All rise.
Put your right hand over your heart.
Ready.
Begin.
I pledge allegiance
To the 'Fest
From the East Side
Down to the West End
And to the Resistance
For which it rocks
One Love
Under Big Daddy
Ineffable
With Liberty
And Phat Beats
For all y'all

Some theories on Tatsuya Ishida's origins:
· He was bitten by a radioactive cartoonist and decided to fight crime when Uncle Benihana got killed.
· Top secret government experiment to create the ultimate philosopher that obviously went wrong.
· Millionaire playboy whose parents were gunned down by a gang of outlaw editors.
· The reincarnation of Van Gogh. "I'm back," he says. "And I'm gonna make bank."
· One of those Bladerunner clones.
· A bug in the Matrix construct, wreaking havoc on the system. Viva le Resistance!
· Madonna's latest persona.
· The last son of Nypton, shot into space as the planet exploded. Earth's yellow sun makes him get all jiggy wit it.

A day in the life of Tatsuya Ishida:
8:00 AM. Wake up.
11:30 AM. Get out of bed.
11:45 AM. Continental breakfast, poolside. Read Wall Street Journal.
1:00 PM. Meet with military advisors. Plan strategic embargo on Mars.
2:30 PM. Notify Aaron Sorkin that the "cargo" has arrived.
2:35 PM. "Test" the cargo.
3:00 PM. Oprah.
4:30 PM. Video conference with Writer's Guild reps. Our line: Even though we don't employ writers, we want a piece of the pie.
5:30 PM. Arrange meeting with Heidi Fleiss's "people."
6:30 PM. Inform Robert Downy Jr. that the "package" has arrived.
6:35 PM. "Analyze" the package.
8:00 PM. Tae Bo.
9:15 PM. Scribble down tomorrow's strip idea, fax it to Sinfest Headquarters.
10:30 PM. Nightcap. Jacuzzi, Cognac, Doritos.

Sometimes I dream
That he is me
You've got to see that's how I dream to be
I dream I think
I dream I ink
Like Tat
If I could Be Like Tat
Like Tat
Oh, if I could Be Like Tat
Inspire awe
With what I draw
For just one day if I could
Be The Man
I dream I rock
I dream I rule
Like Tat
If I could be like Tat
I wanna be
Like Tat
Oh, if I could Be Like Tat.
(guitar solo, dancing girls grind in rhythm, pour Gatorade on each other)

Some artists worry about crossing over and losing their street cred. I totally understand this. So often I think to myself, "Will hitting the big time tarnish my cult hero image? Will turning filthy stinking rich and super-duper famous obscure my aura of streetness?" It keeps me up at night, I tell you. Sometimes I have to buzz my in-house chef to fix me a drink and a shrimp cocktail to calm my nerves. I really dig on that dipping sauce. Tangy yet sweet. The butter sauce ain't too shabby either, especially the way Wolfgang prepares it. Anyway, uh... What was I talkin' about? Oh, right. Street cred. Yes. I've got lots of that. I got street cred comin' outta my ears. I am street incarnate, boy. Just ask my masseuse.

Let's do some FAQs:
When is the Sinfest book coming out?
I'll let you know.
Where do you get your ideas from?
From the midi-chlorians that live within me.
You think you're all that, don'tcha?
Please. Do not piss yourself with rage. I'm a peace-loving man.
That's it. Come on. Throw down, punk.
(interviewer charges at cartoonist, but discovers it's a hologram)
Wha-?
Ha ha. I'm not really there. I'm away on a diplomatic mission to China. Guards!
(battle droids enter, subdue interviewer with blasters)
Aaaaieeeeeee!!!!
Now if you'll excuse me, I must go restore peace and tranquility to the galaxy.

Things that make you go Hmmm: While rocking out to 80s flashback radio it occurred to me that maybe some bona fide celebrities are among my readership. Imagine that. Like maybe the Thompson Twins are at their computer, you know, surfing the net, checking out webcomics. One of them would be like, "Hey, Thompson, this comic sucks." And the other guy would go, "Like totally. It sucks to the max." Or how about Arnold Schwarzennegger? Maybe after a round of protein drinks he fires up a stogie and goes online: "Ah hah hah hah. This is most amusing cah-tooon! I laugh very hard I do. If they make movie, I play Zlick! Hah hah."

