Sex and Crime: Oliver's Strange Journey by Oliver Markus Page B
Authors: Oliver Markus
Tags: Suicide, Mental Illness, depression, Addiction, drugs, Prostitution, drugs abuse, prostitution slavery, drugs and crime, prostitution and drug abuse
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just so happened to be living in New York at the time as
well. He gave me that famous cartoonist's phone number and
suggested I give him a call and get some professional advice from
him.
Mr. Famous Cartoonist Guy was nice enough to
meet up with me at his house. He looked at my German cartoon book
manuscript and told me the same thing the editor at the publishing
house had told me: "Kid, this is crap." Then he gave me a lot of
good tips that really did improve my work a lot. He knew I wasn't
making enough money as freelance cartoonist to survive, so he told
me about a German language newspaper on 72nd Street in Manhattan,
which was always looking for people in New York who could speak
German.
I met the head honcho at that newspaper and
he hired me on the spot. He asked me if I knew how to use the
desktop publishing software they were using at the newspaper. I
lied and said that I did. I figured since I had grown up around
computers, I should be able to learn the software on the fly. I was
right. From one day to the next, I had a job in the graphic
department of a newspaper in New York.
The boss liked my work and made me art
director after just two or three weeks. I got to put some of my
cartoons in the paper each week, and my boss told me he had always
dreamed of being a book publisher, not just a newspaper publisher.
He was just looking for the right kind of manuscript for his first
book release. I told him I had a manuscript for a cartoon book
ready to go. I really didn't. The book was going to be published in
America, so my crappy German cartoon manuscript was useless. But I
figured if he bites, I'd wing it and quickly throw together a bunch
of new cartoons for a book.
He went for it. So now I had to come up with
about 100 cartoons in a matter of a week. I drew cartoons every
waking minute at home. Those hastily drawn cartoons were shit.
Well, each new cartoon was a little bit better than the one before,
but honestly, the book was crap. But now I had my first book
published. Yayy! I felt like a real artist. I felt like I should be
wearing black turtleneck sweaters and a beret.
Working at a newspaper is very stressful,
and it wasn't really what I wanted to do, so I quit and decided to
live off my book earnings and my cartoon sales as freelance artist.
Well, there were no book earnings. I think I sold like three copies
of that book. (By the way, thank you for buying THIS book. You
rock.)
MY FRIEND THE ESCAPED MENTAL PATIENT
"Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It
is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are
crazy."
Nora Ephron
After a few weeks of pretending to be a
freelance artist, I had to admit to myself that I wasn't actually
making any money. I really shouldn't have quit my day job as art
director at that newspaper. So I needed to find a new job. Not that
easy.
Donna's brother's father-in-law Lou owned a
limousine service. Well, that's what he called it, but it was
really just a bunch of guys driving their own shitty cars. There
were no actual limos. It was a typical New York ghetto cab
service.
There are 2 different types of taxis in New
York City. The yellow cabs that everyone knows don't have radios,
but the drivers are allowed to pick up people on the street.
Limousines are not yellow, and the drivers have two way radios to
communicate with a dispatcher, but they are not allowed to pick up
people on the street.
Lou was always looking for drivers, so if I
had a car, I could start working for him right away. But I didn't
have a car. Donna's uncle Rick had an old junk car rotting in his
backyard. He said I could have it for free. He was probably happy
to finally get rid of that wreck. The transmission was slipping,
the seats were ripped, the ceiling in the car looked like it had
cancer, and the body was so eaten up by rust, that there were holes
in the floor in front of the backseat.
People sitting on the backseat could look
down and
well. He gave me that famous cartoonist's phone number and
suggested I give him a call and get some professional advice from
him.
Mr. Famous Cartoonist Guy was nice enough to
meet up with me at his house. He looked at my German cartoon book
manuscript and told me the same thing the editor at the publishing
house had told me: "Kid, this is crap." Then he gave me a lot of
good tips that really did improve my work a lot. He knew I wasn't
making enough money as freelance cartoonist to survive, so he told
me about a German language newspaper on 72nd Street in Manhattan,
which was always looking for people in New York who could speak
German.
I met the head honcho at that newspaper and
he hired me on the spot. He asked me if I knew how to use the
desktop publishing software they were using at the newspaper. I
lied and said that I did. I figured since I had grown up around
computers, I should be able to learn the software on the fly. I was
right. From one day to the next, I had a job in the graphic
department of a newspaper in New York.
The boss liked my work and made me art
director after just two or three weeks. I got to put some of my
cartoons in the paper each week, and my boss told me he had always
dreamed of being a book publisher, not just a newspaper publisher.
He was just looking for the right kind of manuscript for his first
book release. I told him I had a manuscript for a cartoon book
ready to go. I really didn't. The book was going to be published in
America, so my crappy German cartoon manuscript was useless. But I
figured if he bites, I'd wing it and quickly throw together a bunch
of new cartoons for a book.
He went for it. So now I had to come up with
about 100 cartoons in a matter of a week. I drew cartoons every
waking minute at home. Those hastily drawn cartoons were shit.
Well, each new cartoon was a little bit better than the one before,
but honestly, the book was crap. But now I had my first book
published. Yayy! I felt like a real artist. I felt like I should be
wearing black turtleneck sweaters and a beret.
Working at a newspaper is very stressful,
and it wasn't really what I wanted to do, so I quit and decided to
live off my book earnings and my cartoon sales as freelance artist.
Well, there were no book earnings. I think I sold like three copies
of that book. (By the way, thank you for buying THIS book. You
rock.)
MY FRIEND THE ESCAPED MENTAL PATIENT
"Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It
is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are
crazy."
Nora Ephron
After a few weeks of pretending to be a
freelance artist, I had to admit to myself that I wasn't actually
making any money. I really shouldn't have quit my day job as art
director at that newspaper. So I needed to find a new job. Not that
easy.
Donna's brother's father-in-law Lou owned a
limousine service. Well, that's what he called it, but it was
really just a bunch of guys driving their own shitty cars. There
were no actual limos. It was a typical New York ghetto cab
service.
There are 2 different types of taxis in New
York City. The yellow cabs that everyone knows don't have radios,
but the drivers are allowed to pick up people on the street.
Limousines are not yellow, and the drivers have two way radios to
communicate with a dispatcher, but they are not allowed to pick up
people on the street.
Lou was always looking for drivers, so if I
had a car, I could start working for him right away. But I didn't
have a car. Donna's uncle Rick had an old junk car rotting in his
backyard. He said I could have it for free. He was probably happy
to finally get rid of that wreck. The transmission was slipping,
the seats were ripped, the ceiling in the car looked like it had
cancer, and the body was so eaten up by rust, that there were holes
in the floor in front of the backseat.
People sitting on the backseat could look
down and
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