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The Beach Bears audition for the wedding of Kathy G'rrshn
KDNightstar asked if she could put The Beach Bears in as a cameo, and I was like, "Hmmmm....let me thiYES!!!!!"That was months ago. I've been waiting for this for a long time.
Be sure to go visit her site and favorite the original
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Bear (Other)
Size 800 x 936px
File Size 1.31 MB
Listed in Folders
This is a text version I wrote after I drew this cartoon:
Stargazer: No sooner had we taken the stage and announced our name than the Duchess growled out "NEXT!" as she had done for every band before us.
Then Dipper--sweet, naive, earnest little Dipper, with his eyes full of tears, put his hands together and took two or three hesitant steps toward the formidable old lady.
"Please, Your Grace--wait," he said in a trembling voice that had nothing to do with his being only twelve; the Duchess of Rackenroon was more bone than skin and fixed him with a baleful glare from her one good eye. Dipper swallowed hard and lurched onward. "Please, Ma'am--we've come such an awful long way; won't you just let us play for you?"
"I don't like rock groups," was her curt reply.
"But we're not a rock group!" Dipper persisted. "We're a cover band! We can play anything you like, any way you like!"
The old hyena looked down her crooked snout at my nephew, and then, amazingly, something like a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "All right," she relented, "You're a cute kid. Let's see whatcha got."
Now I know it was a knee-jerk reaction on Dipper's part, but I wanted to knee that jerk. I heard Birch groan and wince a split second before Dipper snapped, "I AM NOT CUTE!"
In less time than it takes to write about it, we were hanging by our wrists from iron chains in a dungeon beneath the Palace. Birch was looking fit to kill. If he could have reached Dipper, I think he would have killed him. For my part, I just glowered at Dipper, who was hanging between us.
"Idiot," I grumbled.
"He's your sister's kid!" Birch snapped.
"He's your brother's kid!" I reminded him.
Dipper just dangled there and tried not to cry. For once I was in no mood to try to console him. Things were looking bleak indeed--we'd be at the reception, all right, on a platter--and not the vinyl kind!
Birch surprised me then by saying to Dipper, "Cheer up, kid--it could be worse..."
"How could it possibly be worse?" Dipper wailed.
At that point, a rat came snuffling out of a hole in the wall. It looked up at us, did a double-take, and scurried back the way it came. Then it reappeared a few seconds later, holding a piece of paper in one paw, and a stub of a pencil in the other.
"Big fan," it said in a high, piping voice, "Can I have your autographs?"
Stargazer: No sooner had we taken the stage and announced our name than the Duchess growled out "NEXT!" as she had done for every band before us.
Then Dipper--sweet, naive, earnest little Dipper, with his eyes full of tears, put his hands together and took two or three hesitant steps toward the formidable old lady.
"Please, Your Grace--wait," he said in a trembling voice that had nothing to do with his being only twelve; the Duchess of Rackenroon was more bone than skin and fixed him with a baleful glare from her one good eye. Dipper swallowed hard and lurched onward. "Please, Ma'am--we've come such an awful long way; won't you just let us play for you?"
"I don't like rock groups," was her curt reply.
"But we're not a rock group!" Dipper persisted. "We're a cover band! We can play anything you like, any way you like!"
The old hyena looked down her crooked snout at my nephew, and then, amazingly, something like a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "All right," she relented, "You're a cute kid. Let's see whatcha got."
Now I know it was a knee-jerk reaction on Dipper's part, but I wanted to knee that jerk. I heard Birch groan and wince a split second before Dipper snapped, "I AM NOT CUTE!"
In less time than it takes to write about it, we were hanging by our wrists from iron chains in a dungeon beneath the Palace. Birch was looking fit to kill. If he could have reached Dipper, I think he would have killed him. For my part, I just glowered at Dipper, who was hanging between us.
"Idiot," I grumbled.
"He's your sister's kid!" Birch snapped.
"He's your brother's kid!" I reminded him.
Dipper just dangled there and tried not to cry. For once I was in no mood to try to console him. Things were looking bleak indeed--we'd be at the reception, all right, on a platter--and not the vinyl kind!
Birch surprised me then by saying to Dipper, "Cheer up, kid--it could be worse..."
"How could it possibly be worse?" Dipper wailed.
At that point, a rat came snuffling out of a hole in the wall. It looked up at us, did a double-take, and scurried back the way it came. Then it reappeared a few seconds later, holding a piece of paper in one paw, and a stub of a pencil in the other.
"Big fan," it said in a high, piping voice, "Can I have your autographs?"
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