Saturday night we took over much of Mission: Comics and Art for a little behind-the-scenes/making-of a graphic novel party. There were process sketches, final illustrations, covers ideas to vote on, plenty of cans of beer and lots of folks who stayed until the wee hours of the morn’ dancing their butts off.

We absolutely can’t wait until this book comes out so we can have book-dance parties ALL THE TIME.

What’s this book we’re talking about anyway? It’s right here.

Doesn’t the poster say it all?
Come see us showing how we’re making our graphic novel this Saturday night. Beverages will be served.
Mission Comics and Art is here in SF:

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See you there!

We totally agree.
Thanks to Shotwells for being the most un-shitty Shitty bar. As always a great Meet Up thanks to Shitty Kitty’s friends.

DC: you’re next. Watch out.

Yet another reason Rabat rules: folks got together at Cafe Renaissance again for another Shitty Kitty Meet Up WITHOUT US. Sooooooooo wonderfully shitty. And just in time to remind people State-side that there is a Meet Up tomorrow (Thursday the 18th, 6pm) at Shotwell’s Bar out here in San Francisco. We’ll be toasting a round or three to our shitty pals out in Rabat furrrr surrre.

Welcome back to SF Shitty Kitty!
(This cartoon was made at 30,000 ft.)

SHITTY KITTY MEET UP
@ Shotwell’s Bar
Thursday, February 18th
6pm (20th and Shotwell)

We’re happy our couscous photo made the cut of the Pictory Mag food photo contest but we’re sad we’re not going to have any of Amina’s couscous this Friday. Meshi Mushikil.

Check out all the winners here – http://www.pictorymag.com/showcases/local-flavor/

Here was the first cartoon of the night:

And our cartoon creators hard at work:

And the rest of the debauchery:

Fatima pours more detergent in the bucket. The powder collects on the sheets like drifts of snow on mountain peaks and in valleys. Some of it slowly disappears in the water or the parts of the bedding that are already wet. From snow to curdled milk and then it’s gone, leaving only a thin film. She watches it happen so slowly, she doesn’t move. She can’t see, feel, or hear anything but the soap that will clean these sheets. Her heartbeat moves her body, a back bent over like an archway after all these years. Of course she looks old than she is. Pain will ravage the body like that.
“Fatima!” she hears and is startled in a way that feels like waking up from a nightmare. “Fatima!” the little boys yells again. She looks up. Youssef is barreling towards her. “Wash this too,” he says and throws a red football jersey into the bucket, covering the snow and curdled milk. When she looks up again he is gone. Through the cloudy din of cotton and wool through which she listens, she hears him fighting with his older brother Driss. Or maybe he’s laughing now. Or crying. It’s hard to tell. He makes noise constantly. Fatima considers her near deafness a blessing in a house like this.
She takes the jersey off the top off the bucket and sets it on the tiles next to her stool. She’s washing sheets right now. Not clothes. She will get to that later.