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ARE YOU BUSTING TO OWN CARTOON DAVE'S BOOKS? Just print out the form below and mail it away, OR click on THE DAVE STORE! It couldn't be easier! (well it probably could, but this is still pretty easy!) |
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Cartoon Dave's M.A.D Cartooning |
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Ever wanted to draw a 2- HEADED BUNGEE-JUMPING ALIEN? A VAMPIRE IN A BUNNY SUIT? Or a wrinkled GRANNY-SAURUS?
then grab hold of your INTERGALACTIC PENCILS, because CARTOON DAVE is about to take you on a CARTOONING HOURNEY UNLIKE ANY OTHER!
It's the freakiest HOW-TO cartooning experience you'll ever have!
"Cartoon Dave is the craziest, most handsome cartooning genius on the planet!"
- TERRY DENTON (Author, Illustrator, professional coconut peeler)
**FOR SAMPLE PAGES of 'M.A.D Cartooning', SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS PAGE, CLICK ON A PAGE you'd like to have a go at, AND HIT 'PRINT'!! |
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'Cartoon Dave's NO-RULES CARTOONING' *2005 Children's Book Council of Australia NOTABLE BOOK* |
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Would you like to create THOUSANDS of your own cool cartoon PEOPLE? Well grab your pencils and jump right in, because TV's Cartoon Dave is here to show you EVERYTHING you need to know!
Discover how to draw LOADS of EYES, NOSES, MOUTHS, HAIRSTYLES, BODIES, CLOTHING, HANDS, FEET, BUTTS and A WHOLE LOT MORE, as you draw your way through this FULLY INTERACTIVE and totally awesome book!
Dave's NO-RULES approach to cartooning will have you creating all the characters you could ever imagine... and more! |
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Sample pages from 'Cartoon Dave's NO-RULES Cartooning' |
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Cartoon Dave's FAB FACE FREAKOUT |
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How do you take a normal face and turn it into an outrageous, exaggerated cartoon that still looks like the person it's supposed to be?
Cartoon Dave shares a stack of all-new tips, techniques and trade secrets to help you create caricatures of your friends, family and favourite fab faces, in the coolest cartoon challenge yet!
"Guaranteed to give you hours of fun" - WEST AUSTRALIAN |
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Sample pages from CARTOON DAVE'S FAB FACE FREAKOUT |
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Cartoon Your Big, Slimy Brains Out - Dave Hackett |
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Ever wanted to draw a Water-Skiing HIPPOPOTAMUS? A Parited-Out TARANTULA or a SNAIL on the TOILET?? Or would you rather find out how to turn EVERY ANIMAL ON THE PLANET into a cool cartoon animal?
Well here's your chance, with this NON-STOP, DRAWING-ALL-THE-WAY guided tour of the WACKY world of CARTOON ANIMALS.
With chapters such as: ANIMAL BODIES, CLUCKERS AND TWEETERS, PULL OUT YOUR BLENDER and ANIMAL FREAKS, along with plenty of CARTOONIN CHALLENGES, you'll be up to your eyeballs in the coolest animal action this side of Dubbo Zoo!
As with all Dave's cartooning books, this is a simple to follow JAM-PACKED book of NO-RULES Cartooning for ALL ages! |
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Sample pages from 'Cartoon Your Big, Slimy Brains Out' |
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U.F.O - Unavoidable Family Outing |
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There are family outings you can avoid: stuff like visiting your neighbour in hospital after he's had a massive pimple surgically removed, or even something as exciting and important as a car trip to the chemist to pick up Dad's long-term repeat prescription for fungus cream.
But in the family rule book, scribed in the blood of our ancestors, it clearly states that there are some journeys you must undertake. They are 100 per cent compulsory. No get-out-of-jail free card can be handed over in exchange for an "I'll just stay home thanks, Mum." No, my friends. These are car trips, bus rides, visits, overnight stays and holidays that you simply cannot possibly escape.
