I have me a web site now:
"I started as an altar boy, working at the church
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research,
Which led me to a cash box, labeled "Children's Fund",
I'd leave the change, and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund.
I got a part-time job at my father's carpet store
Laying tackless stripping, and housewives by the score .
I loaded up their furniture, and took it to Spokane
And auctioned off every last naugahyde divan.
I'm very well aquainted with the seven deadly sins.
I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in.
I'm proud to be a glutton, and I don't have time for sloth.
I'm greedy, and I'm angry, and I don't care who I cross.
I'm Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt.
I like to have a good time, and I don't care who gets hurt.
I'm Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me.
I'll live to be a hundred, and go down in infamy.
Of course I went to law school and took a law degree.
And counseled all my clients to plead insanity.
Then worked in hair replacement, swindling the bald,
Where very few are chosen, and fewer still are called.
Then on to Monte Carlo to play chemin de fer.
I threw away the fortune I made transplanting hair.
I put my last few francs down on a prostitute,
Who took me up to her room to perform the flag salute.
Whereupon I stole her passport and her wig
And headed for the airport and the midnight flight, you dig?
And fourteen hours later I was down in Adelaide
Looking through the want ads sipping Fosters in the shade.
I opened up an agency somewhere down the line,
To hire aboriginals to work the opal mines,
But I attached their wages and took a whopping cut
And whisked away their workman's comp and pauperized the lot.
I'm Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt.
I like to have a good time, and I don't care who gets hurt.
I'm Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me.
I'll live to be a hundred and go down in infamy.
I bought a first class ticket on Malaysian Air.
And landed in Sri Lanka none the worse for wear.
I'm thinking of retiring from all my dirty deals
I'll see you in the next life, wake me up for meals."
If your comments are rude or overwhelmingly negative, I will ban you. That's your only warning. I refuse to surround myself with negative people or negative thinking.
1. my favourite joke, 2. I'm Mr Sable., 3. Corner Gas, February 2008, 4. Diabolical Evening, 5. Hi, I'm... Mr. Sable, Part Two, 6. 021/365: The Lost City, 7. My boy at Hooters, 8. 155/365: It's what happens after a winter of donuts,
9. Mr. Sable, Freelance Adventurer:, 10. True Crimes, 11. so sad they have to recruit those so young, 12. They went that-away!, 13. Indy toys! 088, 14. In Trouble Again, 15. Maori Ancestor?, 16. I... uhhh... errr... that's swell of ya, kid.,
17. 300 year old volley gun, 18. Bernie and The Amazon, 19. 017/365: last man standing 022, 20. 182/365: Halfway There!, 21. Indy toys!, 22. Diabolical Evening, 23. 187/365: Mmmmm, Spaghetti!, 24. 134/365: the Call to Adventure,
25. One of Monarch's Henchmen, 26. Just don't try to feed it any nuts.
Showcase
- JoinedDecember 2004
- OccupationArtist, photographer, storyboard artist, caricaturist
- HometownCrocus, SK
- Websitehttp://pallisercity.jimdo.com
- InstagramMisterSable
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Testimonials
He had paused in the midst of selecting one of a number of shining instuments from a neat little leather case which he had slid from his pocket to stare at the door. In the light cast by my partially uncovered lantern, it was obvious that the door was already open and that Sable's burglar kit was unnecessary. "What… Read more
He had paused in the midst of selecting one of a number of shining instuments from a neat little leather case which he had slid from his pocket to stare at the door. In the light cast by my partially uncovered lantern, it was obvious that the door was already open and that Sable's burglar kit was unnecessary. "What can this mean, Sable?" said I. In my astonishment I had forgotten to whisper, and my voice echoed in the stillness. This indiscretion brought a harsh glance from my companion. "Draw your revolver, Skeins," said he, in a voice so low that I had to read his lips to understand. "There are spies inside." He then returned his burglar kit to the inside of his coat. I did as directed, taking the additional precaution to slip the cover back down upon the lantern, and held my breath as Sable slowly and cautiously pushed open the door. Fortunately, the hinges were not rusted, and it swung inward without a noise. There was light inside the building. I shielded my eyes against the unexpected glare - and nearly dropped my own lantern when I saw what the illumination revealed.
Read lessMr. Sable is the proprietor of a unique brand of internet still theater. His visual vignettes are superbly detailed and captivating. Truely, he is one of flickr's great storytellers.
I've been crossing paths with Sable for the last few years or so.. He should have his own illustrated 'adventure/spy' series complete w/ evil villans & dastardly plost.. no wait, come to think of it he *does*! 'A true quirky filmmaker' I'd say!! (& a pretty mean illustrator).