As a professional cartoonist with underground roots for over three decades, Matthew “Matty Boy” Anderson has been struggling to stay afloat in our current timeline. With censorship openly enforced by government and tech companies, multi-millionaire celebrities endorsing fascism towards their detractors, and “Redditors” eager to surrender freedom for unnecessary conveniences, how can any legitimate artist continue to make a living?
Here’s what you need to know for some reason:
1. Anderson Founded Poddism (the Science of Practical Hedonism & the Official Cult of Mike The Pod) in 1991
Over the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, Anderson would establish the artistic umbrella under which he would create various art projects; a literal cult, based around his comic books and ideas. Today there are “Poddists” around the world, but the lion’s share hail from the southeastern USA. From 1999 to 2012, Anderson owned and operated the Mike The Pod website, where he explained the core philosophy of the cult, essentially that laughter is more powerful than anything, and that true hedonism can be achieved through responsible moderation and without pissing off one’s neighbors. “A life striving toward happiness is still a happy life,” said Anderson in one of his many manic states, “and if you take life too seriously, you’ll never get out of it alive.”
2. Anderson Has Had a Patreon Since Like 2019 & No One Gives a Shit
After an abortive early run during a period of personal and emotional destitution, Anderson re-established his professional presence on Patreon, with “sexy girl” drawings, a slick new digital mini-magazine (Patron Saints), and a seemingly endless barrage of background material from his Ceaseless Fables of Beyonding franchise. His instructional book 10 Steps To A Finished Page first appeared in installments here, appended with lengthy videos of Anderson demonstrating the stages of his process. His return to puppet sculpting was first revealed on Patreon, in the form of the “comedian” Dane Bramage, the diabolical “Ostie” known as Crybdeth (of the delayed Bone Wars: The Series), and “Phelch”, who lives in garbage. Bad Shape, the long-awaited followup to the acclaimed Bands I Useta Like magazine, was only seen by Anderson’s patrons, some of whom were featured in panel backgrounds. Even $1 patrons, if they hang in for a few months, get the free exclusive “America” poster.
No one gives a shit.
3. Anderson Has Been Selling Old Toys to Get By & He Still Barely Gets By
Even before the “global plandemic” fucked everyone’s lives up, Anderson was having difficulty finding work. He finally resorted to selling off his expansive collection of Transformers, many of which he had held onto since his childhood in the 1980’s. In a weak moment of desperation, Anderson sold his complete collection of the first 14 series of Garbage Pail Kids sticker cards, for half what he felt it was worth. Even allowing for the fact that all material possessions are ultimately meaningless, try to imagine how the fuck that felt.
4. It’s Now Been a Year Since Bands I Useta Like Was In Print
On February 1st, 2021, the final Bands I Useta Like strip (“The Pretenders”) was posted by Anderson on its dedicated website. Its home in print of nineteen years, the Atlanta music magazine Stomp & Stammer, had ceased publication like so many others. Anderson spent most of the year battling the onset of paranoid schizophrenia, as some of his acquaintances and contemporaries descended into MSM-induced hysterics, or devolved into censorious, dubious moral authoritarians. “People I know are actually speaking out against freedom,” Anderson says. “I’ve been accused of killing thousands of people, and of spreading information that leads to the death of same. The last twelve months have been indistinguishable from the onset of untreated paranoid schizophrenia.”
“I thank God that the people who inspired me as a young artist are mostly not alive to experience it.”
5. Eventually Anderson Will Be Dead Like Anyone Else
“I’m lucky to have made it this long,” Anderson says. “Even with generous donations, I barely squeak by, and I can’t afford to live on my own, in an environment conducive to my art. It would be different if I saw anyone whom I admire being successful, but the only entertainers making bank currently are owned body and soul by corporate interests, and have to bend the knee when ordered. I don’t play that game under any circumstances. If that’s what it takes to be successful, then it’s not in the cards for me to enjoy that success.”
Despite an uncertain future and seemingly indefinite poverty, Anderson has no plans of giving up. “There are a lot of people who believe in me and what I do,” Anderson says, “and I’d be letting them down if I caved in, changed, or even apologized. This is what I do. I work harder at it than just about anyone you could name, and I have since before you were born. If that offends, bothers, or upsets you, rest assured, in time I’ll be dead just like anyone else. That is the true reason why I can’t stop.”
“Aside from the fact that it’s literally the only thing I know how to do.”