And it can be found here.

We decided to get our own warehouse up here in Seattle, for lots of reasons, but primarily to have after-hours shootouts with The Triads.  Brian and Robert are heading down to Austin next week to pick up all the stuff and move it up, but while they are in transit, you can take advantage of INCREDIBLE SAVINGS!  The store closes down on the 6th - yes, in like four days - but if you enter the code mov1ng when you check out, you'll get ten percent off everything you buy.  I didn't mean for that second part to be bolded, that just happened in the editor somehow, but I might as well leave it because that's important information.  

The Blood and Oil have finally run out in this, the fifth chapter. What a tremendous amount of fun that was, and we must all thank Ben Caldwell for drawing it and Gary Whitta for writing it.

Child's Play is incredibly vast, so vast that - even though Gabriel and I ostensibly created it - it extends far beyond our influence. That's how it had to be: in order for it to endure, it needs its own strength. But it's still surprising for me to realize the extent of its autonomy sometimes. The toy drive used to be the focus, but Child's Play is a banner now for a broad array of charitable impulses. For example.

Blood And Oil. Part Four. One more to go.

I've got more blood for you, and also more oil, in the ongoing series we're calling Blood And Oil - here's part three. This is a guest work; we did not draw or write this. I'm not entirely certain we could.

The new Episode of PATV went up on Friday, but I forgot to link it, because my mind body connection had been severed.  It is good, and funny, and good!  Please to enjoy.  Also, strip's up as well.  It's fucking incredible.   

It may be wise if, going forward, you think of the ongoing Blood & Oil series as something which needs to slow roast; the strip will be here, but the RSS feed will be your best friend regarding updates to the site. Once again: Blood & Oil is an Automata story written by Gary Whitta and powerfully realized by Ben Caldwell. It's in five parts, running all this week and into next Monday. Buckle up.

Today marks the debut of a guest Automata "event," drawn by the incomparable Ben Caldwell and "Book of Eli" scribe Gary Whitta. We don't have any right to talent like this, and giving the site over to them for a week or so will probably get you accustomed to work of genuine quality, at which point they will usurp us and we will have to get new jobs.

The room scenario described in the strip is brutally mega-real. My response was to haul out the big guns. Actually, it's my policy to leverage the big guns exclusively. I had a few little guns for awhile, and I sent them back. "Won't be needing these," I said.

Gabriel specializes in names like "Mantis Eaglehawk," that is to say, names that puncture the carefully calibrated drama of their setting. He has retained Dudefella lo these many years, long enough for me to substitute "Du'defaella" in my mind whenever I see it, with its notes of an elven upbringing grimmed with the dust of prophecy.

Seriously, all kinds of shit.  We've got the new Mosey shirt, Wolfman/Dracula, some some new Automata stuff as well.  

It's a 4th Panel, and it's more or less about what happens when things go wrong. 

This holiday's Harry Potter offering forgoes the Grand Theft Hogwarts/campus crawling adventure for something like third-person cover shooter, which I have heard alternately called "Order of the Marcus Fenix" or "Gears of Wand." I am not without affection for Harry Potter, and I like Video Games, but I've only played a couple hours total of products set in the universe which I'm sure must strike them as odd.  It's just that they've never given me a game I want to play all the way through.

I had a dream the other night that we decided to hold PAX in a huge field this year. It seemed like a good idea for some reason but when we got there it was raining and everyone was all wet. Then I looked down and I had no pants. These sorts of dreams tell me that PAX is coming up pretty quick.

When Christian Bale was recorded in the middle of some kind of aggressive territorial display, we queued it up expressly to be titillated but ultimately came away sympathetic. It's possible that every moment of his "presentation" won't be to your liking, but as someone who attempts to communicate for a living (and also, as someone who is married to an actor) that shit isn't exactly a joke. Actors are incredibly weird people, they tap into a pervasive band of shamanic data, and when they're tuning in some kind of anguished spirit you probably just want to stay the fuck away from them.