leader. Me! You'd think we were shooting the Billie Jean video.

We did two takes; Vienna, in silence, surrounded by junk, perched on a dinky metal chair (stolen from the famed Hernando Toy and Comic Show all those eons ago) as she waits for that damned bus... in real time! Spooky. 

The odd anxiety in the air - nervously eyeing the odd passing semi, wandering nightcrawlers, and looming security cameras - gave such a distinct, sickly energy to what happened that night. It's not every day something like this happens. Or... yeah, y'know, night. 

Its also worth mentioning, post-filming, the lads and I finally offloaded the mystic "Urine Couch" beside the shops, whose pungent stench has haunted the studio garage for longer than I care to remember. End of an era.

Unrelated old gig poster W-I-P

It's all about spontaneity. As such, at the time of writing, I've not (much) reviewed the footage, or even the accompanying score by recurring musicvillain [REDACTED]. I just don't want to touch the project 'till I can give it a full go, from top to bottom. Spontaneity. Like an infant with HIV, it must bear the very same infectious sexual sickness from which it was birthed. 

What's wild is, not even a day later, that big flashing neon sign adorning the wall behind me - seen in a good handful of shots outside the sequence in question - was removed; it drew me in, seducing my florescent-obsessed insectoid eye - and disappeared - a siren in the choking, gagging Floridian murk. Like prophecy... if it's in MidLife, it no longer exists. Banished to the city eternal - purgatory.

Ain't the first time. Kinda beautiful. 

A few days later, I was once again visited. I hadn't seen her in years; she passed away, in high school. She always liked me... but, y'know. I wasn't mature enough to understand or admire how special that was. Oh well. 

At least we met again. For that moment, what she wanted was real. She was stunning. As if she never left. It felt reassuring. Maybe I'll see her again someday.

Foamy

Roads, roads, roads...

Pixels, Pillars and Pigs. It's buzzing - a shot for not one, but two projects. Neat!

We're currently working on vehicular animations, which - vigilant readers shall, of course, remember - we recently experimented with on the Fairy Dust sequence. That's what we do best, here at 71 - experimentation.

Assistant production accountant "Sammy Central" and I
getting Experimental... On Tha Grill

Unfortunately, and, unsurprisingly, we've faced the usual onslaught of delays; not only due to the constant madness emitting from the restrooms - which I have delegated the shot's full animation team to handling, due to the janitorial staff's recent mysterious deaths - but also, thanks to it's director Putzing About, rather than Directing - let alone, Plunging. See right... another example of experimentation... In Wasting Time.

Meanwhile, I've been a bit sick. Weird-y. Out of rest, but, y'know, chill. As such, I took the time to kick back, relax, and indulge with some nice, old-skool, physical drawing! Pen and paper. Simple as - and, especially, just for fun. I get pretty caught up in the hellworld of MidLife production, so every once in a while, I make it a point to just naturally and openly enjoy the whole art hobby. 

As such I drew Creepypasta characters. That is, The Backrooms' Still Life. Surprisingly great flick. I definitely didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I have. I mean, who would've? 

A Still Life Family Portrait

I'm warm. Cozy. I reel, that tinge of regret; the occasional reemergence of this thing, called Smog. The demon with which I paired, upon ingesting the Nut...

Oh, but I've said too much already...