Excerpt from the highly anticipated autobiography T.I.: The Man, The Myth, The Mojo: I used to run with a tough crowd back in the day. One time we snagged a six-pack of O'Douls from 7-11 and boy, did we get hammered. I must've downed like a whole can all by myself. Tommy said he saw pink elephants and shit but I think he got that from watching cartoons. Marco kept giggling like a hyena and Antawn started hocking loogies, saying the alcohol gave it extra body and range. Yeah, we were total outlaws. Badasses. Even back then we knew we were destined for bigger and badder things. Like Zima.

Now that March Madness is over, it's time for April Apathy, a.k.a. tax season. Ah Spring, that time of year when young men's fancy turns to chugging 40s and flubbing their 1040s. It's so fitting that we do our taxes right around April Fool's Day, since it's all a pack of lies anyway. Say, that's a pretty good defense strategy. The IRS audits your ass, subpoenas you from here to the middle of next quarter, mounts a federal investigation into your money laundering operation in Stockholm, Madrid, and Belfast, and you say, "April Fool's! Gotcha!" It's worth a shot. Cuz hey, that's the way of the world, bubba. The government lies to the people in the name of National Security. And the people lie to the government in the name of Fiscal Reality. Booyah!

Webcomics has yet to arrive. The fledgling industry is crowded with players, but few real professionals. We don't even have our own annual awards show. It's that bad. Plus with the economy all out of wack, things are gonna suck for a while. I foresee a lot of webcartoonists camped on freeway offramps peddling fruit or holding up "Will draw for food" signs. Some have stocked up on emergency supplies of squee-gees and Windex, you know, for their fall back career. Whatever. The players will change and the scene will evolve and the professionals will survive.

On self-expression: Finding one's voice is a life's work. So say what you mean and mean what you say. Many squander their voice by aping others and putting on airs, pretending to be someone they're not. Not me. Whether I'm ordering my storm troopers to ready my ship or meeting with city officials about the power crisis, I'm always myself. It doesn't matter if I'm at one of my U.N. hearings, attending my weekly desert rave, or vacationing on MIR space station, I am always the same person. And I'll tell you why--Cuz I take the task of being a role model very seriously. And what the youth of America needs is for someone to take a stand and say, Hey, I gotta be me!

Got Muse? The muse you choose shapes your art. A forest nymph, for example, would yield furry, fairy stuff. A drama queen lends herself to noir and histrionics. The damsel in distress elicits grand heroics. Then there's the princess, the vamp, the siren, the riot grrl, the madonna, the virgin, the waif, the free spirit, and many others besides, each affecting their own unique style. Me, I got a full-on superfreaky bad-to-the-bone muse to end all muses. Which is a mixed blessing, to be sure. The other day while she was inspiring me in the spirit world, she's all, "Oh yes! Yes! Ride me, Sparky!" Naturally I had to throw her ass out. How dare she call another cartoonist's name on my time.

Every man has a right to be conceited until he is successful.
-Disraeli
When people say to me, "Tatsuya, you are the voice of our generation. You reflect the spirit of the times. By God, you may very well be the only hope for mankind," I say, "Thanks. But don't forget Carrot Top. He does fine work also. And Rerun from "What's Happening?" He's special." Seriously though, I'm totally down with being the voice of the spirit of the whatyoucallit, uh, the times and shit. I don't know what any of that means but it sounds pretty darn good. It'll bolster my resume and talk about your sure-fire pickup line! "Hey foxy lady, I'm a reflection of the times. Let's boogie."

Never thought I would get this big: Actually, I've given plenty thought to making it, getting over, blowing up, arriving. I've practiced acting all Hollywood, rehearsed my prima donna tantrums and trashed many a hotel room in preparation for fame. But stardom ain't all milk and cookies. Since the debut of Sinfest there's been an upsurge in anime lust, hardcore gangsta children's books, ninjas, complaints lodged against God, and angel hunting. One teenager reportedly stared at his Dragonball poster for 16 hours waiting for the image to change. Obviously the situation is serious. So please be advised that the antics in Sinfest are conducted by professionals in a controlled, fictional environment and no persons, animals, or angels were harmed in the making of this strip.
Resistance out.

It's awards show season and that means the biggest names in fashion will be out in full force, exhorting the stars to don their apparel. I myself have already received complimentary gift baskets from Tommy Hillbilly, Fruit of the Loom, and Members Only. Plus, a top tier designer left this message on my machine: "Hey yo, wear my shit or I'll go 'nightclub' on your ass. Puffy out." It's all very exciting, as you can well imagine. Paparazzi's gonna go nuts when I step on to the red carpet fitted in my elegant ensemble with Members Only jacket, Le Tigre prep shirt, and nylon Quiksilver jams--suggestively unbuckled, revealing my Spider-Man UnderRoos. Oh, too sexy!