February 14, 2008:

Since the lovely woman (or possibly conscientiously-tucked gentleman) from the escort service seems to be running a bit late, I seize this opportunity to wish you and yours (not to mention theirs) a truly, delusionally, Happy Valentine's Day. May any infections you receive this night be anecdote-worthily exotic ones, or at least among those you already have, and may your partner's ecstatic moans be well-rehearsed enough for you to almost believe them. And if you find yourself alone on this romantic occasion, without a commited lover or even a novel one, without so much as another warm body to cling to and caress, feeling the chill of the winter air gusting over your very soul, the only future awaiting you a lonely loveless treadmill nightmare of...

...um....what was I...?

....Gosh, it feels so stuffy here in these veins in my wrists...maybe I need to run a bath and go let some air into them....



Nah, I'm jes' joshin' ye crazy kids! Happy Valentine's Day you filthy rutting fiends!

Expect BOLD FISTFULS of wistful unrequited longings and SAVAGE PULSE-POUNDING MAELSTROMS of silent post-coital regrets to EXPLODE in a SPHINCTER-DILATING APOCALYPSE of understated ambivalence...Please forgive the absurd delay but my many commitments to the amateur neurosurgery community leaves me little time to grant gratis ganders of my heart's darlings rendered in ink and tears to mere casual onlookers like yourselves--I mean who in the hell do you think you ARE anyways, making these demands of me, TV's "Major Dad" Gerald McRaney?! Well I NEVER--! HARUMPH!

Nonetheless thanks for the interest and for the Hickory Farms gift boxes (summer sausage ain't just for summer, let me tell ya!)--I'll do my durndest to hurl some ol' Lovesick atcha when I can find the time...it's just that I have been very busy--I mean, these decanters of urine aren't going to fill themselves...This monkey will dance his little jig of heartbreak and ill-advised lust for your apathetic stares soon...Until then I wish you all the best--to use the sign-off first popularized by radio legend Paul Harvey: "May all your heartbreaks be truly devastating and may all your lusts be tragically ill-advised!"

Yours In Hot Pants,
Gnyeekoluss Haylowe

HOLIDAY GREETINGS TO YOU AND YOURS...from Jolly Ol' St. Nick

December 24:

With all the hub-bub, hurlyburly, and...um...some other third thing...of the season, I regret that I haven't had the time to extend my moistest holiday wishes sooner. Sincerest Happy WhateverYouWorship to all of you, and may the new year offer you a veritable Caligulation of sordid ecstasies and/or a veritable Amishment of wholesome ones--depending, of course, upon which afterlife you're currently targeting. (Remember, my young heaven-bound decadents: Repent early, and repent often).

Tomorrow, as I guzzle my Christmas dinner before collapsing face-first into a half-eaten bag of stale Funyuns, it will be you that I think of--you, my devoted Comicspace family, you grovelling goddamn worms.

Thanks for humoring my psychopathologies thus far, and I deeply, deeply apologize in advance for all of the hackneyed writing and incompetent art that I shall be aggressively foisting upon you and your loved ones in 2008--and beyond.

--Nicholas Halo


LOVESICK
Love stories for the heartless.

Lovesick is a book about love and loss, sex and shopping, autoerotic asphyxia and vehicular death. It induces in its hapless readers eye-liquefying migraines, gangrenous priapism, and cervical stigmata. It will cure you of your pernicious humanity and will finally give your weary wary heart the courage to never love again. It is chock full o' tragic hijinx and festive atrocities.

If you've ever had your heart broken, your restraining orders ignored, or your genitals mutilated, then Mr. And Ms. Pretentious-and-Inappropriate Comics Enthusiast, THIS is the book you've always been pining for!

Some vicious vicious libels about Mr. Halo:

He is the writer-artist-photographer-sculptor-scrimshawist of this horrendous metastasization of words and images that will put a much-needed end to this embarrassing "graphic novel" epidemic that clogs the shelves of our nation's fine booksellers.

He has a firm but non-threatening handshake and an earthy but alluring musk.

His mother, while still pregnant with the twitching clot that would eventually become Mr. Halo, was frightened by a Roy Orbison record--thus, this book.

Lastly--he has been known to enjoy the acting of the late Mr. Joe Spinell.

All content (text and images) © 2007, 2008 by Nicholas Halo. All rights reserved, you damn thieving weasels.

He would like to be your friend because being friends means unicorns and sparkles and rainbows.

nickhalo@gmail.com

AIM:
NickHaloLS

http://www.myspace.com/lovesickthebook