The Big JS

Taylor Hunt’s application to The Center for Cartooning Studies. Their prompt: A minimum two-page comic story starring yourself, a snowman, a robot, and a piece of fruit.

In front of a night sky, a pair of shoes hang by their laces from power lines. “This city is rotten.” The sky pans down to show city buildings and two business signs, the first of which reads: 24 HR Spirits Guns &ChokingHazards “Rotten inside and out. Good Mornings All-Nite Childcare “Rotten like a brown spot gone wild.” A burning building sits on top of a hill in front of the city skyline. A path leads down from the building to a brick-and-stone sign. “Not even brown anymore. “We passed brown years ago. Our Lady of Commiseration Public Library— & — Puppy Rehab “It’s moldy and black now, full of sins.”
A hallway view of a closed door with a window in it. We can see indistinct markings on the window. “Usually rotten things go soft and mushy. “But not me.” Zoom-in on the door’s window: the markings become clear, showing a logo of happy winking banana in a detective outfit — but the glass is cracked through part of it. The text of the logo reads: Sleuthy Banoonoo Private Detective “I went bad.” Overdramatic shadows obscure the face of a human-sized banana — Sleuthy Banoonoo themself! They sit behind a desk in a hardboiled detective office, looking at the bottom of a liquor bottle that’s nearly empty. “I only keep badthings in my life. “Keeps myheart bad. “Keeps it safe.”
The liquor bottle now rests on the desk. We can just barely make out its label. “My liquor? CLEVELANDCHAMPAGNE “Bad.” A hardwood floor with peeling varnish, warped boards, and exposed nails. “My floors? “Bad.” A pair of glasses in a case. “My eyesight? “Bad.”

“I’d seen things so bad for so long I forgot what soft looked like.”

The office door opens a crack, and a shapely leg in stiletto heels pokes in. “Until soft walked in my door… “One soft step at a time.” The door fully opens to reveal that the leg belongs to an otherwise utterly stereotypical snowman with scarf, carrot nose, corncob pipe, and stovepipe hat — in stark contrast to his long feminine legs, stiletto heels, and hotpants. Sleuthy Banoonoo impassively regards the entrance from behind his desk. Long time nosee, Detective.
The perspective flips to show Sleuthy’s front and behind the snowman. Rest assured that the snowman fills out out the back of the hotpants with cheeks as perfectly round as the upper head and body snowballs. Sleuthy looks much the worse for wear compared to their door’s logo, with overgrown angry eyebrows, sunken wrinkled eyes, and stubble. (Or maybe it’s those little hairs every banana has when you peel them.) Ain’t it cold out therewith so few clothes on? You spend as much as Ihave on coolsculpting, youdon’t let it go to waste. I wouldn’t know. Last workI had done was a trench doctorputting my stem back on. Why are youhere, anyway?
The snowman takes a long, dramatic inhale of their pipe. He then dramatically exhales a giant cloud of smoke. The smoke frames a mental image of a robot in a dress shirt, looking over their shoulder mysteriously. Ever hear of…Moe Zeela? Sleuthy is unfazed. Duh?
Sleuthy turns to their window to monologue, the blinds casting dramatic horizontal shadows across their face. ‘Course I’ve heard. Who hasn’t? He’s that droid who— Robot. Can’t call them‘droids’ anymore. Trademarked. Sleuthy angrily recovers from the interruption. A mental image of the aforementioned robot is shown, surrounded by happy small CRT monitors. The monitors have limbs and old-timey child signifiers of a propeller beanie and a porkpie hat. Whatever! He’s that mandroid who opened schools for terminally- underprivileged terminals. Guy’s a modern-day saint dot exe. It’s now the snowman’s turn to vamp in the dramatic shadow. They sorrowfully monologue as their pipe’s smoke trails around a desk calendar and rotary phone. (The calendar is set to the month of Crimevember.) Was. Stopped answeringpings a month ago. Folks suspect foul play; figure hekicked the recycle bin, but nobody’seven looked for a body yet. Just thinking abouthow to spend his money.
Count me out. We return to Sleuthy staring out their dramatically-shadowed, but also clearly old and busted windowblinds. Too high-profile—I don’t bend thosebranches no more. You oughta stayaway, too. Too much tomelt if you getclose to the sun.
The snowman leans over Sleuthy’s desk. Sleuthy turns to face them while tugging on the blinds’ cord, letting more light in and making the scene much easier to draw. I can’tstay away. Moe and I,we got history. Like youand me. Sleuthy strikes a dramatic silhouette with hands on hips. Not like you and me. The snowman counters with their own dramatic silhouette of an outstretched hand. Not exactly, but kinda. A close-up of Sleuthy’s face! We can’t see anything but banana fuzz thanks to the dramatic shadows, though. No, I don’t think so. We finish with a close-up of the snowman’s coal eyes. Okay but help me anyway.
Sleuthy responds by pulling down and blacking out the blinds with a SHNK noise. Sleuthy faces away from the snowman and attempts to begin gloomily monologuing into the darkness. I’m too rotten. Too bad. This city’s made me— You still like… The snowman puts his hand on his hip and cocks an eyebrow at Sleuthy. Sleuthy’s hat flies off in astonishment. …corncob pipe stuff?
Sleuthy slams their fists on their desk, shouting: I’ll take the case!
Later!
Sleuthy brandishes a gun at an unseen target. Freeze,scumbag! Hands whereI can see ‘em! Sleuthy holds their dramatic pose. No, closer;I forgot mycheaters. The pose has transformed from “dramatic” to “awkward” by now. Yeah,right there. Right whereI can see ‘em.
The snowman bends over a robot’s crumpled body, with a dark liquid oozing from underneath. It would be a grim, arresting picture if not for the conspicious snowman ass in the middle. Sleuthy, it’s Moe! He’s here! He’s… He’s dead. There’s no bullethole, no surge marks. He’s just… dead.
A photograph of yours truly, the author, illuminated harshly from the front to cast shadows on a concrete wall. How’d you do it, scumbag? ‘Cause it sure wasn’t withthose weak, underutilizedmuscles. Moe Zeela was all-American steel and silicon! My hands slowly drop down as I launch into my stupid villain dialogue. Scumbag? That’s it? I’m a developer by day, youknow. I gave Moe the worst a CPUcould ask for — JavaScript. A close-up of my heavily lidded eye. He didn’t stand a chance. And that was just tohave a plot to draw formy CCS application! Scumbag? Thatmeans nothing to me.

Sleuthy points the gun directly at me, arm outstretched.. Cover your eyes, kid.
The tension mounts as Sleuthy refuses to break line-of-sight with their gun.
The last thing we see is Sleuthy walking forward, trigger still at the ready. …Cover the pipe, too.

“Sad ending. Rotten city.

“Sometimes you can’t save the world with only a sidearm and the promise of a Reverse Corncob Steamer.

“Sometimes the story just sits on the shelf ‘til it’s too far gone.

“Turns soft. Turns bad.

“Fades to black.”