These are the U.F.O.'s - Unavoidable Family Outings. The type of experiences that will be harder to bear than a month of detentions next to the stinky kid. These are all real experiences. |
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UFO in the USA... That's right - it's a SEQUEL!!! |
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'UFO IN THE USA', Dave Hackett's sequel to 'UFO', takes our family to the wilds of suburban America, where super-sized questions must be asked:
Why is BRAD performing the worst rock show in history before a live Las Vegas audience, while wearing a butt mask?
What hideous secret lies in the thing under Sally's seat?
Will our hero win back his Sophie Maloney with a Jesus bobble-head and a lame postcard - or has he already lost her to little Johnny Toss-pot?
Will BRAD's baked potato really change the course of history?
All these answers, along with juggling gnome-loving locals, freaky boy-bands and a whole lot more can be found within the 339 pages of this outrageously awesome book!
"Cartoon Dave shoots... and he scores!" - MANIA MAGAZINE
"Hackett's second UFO book is a delight" - WEEKEND GOLD COAST BULLETIN
"Just as silly as the first" - WEEKEND AUSTRALIAN |
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UFO - Unavoidable Family Outing |
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U.F.O
(Unavoidable Family Outing)
By Dave Hackett
CHAPTER 1: The Chariot of Fun Awaits
Tuesday, 2nd November
7:03am.
Location: Our House. Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.
With the day itself barely awake, we grabbed our last-minute bundles of stuff and climbed into our assigned spaces in the back seat of our 1961 Morris Minor. I had my thick writing pad and pencils, Sal had an unhealthily large bundle of ‘Spy Chick’ novels, and Jessie brought the three things she could not leave without: her mobile phone, her in-car charger and a framed black-and-white photo of her boyfriend, BRAD (which he always spelt in capital letters, as if each letter stood for something. Sometimes he even added full stops between each letter, but that’s a story in itself).
Since Jessie and BRAD got together on the quadrangle just beside the boy’s bubblers three or four weeks ago, Sal and I had built up what was now an ongoing competition to guess exactly what BRAD stood for. We called it: The BRAD-test.
Here’s how it worked:
I would try to think of four words to describe BRAD that began with each of the letters in his name, then Sally would try to out-BRAD me.
“Hey Sal... how about ‘Big Reject and Doofus’
“No, no... I’ve got one... Blatantly Ridiculous Armpit Dork!”
To us, there was no greater source of joke material than a sister with a boyfriend. Especially one like BRAD. We’d let rip with strange and goofy versions of BRAD for hours.“Brown Rabid Alligator Dung” or “Beaver Ripple Ashtray Drink”. Last Tuesday, just after a re-run of The Partridge Family, Sal pulled out an absolute corker. “Hey, turkey brain,” she called to me in her most complimentary nick name yet. “Check...this...OUT... Buffalo Rectum And Drainhole”.
I nearly wet my pants.
And then, a few days ago, Mum did one without even noticing. “I don’t know why you kids make fun of BRAD,” she said, leading up to her own BRAD-test entry. “Compared to a lot of young boys these days, he seems bright, responsible and....delightful.” We laughed till Sal fell off the lounge and landed on the cat.
After an entire minute of wrestling with his seat belt, Dad stuck his left arm behind Mum’s seat, swung his head around to face the back of the car and courteously said, ‘Get your heads out of the way, you lot.’
He slowly reversed out of our driveway and continued in ‘driveway speed’ for the first hundred kilometers or so, just to give the car a chance to warm up.
“You sure you know where you’re going, Graham?” Asked Mum with the voice of experience. The voice of many unforgettably bad driving experiences. All involving Dad.
“Look, luv, just don’t you worry yourself,” he assured her. “I’ve had a good look at the map and this time I know exactly where I’m going.”
Exactly where we were going was north. How far north? Well, that was anyone’s guess. Dad’s plan was to drive from Sydney to Cape York, the not-quite northernmost tip of the Australian mainland.
Dad had never been to Cape York before. In fact, he’d never been anywhere near it, but Dad was about to turn forty, and was obviously having some kind of wrinkle-fuelled old-guy-crisis.
