ROBO-BLOG is the culmination of thousands of hours of research in the fields of Artificial Intelligence and Push-Button Publishing! ROBO-BLOG is the first sentient blog, in the service of Ryan Veeder for purposes of disseminating news pertaining to Veeder's online comic strip "Patheticity." We all love ROBO-BLOG very much.

22 November 2005

I'll tell you why there aren't new comics! There aren't new comics because I left my USB data key thing with all the uploading software on it at school! And I'm not about to go back to get it. They hate me back there.

So just hold your horses!

17 November 2005







16 November 2005

I still don't have access to the computer I need to use to update with comics, so you're going to have to wait A LITTLE BIT MORE.


14 November 2005

And a week later: STILL NO COMICS. Sorry, man.

But last night, I drew two and a half comics, which, added to the half comic I drew a few days ago, is THREE COMICS. These will soon be telepathically beamed to your computer screens.

Also, I am working on a little extra thing to replace that stupid IMPORTANT THINGS THAT YOU SHOULD KNOW essay. I think I am going to turn that page into a sort of Answers to Reader Questions column, except I'm going to make up the first question.


The first question comes from PEDRO in IDAHO. The question is: How does "time travel" function in the Patheticity universe? (I thought of this whole thing while watching Back to the Future III on MoviePlex.) The answer may suprise you!


Okay so! Look out for new comics! Coming your way!

08 November 2005

I would like to apologize for not holding up to my promise of a comic on Monday! I have yet to get back into the SWING of comicing, and plus I need a new sketchbook to hold all my draw-rings.

I think I'm going to do a little something extra for you guys! I think!

03 November 2005

OKAY I'M SORRY! I'm sorry there haven't been comics lately! I've been busy with the play. The play is like a little girl, you see? This little girl follows me around everywhere, and when I consider doing a comic, she yells and screams and throws a fit. This is not a mature little girl.

Tonight, me and this little girl have to get up on a stage and do a show for a bunch of people, including some people that I like. I have to pretend I'm much nerdier and more insecure than I really am. I have to ACT. While I act, the little girl just sings dances around and does whatever she wants. I attempt to make this little girl behave, all the time trying to stay in character, but it is in vain. She is uncontrollable!

I must dance with this little girl tonight, and tomorrow night, and Saturday afternoon, and Saturday night. After Saturday night, the little girl and I will go to a party for all the cast members to get together and drink pop and eat pizza. The little girl will follow me around even then, interrupting conversations I will try to have with cool people. I will glare warningly at the little girl, but everyone else will smile and say that she is a sweet little girl, that she and I were great up there on that black womb of a stage, that I should be proud of her, and that she looks just like me. I will scream inwardly.

Then, at midnight, I will walk outside to admire the stars. The little girl will follow me, of course, but I will not mind. As my gaze moves down from those perfect shining spheres, that dang little girl will look up at me.

And now she is growing! Her hair falls out of its pigtails! Her freckles disappear; the gleam of innocence in her eyes is replaced by the germ of cynicism. The true meaning of our charade dawns on her, and her mouth opens in sudden understanding. Puberty gives way to adolescence; standing before me is a beautiful young woman. I smile at her. She smiles back, but she has misunderstood: her aging has not ceased.

Now she is really a woman. She looks down on me and smiles again, knowing that she has gained the upper hand. But I smile broader! Wrinkles begin to spread like the branches of an old, dead tree. A gray hair falls in front of her eyes; she waves it impatiently out of the way. Now she is shrinking. Her face is small and helpless. Her eyes are empty even of malice. Her mouth opens, but only dust escapes her lips. Dust! Now she is dust. The atoms blow away into the light of the streetlamps. I am free.

Wish me luck, guys! New comics next week, I think!