Just step back and realize how awful of a person Fujimoto is. His parents moved heaven and earth to secure him some of the best assisstants on the industry, serialization in Jump, movie adaptations of his juvenalia, only to shit out Shart Poo the moment his assistants left him on his own. Imagine spending all of that money on your little artist and then he turns around and hints that he's "too tired" of the manga industry and would prefer to only write and stuff his fat maw with 7/11 food.
Imagine being Lin, forced into tard-wrangling this "new-generation genius" into incorporating things like complete fight scenes, a developed cast of characters, and basic arc structure in the lardass's thinly veiled femdom self-insert fantasy, and then to watch him throw it all away after moving to Jump+ and permakilling the sales with his "unrestrained vision."
Imagine what his current assistants think as Fujimoto lumbers into the office on the 13th day of his monthly two week vacation, one pants size bigger than the last arc, and submits his scribbles on top of the backgrounds they labored over.
They bare it, they cope, because they know the title of "Fujimoto's former assistant" holds sway in the industry. They complement their sensei on his "cinematic paneling" as he forgets to draw Yoru's scars in an important scene for the fiftieth time. He finishes his artistic labor and then reviews his TV dinner on his little sister RP account, chuckles to himself, belches, and then leaves to go jerk off to sissy hypno for the next week before his "creative process" starts anew.
This is Fujimoto:
kinosmith,
artist,
auteur,
GOD.
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Just step back and realize how awful of a person Fujimoto is. His parents moved heaven and earth to secure him some of the best assisstants on the industry, serialization in Jump, movie adaptations of his juvenalia, only to shit out Shart Poo the moment his assistants left him on his own. Imagine spending all of that money on your little artist and then he turns around and hints that he's "too tired" of the manga industry and would prefer to only write and stuff his fat maw with 7/11 food.
Imagine being Lin, forced into tard-wrangling this "new-generation genius" into incorporating things like complete fight scenes, a developed cast of characters, and basic arc structure in the lardass's thinly veiled femdom self-insert fantasy, and then to watch him throw it all away after moving to Jump+ and permakilling the sales with his "unrestrained vision."
Imagine what his current assistants think as Fujimoto lumbers into the office on the 13th day of his monthly two week vacation, one pants size bigger than the last arc, and submits his scribbles on top of the backgrounds they labored over.
They bare it, they cope, because they know the title of "Fujimoto's former assistant" holds sway in the industry. They complement their sensei on his "cinematic paneling" as he forgets to draw Yoru's scars in an important scene for the fiftieth time. He finishes his artistic labor and then reviews his TV dinner on his little sister RP account, chuckles to himself, belches, and then leaves to go jerk off to sissy hypno for the next week before his "creative process" starts anew.
This is Fujimoto:
kinosmith,
artist,
auteur,
GOD.
Imagine being Lin, forced into tard-wrangling this "new-generation genius" into incorporating things like complete fight scenes, a developed cast of characters, and basic arc structure in the lardass's thinly veiled femdom self-insert fantasy, and then to watch him throw it all away after moving to Jump+ and permakilling the sales with his "unrestrained vision."
Imagine what his current assistants think as Fujimoto lumbers into the office on the 13th day of his monthly two week vacation, one pants size bigger than the last arc, and submits his scribbles on top of the backgrounds they labored over.
They bare it, they cope, because they know the title of "Fujimoto's former assistant" holds sway in the industry. They complement their sensei on his "cinematic paneling" as he forgets to draw Yoru's scars in an important scene for the fiftieth time. He finishes his artistic labor and then reviews his TV dinner on his little sister RP account, chuckles to himself, belches, and then leaves to go jerk off to sissy hypno for the next week before his "creative process" starts anew.
This is Fujimoto:
kinosmith,
artist,
auteur,
GOD.
Just step back and realize how awful of a person Fujimoto is. His parents moved heaven and earth to secure him some of the best assisstants on the industry, serialization in Jump, movie adaptations of his juvenalia, only to shit out Shart Poo the moment his assistants left him on his own. Imagine spending all of that money on your little artist and then he turns around and hints that he's "too tired" of the manga industry and would prefer to only write and stuff his fat maw with 7/11 food.
