I just stumbled this image. I know nothing about it, whether it is old or new, or the name of the photographer, or the location it takes place.

Yet to me it sums up the position that Obama is slowly taking; that of the appeaser or worse, supplicant. The three men, their faces cut off and unseen, each represents the ones Obama is beholden to.

The two well dressed men are the politicos and corporate interests respectively. They wait for an answer to their demands, and Obama faces them in a less than optimal position. The politicos have gotten him elected, the businessmen have provided them the capital to do so. They wait for his response.

The man on the right, his hands in his pocket. His relaxed pose and simple clothes shows his lower class standing, but his posture is expectant. Maybe he voted for Obama, maybe he didn't. He just wants to know what Obama's response to the other two will be. Will he stand for his vote? Will he work for him despite his lack of support?

They all say one word: "Well?"

Edit: Heh, didn't catch the sandals at first glance.

On comics

Scott McCloud has famously suggested that as prose and art grow more realistic and complex respectively, they draw farther and farther apart. I no longer believe this to be true. I believe rather than two small figures withdrawing from one another, they become greater and greater giants, still holding hands.

An excerpt from "Man Falls From Sky"

I can make it, I can make it, I- I have got to get some goggles.

Stanley Jones forced himself into the most aerodynamic pose a humanoid figure could manage, and, closing his eyes, hoped he was heading in mostly the right direction. People think I circle around when I'm about to land because I'm showing off, but I'm just trying to orient myself after flying ten miles as fast as I can in mayfly season. Bad enough someone photographed me spitting out feathers last week.

Which is how he flew headfirst into a gaping dimensional portal without noticing it had suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Ha! Did you see that?!" Dr. Venom leapt in the air and kicked with glee. "The dumb bastard flew right into it!"

Sheila Wentworth, gossip column "journalist", superhero's friend-with-benefits, mostly of the story kind, and current hostage, was shocked. How did Stanley miss seeing that?! she screamed to herself. That idiot, I better not be late to the Musak Awards tonight!

While normal human flight is achieved by large aerodynamic forms of a mechanical nature, Stanley Whitaker, or The Champion as he was referred to in the popular press (Superdude in the Post and Herald) flew by conveniently disobeying the laws of physics, at least the ones in his own universe. In the one he had just entered, more related to our own but still a few veils of reality away, the laws of physics were far less forgiving.

Which is how he suddenly found himself without the ability to fly.

"Shit!" was what he managed to get out before he hit. From a distance his impact was rather impressive. As well as knocking down an old oak tree along the way, his body carved a several hundred yard-long ditch across several acres of Ohio corn, spraying cobs and stalks in every direction.

As startling and confusing this was to Stanley this was very cool to Toby Banks, a twelve year-old with an active imagination. An imagination which had just taken a back seat to a man traveling at Mach speed abruptly appearing in mid-air and plowing into his backyard.

RomCom script, where's my million dollars?

"Apples."

"What?"

"Apples. I like apples."

"OK," he chuckled.

"Shut up, I couldn't think of any else." She sipped her coffee. "Alright, shit, chocolate Labs."

He smiled, then covered his face as he started laughing.

"What?" She flicked coffee at him.

"You started me in a laughing mood, then told me that and I remembered something funny."

"Tell me, tell me."

"I had a, a friend with a black lab. And a brown, chocolate one from her boy friend. One night I was playing Scrabble at her place and the spastic little fuckers started fighting. So we don't pay much attention to them, they do it all the time right?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, so they're fighting, and we're playing scrabble, and all of a sudden they roll under my chair fighting. Just a rolling ball of dog, and I'm sitting there holding a 'Qu' piece with surprised expression on my face. All 'rarargargrggrrrthumpthumpthump'."

He laughed as she held her hand over her nose.

"Damn it, it's still hot. You dick."