We’d all heard the stories about Grandpa Willie, and how when he was alive he’d been everywhere there was to go. He’d traveled all over this wide brown land of ours. By car, on horse, on foot and once even strapped to a roller-skating camel. He’d seen it all. Every dusty corner of the country.
Except for Cape York.
When Dad was six, Grandpa Willie had taken him to Surfer’s Paradise, just across the border, but that was as far into Queensland as either of them had ever been. It was Grandpa’s lifelong dream to conquer the two thousand kilometer trek from Surfer’s to the Cape. It was the final piece to his adventurous puzzle. And that’s where Dad would come in. He would pick up where Grandpa Willie had left off.
This trip was to become his Everest. His single greatest achievement. The tale he would tell the guys from squash, as they grew old together in the Shady Folks retirement home. “That’s right, you old coots,” he’d brag, stretching the story ever so slightly. “Drove all the way from Sydney to South America. Did it in just under half an hour, too.”
I’d looked at my atlas the week before, stretched my ruler over the map and almost choked on my own spit when I saw exactly how far it was. Cape York was… thirty seven centimetres away! At eighty kilometres a centimeter, that was around six thousand torturous kilometres there and back. Hundreds of hours in the car. Together!
“Aaaaaaaahh!” I tried to scream, but the airhole from my throat to my lungs had shriveled to the size of a tiny ball of lint. It felt like I was trying to breathe through a sponge filled with honey. Was I hyperventilating? I was hyper-something, that was for sure.
On the days leading up to our trip I had gathered statistics. Average speeds. Distances covered during previous outings. My calculations confirmed that with Dad behind the wheel, a trip like this would take at least twelve years to complete, but Dad’s plan was to do the whole thing in two weeks – all the time off the big boss at the box factory would give him – and Jess, Sal and I had been yanked mid-term from the safety of our classrooms, and forced to join him on his insane quest.
It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Cape York was straight up impossible. If we made it to the end of our street for afternoon tea we’d be doing well. But the top of Australia? There was just no way. |
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UFO in the USA (Unavoidable Family Outing 2) |
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U.F.O in the U.S.A
By Dave Hackett
Chapter 1
BRAD’s ridiculous news
Saturday March 6th
11:30 am
Our living room, Sydney, Australia
“Eat that, brother,” said Sal, waving a small, black chess piece in my face. “I got your Great Auntie Beryl with my Nanna Joan,” she chuckled as she added my pawn to her collection of casualties.
We were playing ‘Relative Chess’. It was the same as regular chess, except that we’d printed out a stack of family photos, cut out the faces and stuck one onto each of our sixteen pieces. Mum and Dad were the king and queen on both sides. Sally and I were the horses, and Jess and BRAD had their scary faces on the bishops. As for the rest, anyone we had a picture of could make it onto the board. There was Uncle Neil, Auntie Doreen and even our dodgy Pomeranian dog, Furball Sharkey. One of my castles was Britney Spears, and Sal’s first pawn to go had the guy from the spaghetti sauce label on it.
I studied the board carefully. Sally’s queen was my next target. I was hatching a plan to blast it from the board with my Sean Connery piece, when I heard a loud, heavy noise.
Thud, thump, thud…
The forceful, pounding fist at the door sounded strong and masculine. That image soon faded when it was followed by an “um… Hey, Missus… um… is Jess home?” It was the unmistakable teen-screech voice of BRAD Shatzburger, the weasel-faced love object of our big sister Jess.
“BRAD! My shining knight!” Jess shrieked chessfully as she sprang from the flowery reclining chair that matched not only the rest of our living room furniture, but the curtains aswell.
“Oh BRAD, this is such a love-filled surprise of the heart,” Jess dripped. She flung an arm around her boyfriend’s tiny shoulders. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here until this afternoon, and yet here you are, standing at my door, in 3-D dimensions.”
“Um… yeah. I guess so.” Said BRAD.
“Oh Venus, goddess of love,” Jess continued, “What deed have I doth done for you to bring forth my one true love so unexpectedly?” We were then treated to a clumsy embrace, followed by a nasty kiss-fest that looked painful in every way.