Imagine being Lin, forced into tard-wrangling this "new-generation genius" into incorporating things like complete fight scenes, a developed cast of characters, and basic arc structure in the lardass's thinly veiled femdom self-insert fantasy, and then to watch him throw it all away after moving to Jump+ and permakilling the sales with his "unrestrained vision."
Imagine what his current assistants think as Fujimoto lumbers into the office on the 13th day of his monthly two week vacation, one pants size bigger than the last arc, and submits his scribbles on top of the backgrounds they labored over.
They bare it, they cope, because they know the title of "Fujimoto's former assistant" holds sway in the industry. They complement their sensei on his "cinematic paneling" as he forgets to draw Yoru's scars in an important scene for the fiftieth time. He finishes his artistic labor and then reviews his TV dinner on his little sister RP account, chuckles to himself, belches, and then leaves to go jerk off to sissy hypno for the next week before his "creative process" starts anew.
This is Fujimoto:
kinosmith,
artist,
auteur,
GOD.
Imagine being Lin, forced into tard-wrangling this "new-generation genius" into incorporating things like complete fight scenes, a developed cast of characters, and basic arc structure in the lardass's thinly veiled femdom self-insert fantasy, and then to watch him throw it all away after moving to Jump+ and permakilling the sales with his "unrestrained vision."
Imagine what his current assistants think as Fujimoto lumbers into the office on the 13th day of his monthly two week vacation, one pants size bigger than the last arc, and submits his scribbles on top of the backgrounds they labored over.
They bare it, they cope, because they know the title of "Fujimoto's former assistant" holds sway in the industry. They complement their sensei on his "cinematic paneling" as he forgets to draw Yoru's scars in an important scene for the fiftieth time. He finishes his artistic labor and then reviews his TV dinner on his little sister RP account, chuckles to himself, belches, and then leaves to go jerk off to sissy hypno for the next week before his "creative process" starts anew.
This is Fujimoto:
kinosmith,
artist,
auteur,
GOD.
Just step back and realize how awful of a person Fujimoto is. His parents moved heaven and earth to secure him some of the best assisstants on the industry, serialization in Jump, movie adaptations of his juvenalia, only to shit out Shart Poo the moment his assistants left him on his own. Imagine doing spending all that money on your little artist and then he turns around and hints that he's "too tired" of the manga industry and would prefer to only write and stuff his fat maw with 7/11 food.
Imagine being Lin, forced into tard-wrangling this "new generation genius" into incorporating things like complete fight scenes, a developed cast of characters, and basic arc structure in the lardass's thinly veiled femdom self-insert fantasy, and then to watch him throw it all away after moving to Jump+ and permakilling the sales with his "unrestrained vision."
Imagine what his current assistants think as Fujimoto lumbers into the office on the 13th day of his monthly two week vacation, one pants size bigger than the last arc, and submits his scribbles on top of the backgrounds they labored over.
They bare it, they cope, because they know the title of "Fujimoto's former assistant" holds sway in the industry. They complement their sensei on his "cinematic paneling" as he forgets to draw Yoru's scars in an important scene for the fiftieth time. He finishes his artistic labor and then reviews his TV dinner on his little sister RP account, chuckles to himself, belches, and then leaves to go jerk off to sissy hypno for the next week before his "creative process" starts anew.
This is Fujimoto:
kinosmith,
artist,
auteur,
GOD.
Imagine being Lin, forced into tard-wrangling this "new generation genius" into incorporating things like complete fight scenes, a developed cast of characters, and basic arc structure in the lardass's thinly veiled femdom self-insert fantasy, and then to watch him throw it all away after moving to Jump+ and permakilling the sales with his "unrestrained vision."
Imagine what his current assistants think as Fujimoto lumbers into the office on the 13th day of his monthly two week vacation, one pants size bigger than the last arc, and submits his scribbles on top of the backgrounds they labored over.
They bare it, they cope, because they know the title of "Fujimoto's former assistant" holds sway in the industry. They complement their sensei on his "cinematic paneling" as he forgets to draw Yoru's scars in an important scene for the fiftieth time. He finishes his artistic labor and then reviews his TV dinner on his little sister RP account, chuckles to himself, belches, and then leaves to go jerk off to sissy hypno for the next week before his "creative process" starts anew.
This is Fujimoto:
kinosmith,
artist,
auteur,
GOD.