“Hey, I don’t know about you,” I said to Sal, “but I’m choking on all the love.”
“Yeah, it’s like fly spray. It’ll kill everything in its path,” Sal said, pointing to the kitchen. But as we abandoned our game and headed for the snack drawer, we were stopped in our tracks by what young Mr. Shatzburger had to say next.
“You what?” Jess asked.
“I got signed, hey,” he guffed.
“Signed by what?” I asked.
“By this guy. Check it out,” BRAD handed a crumpled, printed email to Jess, and she slowly read aloud the words at the top of the page.
THE FONK AGENCY
Bink Fonk. Manager
“Bink Fonk?” she said, confused. “What’s Bink Fonk?”
“It’s this guy. That’s his name, hey. He’s from America. Or Africa.” BRAD replied with skinny enthusiasm.
“Hang on a sec, BRADley. Bink Fonk? The guy’s name is Bink Fonk?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s what he said, hey.”
I tossed the names around in my head. Shatzburger and Fonk. Fonk and Shatzburger. It sounded like a likely partnership to me.
“But I don’t understand, my love-ness. Exactly who is this Fonk person?” Jess asked.
“He’s my agent. Or manager. Or somethin’,” BRAD explained. “I found him on the internet and signed up with him. And you’ll never guess what, hey.”
“What? That you’re not human after all, and you’re really just a tall monkey?” Sal asked. I’d had my suspicions for some time too.
“Nah, get this – he’s already booked me for a hot solo gig! How totally rockful is that?”
“I’ll just call the local garbage dump to ask what time your set begins, shall I?” Sal asked, pleased with her joke. Then the shock came.
“Hey, S-girl – it’s not a local gig. Fink Bonk wants me to go to some place called ‘Lost Vegas’. It’s in America, hey. Or Africa,” BRAD said, scratching his woolly, mouse-coloured head.
“You’re going to America?” Jess squeaked. “Oh, BRAD. BRAD! I knew it would happen. My BRAD. Finally, you’re a star!”
“Finally?” questioned Sal. “What do you mean “finally”? That hopeless band of his has never even played a gig.”
“Um… yeah we have,” BRAD shouted in protest, “What about that one…”
“Oh that’s right. Your cousin’s baby shower. How did that turn out, again dear?” Sal teased.
“We rocked, that’s what. Rocked the whole thing. The audience too, they dug us, heaps.” BRAD said, nodding like a bass player.
“Rocked?” I queried. “How can you say you rocked when you didn’t even get through a whole song?”
“Hey yeah, that was a full cack when Skunk break-danced through his guitar solo and smashed a jug of punch over his amp. After it blew up and the rug caught fire the gig kinda went sour, but hey – right up until then we so totally went off! Let’s hear it for smeLLraT – the greatest band in the world!” Sal and I clapped loudly, laughing at the creature that could one day become a part of our family, and BRAD stood to accept the applause.
“Hey, I better get used to all that clappin’ and cheerin’, hey,” he said, grinning through his hair. He squeezed his eyes tight, punched the air and let out a terrifying screech “Aaouuww!!” like the rock god he one day hoped to be.
“BRAD, my minstrel of love, where is it that you run to?” Jess asked, as BRAD leaped towards our front door.
“Hey, I’ve gotta go home so I can ring Lost Vegas and book into the hotel and stuff,” said BRAD.
“Wow, BRAD. It sounds like a quality organisation you’ve signed with if you have to book everything yourself,” said Sal. “Do they want you to fly the plane too?”
“Nah, check it out,” BRAD said, waving his printed email. “Bink Fink said for me to book all the tickets and stuff now, ‘cos he had to go off and do some big important thing. He’s still payin’ for it. There’s no problems there, hey. He said he’d fix all that up when I get to AMERICA – Aaouuww!!” BRAD pumped the air again with his fist, ran through our open front doorway, and made his way across the road to chateau Shatzburger.
Mum walked in to the living room with a half jug of cordial, four plastic cups and a towering plate of leftover mince rissoles.
“So Mum, did you hear? BRAD’s going to America! He’s going to be a teen singing sensation!”
“A what?” Mum asked.
“It’s true. My BRAD’s going to be a star. A big, gorgeous, huge STAR,” she said, handing Mum Mr Bink Fonk’s printed email.
“Yeah Mum,” I said. “And I’m going to be the creative genius behind his tour campaign.” I said. “It’ll be called the ‘Get Lost and Don’t Come Back’ tour. I’ve already started making posters.
“Hey, creative genius – see if you can create something with this,” Jess said, as a handful of chess pieces disguised as family members and minor celebrities flew across the room and into my head. |
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'UFO Afloat' Chapter 1 |
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UFO AFLOAT (Unavoidable family outing 3)
Dave Hackett
Chapter One
Frills and Spills
Saturday 15 June, 10.05 a.m.
Discount Dan’s Lace Place, Sydney, Australia
‘Look for a size twenty-six,’ Mum hollered as she busily searched through the rack. ‘Come on, honey. A twenty-six,’ she repeated. ‘In an “F”. Are there any on your side? I’ve got nothing but tens and twelves on my rack – all B’s, and believe me, you don’t want to see Nanna Joan squeezing into a twelve B.’
No kidding.
I could have done any number of things today. I was almost thirteen. My ‘Thrilling things to do on a Saturday morning’ list was jam-packed with inventive ways to pass the best half of the best day of the week. I could have been trading cards with Steve-o and Cam. Or working on my epic three-part graphic novel, The Adventures of Cop Boy and Special Agent Johnny Tosspot. Or imagining I was tandem hang-gliding with Sophie Maloney, about to tandemly land on an undiscovered, mango-filled island somewhere in the South Pacific, with nothing but a picnic blanket, one of Mum’s smoothy-guy love CDs, and an endless supply of romance-enhancing candles. And yet here I was, holed up in Discount Dan’s Lace Place, bra shopping for my Nanna Joan.
‘Twenty-six F! Undelay!’ Mum said, using her replacement word for ‘hurry up’. I grabbed a random garment and moved it back and forth on the chrome rack, trying to convince Mum that I, too, was looking for the oversized granny bra, but what I was really looking for was a big, fat hole to crawl into.
‘And remember,’ Nana yelled. ‘It has to be one with an underwire, y’ hear me? Does he know what he’s doing?’ Nanna called to Mum. Mum, who was standing an arm-length away, simply nodded. ‘Cos at my age I need SUPPORT!’ Nan continued. ‘These things won’t hold themselves up, you know!’
‘Oh honey look, we’re in luck,’ Mum said to me. Finally. She’d found the stupid bra, and soon this lacy nightmare would be over.
‘I hear you, Ma,’ I said, heading for the check-out. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Oh, we’ll get out of here – right after we speak to that nice-looking lady,’ Mum said, pointing to a heavily made-up packed store worker to my right. ‘Her tag says that she’s a qualified bra-fitter.’ What kind of training would be involved to snag that job? I had no idea. ‘I’m carrying an armload here,’ Mum said. ‘So it’s up to you, my boy.’
‘What is?’
‘Just go up to the counter and ask her if she has a twenty-six in one of these.’ Mum slammed a big, purple, lacy object into my hand. It was four sizes smaller than the one Nanna was after, and still, I could have worn either half as a loose hat.
‘Make sure you tell the woman I need a red one!’ Nanna yelled. Nan always yelled. Her voice was raspy, and loud enough to scare the pants off the sale rack.
‘Red. Support. Gotcha,’ I mumbled, waiting for my powers of invisibility to kick in. The whole situation was beyond creepy. I was not quite thirteen – too young to drive, too young to vote, and definitely too young to learn the intricate details of my Nanna’s boulder holders. How I missed the days when all that was expected of me when Nanna Joan came to visit was to climb onto her lap and watch up close as she took out both rows of teeth and sucked the skin off a Turkish delight.
‘That there’s the street! That’s my street!’ Nanna called. ‘You’ve gone past it! Turn around, Narelle! Turn this car around, girl!’
‘Relax, Mother Joan,’ Mum said. She’d called Nan ‘Mother Joan’ ever since I could remember. Probably longer. ‘Everything’s under control. We’re still in the carpark, but we’ll have you home soon enough.’
‘Well you’d better!’ Nanna snapped. ‘My show’s on in…’ she paused to look at her watch. ‘Three minutes. Today’s the big wedding, you know. Claudine’s about to marry that nasty Hank character, but what she doesn’t know is that Hank’s really… well he used to be her father, but now he’s her half-brother, Nick.’
Nan lived and breathed Unreal Hospital. I had no idea who Claudine was, but I found myself thinking of the poor woman and the bleak future she faced, married to her creepy half-brother. Then my thoughts drifted to our sister Jess and her laughable boyfriend, BRAD. Given the events of our trip to America, the storyline on Nanna’s daytime soap suddenly didn’t seem so unbelievable. Nan was midway through explaining why it was necessary for Stephanie’s dog to undergo plastic surgery when Mum’s mobile phone rang.
‘What is it? I can’t hear you! What?’ Mum said, sounding totally confused. She was obviously talking to Dad. ‘Look, just slow down, Graham. Slow down and start again.’ She paused for a moment to let Dad speak. ‘You’ve WHAT?’ she screamed into the phone. ‘Speak up, man!’
‘What is it?’ Nanna Joan yelled.
‘It’s Dad,’ I said. ‘He’s confused. And whispering.’
‘Tell him to speak up!’ Nan snapped helpfully. ‘He’s a mumbler, that boy. Has been since the day he was born. Life’s too short to mumble. Say what you need to say, an’ then shut your trap. No sense mincing your words.’
‘Oh, for goodness sakes, will you two Shoooooosh!!’ Mum yelled. ‘Now, what is it, Graham?’ she asked again. ‘Graham?’ Mum removed the hands-free earpiece from her ear, banged it hard against the dashboard, and quickly shoved it back inside her ear again. ‘It’s cutting out,’ she said, panicked. ‘I can’t hear a… all I’m getting is… just one word…’ And then Mum’s face changed. As if she’d just walked in on BRAD while he was in the toilet, all signs of life ran from Mum’s cheeks.
‘What’s that?’ Nanna Joan piped up from the back seat. ‘What’s she saying?’ She tried to lean forward, but the seatbelt had her pinned down, digging a deep trench into her impressive belly as she struggled against it. ‘I tell you, it’d be a flaming miracle if someone could find it in themselves to speak up around here. You’re all mumblers. The lot of you!’
Mum seemed to have missed Nana Joan’s rant completely. She was staring at the windscreen. Her head was pointing forward, which I understood to be fairly important for all drivers, but it seemed that for just a moment, someone had switched her brain off.
‘What did he say, Mum?’ I asked, tapping her on the leg. ‘On the phone,’ I prompted. ‘It was Dad, remember? What did Dad say?’
Mum stared ahead, giving way to shoppers and the trolley tractor guy like a pre-programmed robot. The answer she gave me was simple.
‘Emergency. All I heard him say was…“emergency”.’
‘Emergency? Ah, now that was a show,’ Nan said with a smile. If there was one thing that Nanna Joan loved, it was her television. The only time I’d ever seen her smile was when she was watching it or talking about it. Pretty much everything else just annoyed her. ‘That Emergency was no Unreal Hospital, mind you,’ she continued, ‘but it was a good bit o’ drama…’
‘Mother Joan will you please just can it?!’ Mum yelled, bringing Nanna’s TV smiles to a halt.
‘Now listen here, girlie – ’ snapped Nan.
‘No, you listen!’ Mum said. ‘My Graham’s in real trouble here – anything could have happened to him – ANYTHING! I don’t know what condition he’s in – I just know that I have to get home to him, stat!’ Mum had added ‘stat’ to her goofy words list fairly recently, but it was already giving ‘pronto’ and ‘undelay’ a run for their money as the urgent word of choice.
As we swooped into Nanna Joan’s street, Mum spotted her house, dumped Nanna at the curb, sped off, and headed for Dad and his mysterious emergency. |
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